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“What makes you think they do?” She returned slyly, a playful glint in her eye.

“Did you not hear the compliment just now?” he asked, his eyebrows raised in feigned surprise.

“That hardly qualifies, Theodore,” she responded, her voice teasing, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

“You are just jealous,” he observed as they took their positions on the dance floor, the musicians tuning their instruments in the background.

“Ofyourpoetic talents?” She snorted in apparent disbelief, her eyes dancing with mirth. “I have better taste than that,” she added impishly, her tone light and teasing.

“Could you be any less blunt?” He rolled his eyes dramatically, playing along with their banter.

“And feed your delusions? No thank you,” she chuckled as he pulled her close to him in concert with the music, the first notes of the waltz filling the air around them.

“You wound me, Agnes,” he gave an exaggerated grimace, his hand on his heart as if struck by her words.

“You’ll survive,” she laughed again, her laughter mingling with the melody of the orchestra, light and carefree.

Curious glances trailed their every move, the other guests whispering and watching with amused interest. But Theodore did not care about the attention. He only wished he could pause time right now and listen to his wife chat and laugh for all eternity, her presence more captivating than the grandest of poems.

“After all, you survived our atrocious first ball, did you not?” She added, referring to a memory filled with both fondness.

“Indeed, I did,” Theodore agreed, his voice soft, his eyes locked on hers.

“That was one clumsy evening,” she laughed. They glided gracefully across the dance floor, and Theodore felt proud of both of them—how far they had come. More importantly, he was pleased that Agnes was his wife.

“I still have my battle scars to show for it,” he chortled.

“But I wouldn’t change it for anything,” he heard himself say, the words slipping out with a sincerity that tightened his chest. “I wouldn’t change our meeting for anything, Agnes,” he added, pulling her slightly closer, their movements in perfect harmony with the lilting music.

“You wouldn’t?” There was surprise in her pale eyes, widening slightly as she looked up at him. And something akin to...hope?

“I wouldn’t,” he repeated, his voice firm, his eyes never leaving hers. And he’d never been more certain of anything in his life.

Their dance ended too soon, the final notes lingering in the air as they reluctantly parted from their embrace. They were just stepping off the dance floor when Theodore and Agnes received quite the shock. Lord Asmont, a figure from their past with whom relations had been strained, approached them with a congenial smile.

“A lovely evening. An even lovelier sight with Lord and Lady Gillingham in attendance,” the Earl said to them, his tone warm and devoid of any past coldness.

Theodore exchanged a surprised look with his wife, his eyebrows raised in silent query. Was this the same man who’d given them the cut direct during their last meeting at the bookstore? What had changed? He wondered, his mind racing as he tried to decipher the sudden shift in demeanor.

“May I have the honor of the next dance, Lady Gillingham?” He suddenly asked Agnes, who appeared fleetingly taken aback by the request.

“Why of course, my lord,” she accepted gracefully, her composure swiftly returning as she gave him a polite nod.

Theodore couldn’t understand why, but he didn’t want to let go of her right now. Especially not for a dance with another man. A tightness gripped his chest at the thought of another’s hands upon her.

“Theodore?” She whispered when he hesitated, her eyes searching his for an explanation.

“Ah, right,” he quickly collected himself, feeling a flush of embarrassment for his momentary lapse.

“Do not keep my wife for too long, Lord Asmont,” he smiled as he handed her to the Earl, trying to sound jovial yet conveying a clear message.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Asmont chuckled before leading her away, his tone light yet assuring.

Theo felt the nerve at his temple pulse as he watched them step onto the dance floor. The room suddenly grew a few degrees warmer too, or so it seemed to him.

“Frances says your wife’s the star of tonight’s ball, Gillingham,” Anthony joined him once again, clapping him on the shoulder as if to bring him back to the present.

“You two are all the guests are whispering about,” he added, his voice low and tinged with amusement.