Page 52 of Six Nights to Marry a Marquess

“Do they now?” Agnes responded, genuinely intrigued by the local activities and the community involvement.

“Oh, yes,” Loralei replied, then glanced almost cautiously in her mother’s direction. When she turned to Agnes, Loralei lowered her voice conspiratorially and whispered, “But this one is more delicious than the one they make.” The whisper, however, was not quite as discreet as intended, and the entire room overheard it.

Agnes and the women erupted into laughter at the innocent critique.

“No more jam for you then, Lora,” her mother said with a playful sternness, to which the little girl protested softly, pouting slightly.

“Oh, on the subject of jam,” Mrs. Linton began, her tone shifting to one of hospitality as she produced a basket from beside her. The basket was filled with jars of jam in various flavors, each jar neatly labeled and packed.

“Do accept this little token from us, My Lady,” she offered, her eyes twinkling. “Even though Lora now thinks it’s not as delicious,” she added with a laugh, acknowledging her daughter’s earlier comment.

Agnes laughed along, accepting the gift with a gracious smile. “Why, I am sure it is just as good. Thank you, Mrs. Linton,” she responded warmly. “Cook will have a marvelous time adding these to the pastries,” she added, imagining the delightful desserts that would soon grace their table.

The other women followed Mrs. Linton’s example, each presenting gifts of their own. From beautifully embroidered handkerchiefs to little hand-woven baskets meant for use in the kitchens, each item was a testament to their craftsmanship and goodwill.

Among them, Mrs. Grovel, who was also in attendance, handed Agnes a box full of yarn in every color imaginable. It was an unusual gift, perhaps, but Agnes accepted it pleasantly.

“Oh, I am sure her ladyship knits quite well. Those would make excellent socks for the children in due time,” Mrs. Grovel remarked, her gaze subtly lingering on Agnes’s waist before returning to her face. The implication was clear, and Agnes felt an involuntary warmth spread across her cheeks.

“Thank you, Mrs. Grovel,” she managed to say, her voice laced with gratitude yet tinged with discomfort.

“We all cannot wait for the new addition to our community. A little lord or lady,” the woman added, her eyes bright with anticipation.

“I think you will make an excellent mother, My Lady,” Mrs. Linton chimed in, her gaze affectionate as she watched her own daughter nibble on biscuits from Agnes’s lap.

Agnes smiled awkwardly, touched by the support and encouragement, yet inside, she felt a hollow emptiness. The expectation of her bearing a child weighed heavily upon her, a burden she feared she might never fulfill. She admired Loralei, so carefree and content in her lap, and the pang of realizing she might never experience such moments with her own child grew sharper.

“There’s an upcoming festival in the village, My Lady,” Mrs. Linton’s voice gently pulled Agnes from her reverie.

Agnes swallowed, her throat tight with emotion, and she quickly checked to ensure her smile remained in place.

“Pray tell, what festival is this?” Agnes asked, her interest now thoroughly piqued by the conversation.

“The annual summer festival,” Mrs. Linton replied with a smile that reflected her fondness for the event.

“The farmers display their harvests, the bakers bake, and we crafters display our art,” Mrs. Grovel added, her voice filled with pride for the community's collective efforts.

The women then extended a formal invitation to Agnes. “As the Marchioness, of course you would be there. But we also came togive you the respect of a formal and personal invitation,” they explained, their tones earnest and respectful.

The prospect of attending a local festival was entirely new to Agnes, and she found herself genuinely looking forward to it. “It all sounds very interesting,” she remarked, her voice carrying a note of excitement.

“We also make jam for the festival!” Loralei declared proudly, her enthusiasm bubbling over as she reached for another jam-filled biscuit. She’d nearly devoured all of the strawberry ones on the platter, a fact that Agnes observed with an amused chuckle.

“Can I take my carriage to the festival, Mama?” the little girl suddenly asked her mother, her imagination clearly taken with the idea of a grand arrival.

“Carriage?” Agnes echoed, quirking an eyebrow curiously.

“Oh, never mind Lora, My Lady. She likes her toys too much,” the mother dismissed fondly, a gentle smile playing on her lips as she glanced at her daughter.

“It’s made of wood, my carriage,” Lora explained to Agnes, her tone serious, wanting to convey the importance of her favorite toy.

“Well then, I look forward to seeing your carriage at the festival, Lora,” Agnes said, her response causing a little squeal of delightto escape from the girl. The sincerity in Agnes's voice made it clear she truly did look forward to it.

As the women discussed some arrangements for the festival and sought Agnes’s opinion on various matters, she found herself distracted by thoughts of Theodore. The festival would provide a perfect opportunity for them to be seen together in a social setting in the country, something that could only help to solidify their standing as a couple in the eyes of their community.

Resolved, she decided that she must get him to accompany her. This settled in her mind, Agnes listened attentively to the remaining plans, her thoughts occasionally drifting to how she might persuade her husband. After the women’s departure, she went to find Theodore.

CHAPTER 25

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