Chapter 6 #2
“I don’t think she’s capable of feeling anything.”
Even as the words left his mouth, an image flickered unbidden through his mind: Miss Theodosia, sitting in the coach, her eyes shimmering with tears as she spoke of her late parents.
The rawness in her voice and the way she had tried to smile through it.
For the briefest moment, she had seemed heartbreakingly human.
He pushed the memory aside, hardening his expression.
She would get no sympathy from him. Not until he knew exactly what part she played in Mr. Smith’s betrayal.
Not until she proved she wasn’t just another beautifully constructed lie.
Theodosia stirred as the quiet click of the bedchamber door roused her from sleep. Blinking against the fading daylight spilling in through the tall windows, she sat upright just as a young blonde maid stepped inside, a pale green gown draped neatly over her arm.
“Good evening, Miss,” the maid greeted with a brightness that bordered on overenthusiasm. “I’ve been sent to help you dress for dinner.”
Theodosia rubbed the sleep from her eyes and swung her feet over the edge of the bed. “But I haven’t anything appropriate to wear.”
The maid lifted the gown slightly. “You’ll be wearing this,” she said with a little flourish. “Lady Olivia chose it herself.”
Rising to her feet, Theodosia padded across the room, her stockinged feet silent against the thick carpet. She reached out to touch the gown and felt her breath hitch. The dress was exquisite. It was soft green muslin with a white net overlay delicately embroidered along the hem and sleeves.
“This is lovely,” she murmured. It was far lovelier than anything she’d ever owned.
The maid beamed with satisfaction. “Lady Olivia thought it would suit your complexion, and I must agree. The green sets off your eyes beautifully.”
Theodosia glanced down at her travel-worn habit, suddenly conscious of how coarse the fabric felt against her skin compared to the fine gown.
If the maid noticed her unease, she gave no sign of it. She crossed to the bed and laid the gown out with care. “Now, shall we begin with your hair?”
“I can manage it on my own,” Theodosia said.
“I don’t doubt it,” the maid replied. “But I’m rather skilled at more elaborate styles, and I’d rather not be scolded for ignoring Lady Wilton’s instructions.”
Reluctantly, Theodosia relented and made her way to the dressing table, settling into the cushioned chair. “I would hate for you to get into trouble on my account.”
“Thank you,” the maid said, retrieving a silver-handled brush from the vanity and beginning to work it gently through her hair.
As the first strokes smoothed over her scalp, Theodosia caught the maid’s reflection in the looking glass. “May I ask your name?”
“It’s Mary, Miss.”
The curt reply hinted that Mary wasn’t fond of idle chatter, but Theodosia’s curiosity refused to be quelled. She had far too many questions swirling in her mind.
“What is dinner like here?” she asked.
“Formal,” Mary replied, her focus never wavering. “Though I imagine you’re quite used to that.”
Theodosia gave a soft laugh. “Not exactly. At home, I usually ate in the kitchen with our cook and housekeeper.”
Mary paused, clearly surprised. “But aren’t you the daughter of a baronet?”
“I am,” she admitted. “But dining alone seemed… needlessly grand. I preferred the company.”
Mary gave a cautious hum of acknowledgment. “That’s… rather unusual.”
Theodosia tilted her head. “What is Lady Olivia like?”
Mary set the brush aside and began deftly pinning her hair. “She’s spirited,” she said carefully. “Lively, intelligent… and accustomed to her independence.”
“Does she even want a companion?”
There was a long pause before Mary answered. “It’s not my place to say.”
“I promise, anything you share will stay between us,” Theodosia offered.
Mary shook her head. “That’s kind, but I’ve no wish to be known as a gossip.” Then, after a moment, she added in a low voice, “But I will say this—Lady Olivia was rather surprised by her brother’s decision.”
“I can imagine,” Theodosia murmured.
With one last pin tucked securely into place, Mary stepped back and surveyed her work. “She retired to her chambers shortly after you were introduced,” she shared.
“That doesn’t bode well,” Theodosia said, trying to mask her anxiety.
Mary busied herself with tidying the dressing table. “That’s all I should say on the matter.”
Theodosia turned in her seat, facing the maid directly. “Thank you, truly. I’ve never been in a house this grand before. It’s quite overwhelming.”
Mary’s lips curved into something like a knowing smile. “It is grand. But grandeur comes with shadows. This house has its share of secrets.”
“What sort of secrets?”
Mary raised her brows but said nothing more. Instead, she walked to the bed and picked up the gown. “You’ll find out in time. Now then, let’s get you dressed.”
Theodosia removed her habit and stepped into the gown, feeling the cool whisper of the muslin as Mary slid it over her shoulders. As the maid began fastening the row of pearl buttons along the back, Theodosia asked, “What do you know of Lord Wilton?”
“What do you wish to know?”
“He seems…” She trailed off, searching for a word that wouldn’t reveal too much. Brooding came to mind. Handsome, guarded, vexing. “Tolerable,” she said at last.
A soft laugh escaped the maid. “I rarely see him, but the other staff speak well of him. He’s fair and exacting. He expects things to be done his way, but he’s not unkind.”
“That does sound like him,” Theodosia admitted.
Before Mary could respond, the door opened, and Lady Olivia stepped into the room. She wore a deep maroon gown that set off her pale complexion, and her hair was arranged with elegant precision. Her expression, however, revealed nothing.
“I thought it best,” Olivia said, “if I escorted you to the dining room myself.”
“Thank you,” Theodosia replied carefully, uncertain whether this was a peace offering or a calculated move.
Olivia’s eyes flicked over her, pausing briefly at her face. “The gown suits you.”
“Lady Olivia, thank you. It’s beautiful.”
Olivia gave the barest nod, then gestured towards the door. “Shall we?”
With a final glance at Mary, who offered a discreet, encouraging nod, Theodosia followed Olivia out of the room and into the unknown.
They stepped into the corridor, their slippers muffled against the thick carpeting, and a heavy silence quickly settled between them.
Theodosia folded her hands in front of her, unsure of what to say or whether anything she said would make a difference.
The tension in the air was palpable. Would she ever feel at ease in Olivia’s presence?
She stole a glance at the other woman and noted the rigidity in her posture, the sharp set of her jaw. Olivia’s expression was a mask of composure, but the flicker of tightness around her eyes revealed something less controlled. Oh, dear. This was not going well at all.
Theodosia decided to break the silence. “Do you enjoy reading, my lady?”
“I do,” Olivia replied without looking at her.
Encouraged by the reply, Theodosia pressed on. “So do I. I heard you frequent the circulating libraries when you are in Town.”
“That is correct.”
The conversation was stilted, but Theodosia refused to give up. “My father had a small collection of books that I devoured many times over. Of course, our modest library cannot compare to yours.”
Olivia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “We do have a rather extensive collection here. You are welcome to explore it… on your own.”
They walked a few more steps before Theodosia halted, her patience thinning. “Have I done something to offend you, Lady Olivia?”
Olivia stopped but did not immediately turn. “My brother was wrong to hire you,” she said, her tone clipped. “I do not need a companion.”
“If that’s truly how you feel, then dismiss me,” Theodosia said simply. “I’ll return home, and you need never suffer my presence again.”
That got Olivia’s attention. She turned slowly, brow arched in disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”
“If you’re adamant that you don’t want a companion, send me home,” Theodosia repeated. “I don’t need the income, and I would happily return to managing my estate.”
Olivia studied her, as though trying to determine whether she was bluffing. “You cannot be serious.”
“I assure you, I am. Your brother offered me two thousand pounds to come to Town with him to be your companion,” she explained. “If you send me away, I go home two thousand pounds richer, and none the worse for the experience.”
“That is what he offered you to come?”
“He did,” Theodosia confirmed. “But truth be told, I accepted because I’ve never been to London. My mother used to speak so fondly of her time here. I suppose I wanted to see it for myself, just once.”
“And you would walk away without complaint?”
“I would,” Theodosia replied, unwavering.
A long pause followed, and the only sound was the soft ticking of the longcase clock at the end of the hallway.
“You’re not afraid to speak your mind, are you?” Olivia finally asked, sounding half-amused.
“It’s one of the many traits your brother finds aggravating,” Theodosia quipped.
To her great surprise, a smile ghosted across Olivia’s lips—small but genuine. “I do so enjoy vexing my brother. It’s one of life’s simpler pleasures.”
Olivia stepped back, her expression softening, and continued. “I think I might have underestimated you, Miss Theodosia. Perhaps we ought to start over.”
“I would like that very much.”
They resumed walking, the atmosphere between them noticeably lighter.
“I still don’t need a companion,” Olivia said. “But I might… benefit from a friend.”
“That’s good,” Theodosia replied with a smile, matching her stride. “Because I have no idea how to be a proper companion.”
Olivia laughed under her breath. “So tell me—what do you think of London so far?”
She perked up. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. So many people, so much movement. The buildings seem to stretch forever, and the townhouses… they’re breathtaking.”
Olivia’s smile grew. “Then I must take you to the Minerva Press Circulating Library. It is the largest circulating library in London, with over twenty thousand titles. You might even find a few scandalous French romances if you know where to look.”
“I’d enjoy that very much. And if we are to be friends, you must call me Dosia. It’s far easier to say than Theodosia, and I’ve never forgiven my parents for giving me such a long name.”
Olivia gave a genuine laugh at that. “It’s not that bad.”
“When I was younger,” Theodosia said wistfully, “I would have given anything to be named something simple. I used to pretend I was an Olivia, in fact.”
A faraway look entered Olivia’s eyes, her expression shadowed by something more vulnerable than before. “And I wished I could be anyone else.”
“Truly? But… you were the daughter of a marquess. A lady of rank, wealth, and influence.”
Olivia huffed. “And all the more isolated for it,” she said.
“Everyone assumed I had everything. But it is lonely being where I am. You never truly know who’s sincere.
Every smile might conceal a motive. Every compliment could be a calculation.
And the expectations, they don’t just weigh on you, they smother you. ”
“I suppose I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Theodosia responded.
They reached the top of the grand staircase, and Olivia came to a stop, turning to face her with a solemn expression.
“You have more freedom than you realize, living in the countryside. There’s a kind of peace in being overlooked.
In London, everything is a spectacle. You’re on display—like a specimen under glass.
A single misstep, and the whispers begin.
And once they do… they never really stop. ”
“That sounds awful,” Theodosia murmured.
Olivia bobbed her head. “Trust me. It is.”
Before Theodosia could reply, a voice echoed from below. “The dinner bell has rung. Shall we adjourn to the dining room?”
They looked down the staircase to find Lady Wilton standing at the foot of the steps, one hand resting lightly on the banister. Beside her stood Lord Wilton, his gaze flicking upward. His expression bore the usual glint of restrained impatience—likely directed at her, Theodosia suspected.
“We’re coming,” Olivia called down.
Theodosia followed a few steps behind and eventually entered the dining room.
The room was bathed in candlelight from a wrought iron chandelier overhead.
Gilt-framed paintings adorned the dark paneled walls, and the long mahogany table gleamed beneath crystal decanters and sparkling silverware.
Footmen stepped forward to pull out chairs as the ladies approached.
Theodosia murmured a quiet “thank you” as she sat down and unfolded her white linen napkin. The temptation to shrink into the upholstery was stronger than she cared to admit.
Lord Wilton and Lady Wilton took their seats at opposite ends of the table, and Olivia settled directly across from her.
Trying to fill the silence before it thickened, Theodosia said, a little louder than usual, “This is a beautiful table.”
Lady Wilton smiled. “Thank you, my dear. It was commissioned by my father when I was a child. I insisted we bring it here when David inherited the house. It holds memories,” she said, not looking up as the footmen began placing steaming bowls of creamy soup in front of each guest.
Theodosia reached for her spoon as the scent of leek and potato drifted upward. It was a familiar scent. Still, her appetite waned with nerves. Everything felt too rich, too grand—like slipping into a world she admired but didn’t quite belong to.