He headed off for White’s instead to fill in an hour or two in congenial male company.
By the time he arrived home later, just in time to dress for dinner, he had changed his mind. Telling Agnes everything would surely be quite thewrongthing to do. How would he ever convince her that his hasty marriage proposal to her and his impulsive dash off to London to procure a special license had had nothing to do with any need to punish Velma? He did not even know himself what his motive had been.
The last thing in the world he wanted to do was hurt Agnes.
Theverylast thing.
He ended up not telling her anything about his afternoon—not even that he had called upon his neighbors, the Fromes.
***
By the time Agnes arrived home from the library, two of the dresses she had purchased from Madame Martin had been delivered. They had been ready-made items, both of them evening gowns, and had needed only minor alterations. They were also, fortunately, up to Madeline’s exacting standards.
Agnes was ready to face the world, then, her mother-in-law declared, even if only in a minor way. They would have Flavian escort them to the theater that very evening after dinner. It would not be packed with many of the people who really mattered, of course, thetonnot having returned to town in any great numbers yet, but it would be a start. And perhaps awisestart. Agnes would be able to ease her way gradually into society instead of being overwhelmed by it at her presentation ball.
Agnes felt more like crawling into her bed and drawing the curtains tight about it. But since that was impossible, an outing seemed preferable to an evening spent at home with only her husband and her mother-in-law for company.
She could not get Lady Hazeltine’s lovely face out of her mind—or her sweet, light voice telling Agnes that she ought to have waited for her only true love.
Agnes did not say much at dinner, but allowed Flavian and her mother-in-law to carry the conversation. She did not say much in the carriage or at the theater either. Fortunately there was a play to be watched—with great attention, though she would not have been able to say afterward what it was about. And during the intermission there were people to be met and greeted and conversed with—Marianne and Lord Shields and a few acquaintances of the dowager’s and Flavian’s.
It was a pity her mind was so preoccupied, she thought a few times in the course of the evening. She should have been overwhelmed by her first visit to a theater, by the splendor of her surroundings and by the excellence of the acting, as well as by the pleasure of wearing a new and flattering evening gown and of knowing that her hair looked elegant and becoming.
It was one of the worst evenings she could remember.
She waited for Flavian when the evening was over, standing at the window of her bedchamber and staring down on the square. There were still lights in several of the other houses. A carriage was drawn up outside the house next door. She could hear the distant sound of voices and laughter.
And then the voices were silent, and the carriage was gone, and most of the lights had been extinguished, and she realized she had been standing there for a long time. She shivered and realized that the air was chilly. She had not put a dressing gown on over her nightgown.
She went to fetch one from her dressing room. She looked at the bed on her return. Was he asleep in his own room? Were they to sleep apart for the first time since their wedding? And was that only a week ago?
Had he even come up to bed? She had not heard him.
She picked up the single candle that still burned on her dressing table and went back downstairs. He was not in the drawing room. She found him in the book room, which was lit only by the fire that burned low in the hearth.
He looked up when she came in, and smiled his hooded smile.
“Sleeping Beauty s-sleepwalking?” he asked.
She set her candlestick on the mantel and stared down into the fire for a few moments. She had not realized just how chilled she was.
“Tell me about the Countess of Hazeltine,” she said.
“Ah,” he said softly. “I w-wondered if that was it.”
She turned to look at him. He was sprawled in his chair, his neck cloth and cravat discarded, his shirt open at the neck. His golden hair looked as if he had passed his fingers through it one too many times. There was an empty glass on the table beside him, though he did not look drunk.
“I met her at Hookham’s Library this afternoon,” she said.
“Ah.”
“You called upon her yesterday.”
“Her and Sir Winston and Lady Frome.”
She waited for more, but more did not come.
“She had an unhappy marriage,” Agnes said. “She told me she ought to have waited to see what would happen with her first and only true love—her words. I thought she meant your brother. I thought perhaps she had loved him after all.”
