Chapter 2 #3
“You mustn’t,” Mrs. Worthing pressed, her voice urgent. “Do you not realize what an opportunity this is? You could travel to London and mingle with the ton!”
“The ton wouldn’t accept me,” Theodosia said. “I’m only the daughter of a baronet.”
Mrs. Worthing gave her a knowing look. “My dear girl, you will belong wherever you choose to stand.”
Theodosia stared down at her plate, idly pushing a bit of meat to the edge with her fork. “It would be a terrible idea,” she said. “I can hardly stand Lord Wilton.”
“You wouldn’t be working for him,” Mrs. Worthing responded. “You’d be a companion to his sister. There’s a world of difference.”
“She’s right,” Penelope added. “And just think, if you marry some fabulously wealthy and handsome lord, you could host me during the next Season.”
Theodosia huffed. “I am not going to marry a lord. Don’t be absurd.”
“It’s not absurd,” Penelope said, eyes twinkling. “It’s wishful thinking. And I am excellent at it.”
Mr. Worthing cleared his throat and folded his napkin with deliberate care. “As much as I hate to agree with my wife and daughter on anything, I must say they’re right. Your mother would have leapt at such a chance for you.”
At the mention of her mother, Theodosia’s mirth faded. Her fingers stilled around her fork. “I doubt that.”
“No,” Mrs. Worthing said, “it’s true. She used to speak so fondly of her Seasons in London. Of the lights, the music, the people. She said it made the world feel larger and her place in it more exciting.”
Theodosia lifted her gaze. “Yes, but I wouldn’t be debuting. I wouldn’t even be there as a guest. I’d be working. As a companion.”
“And companions are often invited to attend events with their charges,” Mrs. Worthing countered with a knowing smile. “You’d still see the ballrooms, the fine gowns, and the glittering chandeliers. You may not be at the center of attention, but you would be close enough to touch it.”
Penelope leaned in, her excitement palpable. “And Vauxhall Gardens! Do you know they set off fireworks there? Fireworks! That’s practically magic. Imagine standing beneath them in a gown of silk, the stars above and music playing…”
“You’ve been reading too many romantic novels,” Theodosia said with a half-smile, though her heart tugged at the image.
“And you haven’t read enough,” Penelope shot back.
Theodosia reached for her glass and took a slow sip. “But what about the estate? What if something goes wrong while I’m away?”
“Mr. Thornton has managed things before. He’s perfectly capable,” Mr. Worthing assured her. “And if anything urgent arises, I’m happy to lend a hand in your absence.”
“You’re very kind, but—” Theodosia began.
Mr. Worthing gently cut her off. “What is truly stopping you, Dosia? Is it the estate? Or is it something else?”
The room quieted. Penelope’s teasing expression softened, and Mrs. Worthing gave her a look of quiet encouragement.
Theodosia’s fingers tightened around the stem of her glass. She didn’t answer at first. Because she didn’t know. Not exactly.
Was it fear?
Perhaps.
She had never left the village. Never gone farther than the neighboring town for the market or the occasional fair. Her world had always been contained within tidy hedgerows, quiet lanes, and familiar faces.
What if she stepped beyond those boundaries and found nothing but disappointment? What if she hated it? What if she didn’t belong?
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. The words refused to form. “I suppose,” she said finally, “I don’t know who I would be… if I left.”
Mrs. Worthing reached across the table and took her hand. “Sometimes, my dear, the only way to find out who you are is to get lost entirely.”
“It is not that simple,” Theodosia murmured, casting a glance down at her blue gown. Though it was finely made and fit her well enough, it was clearly the garment of a country lady—neat, serviceable, and entirely unremarkable. “I do not even possess the proper wardrobe for London.”
Mrs. Worthing looked unconcerned as she sat back. “Then you shall commission one in London.”
“That takes time.”
“Of course it does. And you will have the time. There is no urgency that you must attend a ball the moment your boots touch cobblestone,” Mrs. Worthing said.
“But what am I to do with all that time?” Theodosia countered. “I shall be dreadfully bored without my ledgers, my tenant accounts, and estate affairs to occupy me.”
Before Mrs. Worthing could reply, Penelope interjected. “I’ve read in the newssheets that Lord Wilton’s townhouse is quite grand. Surely there will be enough paintings, statues, and ancient tapestries to keep you amused.”
Theodosia chuckled despite herself, but then grew quiet. Her smile faded as the weight of the decision crept back in.
Could she go to London?
The question echoed in her mind. It felt foreign—ridiculous, even.
Nonetheless, the pull was there. Subtle but persistent.
She could walk the same streets that her mother once had.
She could stand beneath the crystal chandeliers of grand ballrooms that her mother once spoke of in wistful tones.
She could see the life her mother had known—not in fragments or memories, but with her own eyes.
But was she strong enough to go alone?
As if sensing her inner turmoil, Penelope gave her a soft, encouraging smile. “You are strong enough, Dosia.”
Theodosia looked at her friend in surprise. “How did you know I was thinking that?”
“Because I’ve known you since we wore matching pinafores and chased geese through our gardens.
I’ve watched you survive heartbreak, loss, and the pressure of managing your family’s estate on your own.
You carry the world on your shoulders and still manage to lift your chin.
I know you. And more importantly—I believe in you. ”
A lump formed in Theodosia’s throat, one she wasn’t entirely prepared for. She gave Penelope a shaky smile.
“And if you don’t go,” Penelope continued, now grinning, “I shall simply dress up in one of your gowns, pin my hair back like yours, and go in your place. I’ve been practicing your stern eyebrow in the mirror.”
Theodosia laughed, fully and freely, the tension in her chest easing for the first time that evening. Maybe… just maybe… it wasn’t such a terrible idea, after all.