The Marquess winced and lowered his gaze quickly.
“Well, I suppose we shall just have to wait and see what the outcome will be. Good day.” he hastily spoke and turned around, looking over his shoulder to add. “Good luck to you, cousin.”
He quickly took his leave, looking even more defeated with each step, and Silas sighed, pulling away from Agnes to reach for Scar’s reins.
“Come. Let me put you in your stall,” he murmured and led his horse into the stable.
Agnes watched him leave as her mind spun in confusion at the last word the Marquess had said to the Duke.
Cousin? They were cousins?
She had not expected them to be related in any way due to the stiff interaction and generally offensive things Lord Hamilton had said to Silas. Perhaps their relationship was why Silas hadbarely reacted to any of the disrespect, but that did not explain the animosity between them.
Numerous times during their conversation, Agnes heard the strong dislike – closer to hatred than it was not – in Lord Hamilton’s voice, which meant that he clearly harbored strong negative feelings for the Duke. And she could not help but wonder what had spurred such amongst relatives that were supposed to be close.
Silas left the stable and found her still standing there and sighed in irritation.
“Why are you still here? I have nothing more to say to you,” he stated coldly in dismissal.
He turned around to head into the mansion, and Agnes found herself following after him quickly, wanting answers to the thousands of questions running through her mind.
“Could we just – can we talk?” she hurriedly asked.
She received no response but kept trailing after him regardless, noticing how members of the staff scurried out of his way after a singular look at his face. She could tell just from the tense lines on his shoulders that he was upset, a stark difference from the level-headed air he had kept when he spoke to his cousin. Then, his responses had been calm and almost unbothered, but now he looked as though his entire line of predecessors had been insulted.
Could it… could it be because of me? Because the Marquess made advances towards me?
She quickly dismissed the thought with a shake of her head. They barely knew each other, and nearly every conversation between them had been an argument. He did not care enough about her to be angry that another man had attempted to proposition her. Perhaps he had just been a little irritated that someone else had tried to stake a claim on his betrothed – the way men generally liked to be possessive over the things they had.
Still, she could not repress the hope that perhaps he had or maybe someday might want to hold onto her, not just for the gains their marriage would bring to him but for deeper reasons.
Silas walked into his study, and she followed closely, settling into a settee close to his desk, choosing to give him the grace of some distance while he situated himself behind his desk.
“Silas… is he really your cousin? Are you both related? Honestly?”
He did not respond, did not even glance in her direction, his hands working to sort out some papers stacked atop his desk. Agnes did not relent.
“I merely think it is strange for you both to have such a distaste for each other when you are related by blood. And I have complete faith in Scar – I believe he can undoubtedly win thecompetition. And since you’re clearly really busy with your other obligations, I can train him for you.”
Still, he ignored her, and she pressed on.
“I’m very well-versed and knowledgeable about horses, and I’ve always wanted to participate in competitions. I am very certain I can lead us to victory if you let me train him –”
“Will you be quiet? I am trying to work, and your incessant chattering is quite bothersome, so either leave or sit there silently.”
Agnes found herself pouting momentarily, opening her mouth to suggest that she would happily leave if he were to simply answer her questions first, but stopping when someone knocked at the door.
“What?” Silas snapped.
The door opened, and the butler poked his head through the space.
“I-I brought you tea, Your Grace.”
Silas grunted in acknowledgment, and Lukas came in with a tray, setting it on the table in front of Agnes, greeting her softly.
“My lady, good afternoon.”
“Lukas!” she clapped her hands excitedly. “Perhaps you can answer my questions. Is the Duke really related to the Marquess of Hamilton?”