Page 33 of A Virgin for the Forbidden Duke

With a resigned sigh, she made her way toward her mother and Ewan, dreading the imminent exchange that awaited her.

Oh, heavens.

As she walked toward her mother, the weight of expectations settled on her shoulders. Lord Egerton’s presence added another layer of discomfort, his attempts at charm and endless self-promotion echoing in her ears like a tiresome tune.

Agnes braced herself for the inevitable exchange, wondering how much longer she could endure the relentless pursuit of societal expectations.

Here we go again.

CHAPTER12

Agnes sat in her room, nestled in the comforting embrace of a romance novel. The words on the pages wove a tale of love and passion, a narrative that, in some uncanny way, mirrored the tumultuous emotions swirling within her own heart.

As she delved into the story, a scene unfolded that struck a chord within her. The female protagonist, deeply enamored by the male lead, found herself entangled in a connection that held a delicate balance between desire and uncertainty. The narrative painted a vivid picture of a love that yearned to be acknowledged but remained hidden, shielded from the scrutinizing eyes of the world.

It resonated with Agnes in a way that sent a pang through her chest.

Matthew’s face flashed in her mind, and she couldn’t shake the parallels between the fictional characters and her own situation. A connection that anyone would envy, yet shrouded in secrecy, as if the acknowledgment of it was reserved for the hushed whispers of moonlit gardens and hidden rendezvous.

Why doesn’t he want to be seen with me? And why is he not courting me openly?

A sigh escaped her lips, and just as the weight of her emotions settled in, the door creaked open. Peggy entered with a sympathetic look in her eyes.

Agnes closed her book, realizing that her solitude was about to be disrupted. “What is the matter, Peggy?”

Peggy, with a questioning glance, mouthed, “The Earl of Egerton.”

Agnes groaned inwardly, a sense of déjà vu settling in. It seemed her mother’s relentless pursuit of matchmaking had found a new target.

As Peggy discreetly retreated, Agnes braced herself for her mother’s impending visit. The rhythmic tap of Mary’s footsteps echoed in the hallway, growing louder as she approached Agnes’s room.

The door opened, and Mary entered with an air of anticipation. “Agnes, dear,” she began, a gleam of excitement in her eyes. “Lord Egerton swill be joining us for tea this afternoon. I’ve arranged for a cozy setting in the garden.”

Agnes couldn’t help but suppress another groan. She managed a polite nod, concealing her inner turmoil behind a practiced smile.

As her mother left the room, Agnes looked around, feeling the walls close in on her. The romance novel lay open on her lap, its pages a mirror to the complexities of her own heart. She wondered if Matthew felt the same weight of secrecy or if in his world, the hidden moments held a different significance.

With a resigned sigh, she closed the book and prepared herself for the upcoming encounter, hoping that amidst the forced conversations, there might be a glimpse of the genuine connection she sought.

* * *

“Miss Agnes, you look absolutely stunning this afternoon.” Lord Egerton stood up as Agnes walked toward him.

His compliment, though courteous, felt like a rehearsed line, lacking the sincerity that could make it truly flattering.

Agnes managed a polite smile and curtsied in response.

Ewan moved in closer and pressed a kiss to the back of Agnes’s hand. The soft touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary, making Agnes subtly withdraw her hand.

As they settled at the table, Ewan spoke, “Your mother sends her apologies, Miss Agnes. She had some urgent business to attend to, but she insisted that we proceed with our tea. She thought it would be a delightful opportunity for us to get to know each other better.”

Agnes rolled her eyes inwardly, recognizing her mother’s matchmaking maneuvers.

Mary’s schemes were becoming increasingly transparent, and Agnes couldn’t help but wonder if she was the only one who saw through them.

Ewan, ever the courteous suitor, pulled out a chair for Agnes with a practiced flourish. As she took her seat, the maid appeared with a steaming pot of tea, pouring the fragrant liquid into delicate porcelain cups. The aroma filled the air, a stark contrast to the brewing tension in Agnes’s mind.

Ewan, undeterred by the undercurrents, immediately launched into conversation. “Miss Agnes, I must say, your home is splendid. I’ve heard so much about the elegance of this estate, and now that I’m here, it surpasses all my expectations.”

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