Chapter 5 #2
“That almost sounds like a threat,” she remarked.
“Not a threat,” he replied, his gaze holding hers. “Merely an observation.”
For a moment, something unspoken passed between them, but what it was, he did not know. Then, without another word, she turned and stepped up into the carriage, disappearing into its shadowed interior.
Richard stood there a moment longer than was necessary, staring after her, frowning slightly as the door was closed behind her.
She was not at all what he’d expected when this journey began.
And he had a distinct feeling she would prove even more complicated before it was through.
As the coach rolled through the vibrant heart of London, Theodosia pressed her gloved hand to the windowpane, her breath fogging the glass as she gazed out in open wonder.
The streets bustled with life—more people than she had ever seen in one place.
Elegant ladies in their finery and feathered hats strolled arm-in-arm while their maids followed a few paces behind, burdened with hatboxes and parcels.
Hawkers shouted their wares from every corner, and children darted between carriage wheels, heedless of the danger, their laughter mingling with the city’s ever-present din.
The carriage turned onto a quieter, more refined street, where the townhouses became grander, their facades gleaming in pale stone or pristine whitewash.
Gas lamps stood sentry on each corner, and gravel courtyards kept the soot-stained world at bay.
At last, the coach drew to a halt before a stately residence, its entrance flanked by white columns and tall sash windows that glittered like polished gems.
Theodosia instinctively smoothed a hand down the front of her modest traveling habit, suddenly keenly aware of how provincial she must appear in such surroundings.
The coach door swung open, and a liveried footman extended a white-gloved hand. She took it, her boots crunching on the gravel as she descended. Her gaze drifted upward once more, trying to take in the full height of the townhouse, with its elegant lines and air of imposing permanence.
Lord Wilton joined her, hands clasped behind his back. “Shall we?” he asked, watching her with a faint gleam of amusement.
“This is your home?” she managed to say.
He nodded. “For as long as I can remember. It’s been in the family for three generations.”
“It’s... quite extraordinary.”
He glanced at the building and shrugged. “It serves its purpose. But I’d prefer not to remain standing out here like a man preparing to be judged. Come along.”
He offered his arm, and she hesitated.
“Is it wise for me to walk in on your arm?” she asked in a hushed voice. “I am meant to be a companion—at least, I hope to be. I do not believe I ought to enter the home of a marquess in such a fashion.”
“I am offering you my arm as a gentleman,” he replied, his brow lifting. “And you, Miss Theodosia, are overthinking it.”
“I always do,” she said with a rueful smile, accepting the gesture. Her hand settled lightly on his forearm.
He leaned closer. “But surely you must admit—it’s much more fun to break a rule or two now and then.”
“I tend to abide by them.”
“A pity,” he muttered.
The main door opened just then, revealing a dark-haired man in his middle years, dressed in the somber attire of a senior household servant. He bowed deeply.
“Good evening, my lord,” he said before stepping aside to allow them entry.
Lord Wilton dropped her arm as they crossed the threshold. “Sterling, allow me to introduce Miss Theodosia Smith. She will serve as Lady Olivia’s companion for the foreseeable future.”
If Sterling was surprised by this pronouncement, his expression revealed nothing. “Very good, my lord. I shall see that the necessary arrangements are made.”
“Excellent. Where is my sister?”
“In the drawing room with her ladyship.”
Lord Wilton turned to Theodosia. “Are you prepared?”
She drew in a breath and lifted her chin. “As ready as I shall ever be.”
Something flickered in his gaze—hesitation, perhaps, or doubt—but he blinked, and it vanished behind his usual impassive expression. He gestured towards a set of doors just off the entry hall. “Let us get this over with.”
“You make it sound so inviting,” she muttered, following him.
He pushed open the door, and Theodosia stepped into a tastefully appointed drawing room.
A blonde-haired woman lounged on a settee near the window, idly twisting a strand of hair between her fingers.
Beside her sat an older woman with distinguished white-streaked hair, bent over her embroidery frame with quiet focus.
Lord Wilton cleared his throat. “Olivia. Mother.”
The younger woman’s head snapped around. “Brother, you’re finally—” She broke off, her eyes landing on Theodosia. “Who is this?”
“This is Miss Theodosia Smith,” he replied.
Olivia’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Is she—”
“She is to be your companion,” he said firmly, cutting her off.
Olivia blinked. “Surely you are not serious.”
“I am.”
“I don’t need a companion,” she objected.
“Well, you now have one,” Lord Wilton asserted. He turned to his mother. “I also promised Miss Theodosia a new wardrobe. Could you see to it that the dressmaker is summoned?”
Lady Wilton stood and approached with a kind smile. “Of course. I am Lady Wilton—Richard’s mother.”
Theodosia dipped into a curtsy. “It is an honor to meet you, my lady.”
“And this,” Lord Wilton continued, gesturing to his sister, “is Lady Olivia.”
Theodosia offered a polite smile. “A pleasure, Lady Olivia. I have heard much about you.”
Olivia arched a brow. “Then you have the advantage, Miss Smith, for I know nothing about you.”
“Sister… be nice,” Richard warned.
Olivia pressed her lips together and rose. “If you will excuse me, I need a moment to think this through.”
As she swept from the room, Lord Wilton turned to Theodosia. “She will come around.”
“And if she does not?” Theodosia asked.
“Then our arrangement remains as agreed.” He turned to his mother. “I’ll leave her in your capable hands. There is business I must attend to.”
Without another word, he left, leaving Theodosia alone with a woman she had just met.
“You have a beautiful home,” Theodosia offered, not knowing what else she should say.
“Thank you, my dear. You must be famished.”
“I am a bit.”
“Well, dinner isn’t until eight,” Lady Wilton said, glancing at the long clock in the corner. “I shall request a tray be sent to your room in the meantime. Come—I’ll show you where you’ll be staying. Will you tell me about yourself?”
As they ascended the stairs, Theodosia offered, “I fear there’s not much to tell about me.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Wilton said with a smile. “My son has never brought a woman home before. Naturally, I am intrigued.”
“I am the daughter of a baronet, from a small village in Sussex,” Theodosia explained. “Both of my parents have passed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. And how old are you?”
“Two and twenty, my lady.”
“Have you ever had a Season?”
“No. I remained home to manage our estate. I’m rather good at it.”
“I believe you.”
They turned down a richly carpeted corridor.
“I do have a sister,” Theodosia added. “But she rarely stays in one place.”
Lady Wilton stopped at a door and opened it. “This will be your room.”
Theodosia stepped inside and her feet faltered. A grand four-poster bed stood before the hearth, its coverlet a shimmering pale blue. Plush lavender drapes framed tall windows, and the thick rug beneath her feet muffled her steps.
“This... this is lovely,” she whispered, running her hand over the silk bedspread.
“I’m glad you think so. Olivia and I redecorated it for visiting guests.”
“Oh, but I am not a guest. I’m a companion. Perhaps something smaller would be more appropriate.”
“Nonsense. This will do perfectly. Dinner is promptly at eight—you’ll hear the bell.”
Her brow furrowed. “Am I to dine with the family?”
“I believe it is most appropriate, don’t you?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Theodosia admitted. “I have never served as a companion before.”
“Then we shall figure it out together. But first, you should rest. I’ll have a maid sent up to help you dress.”
“That won’t be necessary. I can manage on my own.”
“I’ve no doubt,” Lady Wilton replied. “But this is London, my dear. Appearances matter. We all have our parts to play.”
Theodosia glanced down at her traveling habit. “In that case, I should tell you that my gowns are quite plain. They will look terribly out of place in your dining hall.”
Lady Wilton waved a dismissive hand. “Then you shall borrow one of Olivia’s for tonight. You’re about the same size.”
“Would Lady Olivia mind?”
“I won’t give her the chance,” she said with a wink. “Now, is there anything else?”
Theodosia had a dozen reasons to refuse the offer, to protest the formality, to remind them all that she was only meant to serve—but Lady Wilton’s warmth and determination were not easily refused.
“No, my lady,” she said. “Thank you for your kindness.”
Lady Wilton reached for the door but paused with her hand resting lightly on the handle.
She turned back to Theodosia with a thoughtful expression.
“If you would like, I can have a maid escort you to the dining room this evening. The layout of this townhouse can be rather bewildering until one grows accustomed to it.”
“I would be most grateful,” Theodosia replied, relief evident in her voice. “I fear I might end up in the kitchens or someone’s bedchamber if left to my own devices.”
A soft laugh escaped Lady Wilton’s lips. “An understandable concern. Some of the corridors lead in peculiar directions and my late husband always swore the architect must have been drunk when he drew up the plans.”
Theodosia smiled faintly, her nerves soothed somewhat by the older woman’s humor.
“You are very welcome here,” Lady Wilton said. “Do not give a second thought to Olivia’s reaction. She has never taken kindly to surprises, especially those involving change.”
“I hope I haven’t caused her too much distress.”
Lady Wilton’s eyes softened. “You’ve done no such thing. Olivia has a flair for dramatics, but she is not unkind at heart. Give her a little time.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
“Now,” Lady Wilton continued gently, “rest while you can. A tray will be brought up shortly, and I expect you to eat every bite of it. You’ve a long evening ahead.”
With that, she slipped from the room, the quiet click of the door closing behind her.
Left alone, Theodosia drifted towards the tall windows.
She pulled back the drape and gazed out at the expansive gardens.
The scene was breathtaking—carefully trimmed hedges shaped into spirals, gravel paths meandering like rivers through patches of color, and rose bushes heavy with bloom.
She spotted a marble fountain tucked beneath a linden tree.
It was a world so far removed from her modest home in Sussex that she could scarcely believe she now stood within it.
Her eyes followed a movement along the path—Lady Olivia.
She was pacing briskly, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression stormy even at a distance.
Theodosia’s heart pinched. It was not her wish to unsettle anyone, least of all the woman she had been brought here to befriend and assist. If only there were a way to soothe her, to explain that she came not as a threat, but in good faith.
But for now, Olivia looked as if she would not welcome conversation.
A sudden yawn broke through her thoughts, catching her by surprise. The long hours of travel had finally taken their toll. Perhaps Lady Wilton was right. What she needed now more than anything was rest. A nap, even a brief one, might help her face the evening ahead with greater composure.
She turned from the window, crossed the room to the grand four-poster bed, and lay back against the cool silk coverlet. As her eyes fluttered closed, she could still see the image of Olivia pacing the gardens’ path etched in her mind.
She hoped—desperately—that this arrangement might yet become something more than a strained obligation.
Something like belonging.