Page 58 of Six Nights to Marry a Marquess

“Why else would I have left the trail?” he returned, his tone playful, hinting at a deliberate intention behind his choice of location.

“You call that a trail?” she teased. “I was expecting pretty petals and not the dead leaves and grass I found,” she made a show of being disappointed now, sweeping her hand dramatically to indicate the lack of floral adornment.

“Next time, I shall coat the ground in diamonds and rubies for you, My Lady,” he laughed, playing along with her jest.

“I expect nothing less,” she jutted her chin out in exaggerated satisfaction, then joined him in laughter, the sound echoing softly in the old room.

When their mirth died down, Theodore’s demeanor suddenly grew grave. He shifted slightly, looking into her eyes with an earnestness that marked a shift in the conversation.

“I should apologize for my behavior last night, Agnes,” he began ruefully, his voice tinged with regret.

“It’s nothing,” she quickly dismissed, not wanting to dwell on past discomforts.

And in an effort to ease the somber atmosphere that had begun to settle between them, she said, “You apologize so often I should start collecting your apologies in a jar, Theodore.”

“Would you like this jar adorned with diamonds and rubies as well?” He teased back, a twinkle returning to his eyes.

And they had another good laugh, the room once again filled with the sound of their shared amusement. Then he suddenly gained his feet and offered her his hand, pulling her up to stand beside him.

“Take a walk with me through the Gillingham history?” He asked, extending an invitation to not just walk through the physical grounds but perhaps through the stories and memories that made up his heritage.

“Why of course,” she responded, placing her hand in his.

As they strolled through the castle ruins, Theodore began to recount tales of his family history, his voice echoing slightly off the ancient stones. They wandered through what was once a grand hall, now open to the sky, its walls covered in ivy.

“My great-grandfather kept nineteen hounds here,” Theodore said, gesturing towards a collapsed structure that once served as the kennels. “He was quite the enthusiast. Said he couldn't trust a man who didn't love dogs as much as he did.”

Agnes chuckled at the thought, imagining the bustling scene of dogs and their handlers filling the space with noise and energy.

They continued on, coming upon a section of the castle that was markedly different in architecture, featuring finer stones and remnants of intricate mosaics. “Over here,” Theodore led her to what looked like it could have been a bathhouse. “One of the marchionesses was particularly fond of ancient baths. She had this part of the castle turned into an exotic bath, modeled after those she saw in her travels to Rome and Constantinople.”

Agnes traced her fingers over the cool, smooth tiles that still clung to the walls. “It must have been beautiful,” she murmured, trying to picture the steam rising from warm waters surrounded by opulent decor.

“Yes, it was, according to the paintings we saved,” he replied. Then his tone shifted slightly as they walked towards another part of the ruins. “The fire that ruined the castle happened during my grandfather's time. It was a devastating blow. After that, the family moved permanently to Gillingham Manor.”

The air grew heavier as they approached an area where the blackened stones marked the ferocity of the fire. Agnes felt a pang of sorrow for the loss that still seemed to linger like a shadow over the place.

And even now, as they walked, Theodore curiously refrained from mentioning his parents in any way. Agnes wondered if it was a coincidence, or a conscious effort to avoid more painful memories. Whatever it was, she decided it best not to dwell on her suspicions right now and taint this beautiful moment. The reason did not matter. Not right now.

They finished their little tour at the top of one of the towers, which afforded them a magnificent view of the village, the manor, and the rolling hills beyond. The beauty of the scene was breathtaking, and Agnes felt a profound sense of peace mixed with a hint of melancholy.

“If only this place could be restored,” she heard herself voice the thought before she could rein it in, her eyes scanning the potential of the ruins around them.

“If only...” her husband echoed beside her, his voice distant. He appeared lost in his own thoughts as he stared into the distance, perhaps considering the same possibilities or burdened by the weight of what restoration would entail.

And now more than ever, Agnes wished she could alleviate his woes. Alas, there was only so much she could do to open a locked door whose key was hidden.

CHAPTER 27

It was finally the day of the summer festival, and Theodore had never seen his wife quite so excited. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter and music, and the scent of fresh pastries and flowers wafted through the air as they moved from stall to stall. He proudly introduced Agnes as his Marchioness, and together, they thanked the villagers for their efforts in putting together the grand event.

“Oh, it is our pleasure to give the Marchioness her first festival here,” Mr. Grovel said warmly when they reached his stall, adorned with an array of fruits and homemade jams that sparkled under the sunlight.

“Your ladyship, your ladyship,” a tiny little voice sounded just then, high and excited.

Theodore turned in surprise to the sight of a little girl running in their direction from the opposite stall. He watched with much curiosity as Agnes crouched and opened her arms to welcome the little creature.

“Loralei, it’s so good to see you here,” Agnes said, her voice filled with genuine warmth.

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