Chapter 8 #2
“But that’s so far away,” Olivia protested. “And Finnegan is simply famished. Besides, he’s so very small. He eats hardly anything at all.”
“Olivia—” Richard began, his voice edged with warning.
“Richard is right,” their mother interjected. “You will not feed that dog at the table.”
Olivia sighed with theatrical resignation. “Very well,” she said, giving Finnegan a final nuzzle before placing him gently on the floor. The puppy gave a tiny sneeze, then scampered off, his little paws tapping a lively rhythm across the polished wood floor.
Miss Theodosia watched the dog warily before turning back towards her plate.
The long clock chimed in the corner and Olivia stood up. “Well, Minerva Press Circulating Library should be open by now,” she announced. “Shall we be off, Dosia?”
“Yes, please do,” Richard muttered.
Unbothered, Olivia grinned and cast him a knowing glance. “You say that now, Brother, but you’ll miss us the moment we’re gone.”
“Highly unlikely, especially since I intend to go to the club the moment I finish breakfast,” he replied.
Olivia placed a hand to her heart in mock offense. “What a cold farewell. One would think you were eager to be rid of us.”
“I am,” he replied evenly, lifting his cup in a mock toast. “Now off you go—before I change my mind and accompany you, just to make the outing miserable.”
Laughing, Olivia gestured towards the doorway with an elegant sweep of her arm. “Come along, Dosia. Let us leave my brother to his grumpiness and brandy-soaked solitude.”
Once they had departed, Richard reached for the newssheets and started reading. He had barely read a paragraph when his mother’s voice drifted across the table.
“You ought to be kinder to Miss Theodosia.”
He didn’t look up. “I won’t throw rocks at her, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“That is a relief,” his mother replied. “But there’s a wide gulf between refraining from assault and exercising basic courtesy. Kindness often goes much further than you think.”
He lowered the newssheets and met her gaze. “You forget that Miss Theodosia is not some innocent young miss in need of my civility. She is a liar. A clever, calculating one. She knows far more than she admits about Olivia’s husband.”
“Be that as it may…” his mother began.
“I’ve no time for a lecture,” he interrupted, rising from his seat.
His mother’s expression remained composed, though her eyes held a familiar glint of disapproval. “I raised you to be a gentleman. You’d do well to remember it.”
“I am a gentleman,” he replied. “I manage the estate, protect our name, and keep this family from collapsing under scandal. I know my duty.”
“There is more to life than ledgers and accounts,” she said. “One day, perhaps sooner than you think, you will want to start a family.”
“But that day is not today,” he stated before he departed from the room, having no desire to talk about such things.
Theodosia sat across from Olivia in the swaying coach, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery beyond the window.
It was all so strange and thrilling—the crush of people bustling along the pavement, the elegant carriages weaving through narrow lanes, and the towering buildings rising side by side like sentinels of a world she had never known.
She couldn’t decide what fascinated her more: the ever-changing press of fashionable pedestrians or the architectural splendor that surrounded them.
Both seemed to demand her attention at once.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Olivia’s voice. “You must think I’m intolerably stupid for marrying a man I scarcely knew.”
Theodosia turned her head and met Olivia’s gaze. “I’ve thought no such thing.”
A rueful smile played at Olivia’s lips. “Well, that’s precisely how I feel. Foolish.” She shifted slightly in her seat, pulling her pelisse tighter around her. “I didn’t even kiss Luke—not once, not even after the wedding. We barely even touched. It was as though he couldn’t bear to be near me.”
Theodosia felt a dozen questions spring to mind, but she hesitated, wary of prying too deeply into wounds that were clearly still raw. Yet Olivia didn’t seem to need prompting.
“Luke promised me everything—security, affection, even adventure. He said he wanted to build a life with me. But none of it was true.” Her voice grew tight, her hands clenched in her lap. “Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I know he was lying?”
“Because he deceived you,” Theodosia said gently. “You placed your trust in him, and he exploited it. That’s not your fault.”
Olivia exhaled sharply through her nose. “I ran off to Gretna Green like some besotted fool. I destroyed my reputation, gave up any semblance of a respectable future—and for what? The moment he collected the dowry from the solicitor, he vanished.”
“The man has no shame,” Theodosia remarked.
There was a pause, and then Olivia studied her more intently. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
“Do what?”
“Lie to me. Pretend to be someone you’re not.”
Theodosia furrowed her brow. “No. I’ve no reason to deceive you.”
“None at all?” Olivia pressed, her tone sharp with suspicion.
“What would I even lie about?”
Olivia gave a weary sigh and looked away. “I suppose I have no choice but to trust you.”
Before Theodosia could respond, the coach jerked to a halt in front of a whitewashed brick building nestled between taller establishments. A wrought iron sign swung overhead, proclaiming in elegant script: Minerva Press Circulating Library.
A footman appeared, swiftly opening the coach door and offering a gloved hand. Theodosia waited for Olivia to descend first before accepting the assistance herself, withdrawing her hand as soon as her boots touched the cobbled pavement.
“I can’t wait for you to see this,” Olivia said with genuine excitement, motioning towards the door. “You’re going to adore it.”
With a curious smile, Theodosia followed her inside and immediately came to a halt just beyond the threshold.
The air was filled with the warm scent of aged paper and wood polish.
Towering shelves crammed with books lined the walls in every direction.
A wide, arched ceiling gave the room an almost cathedral-like sense of reverence.
Olivia beamed at her reaction. “Is it not spectacular?”
Theodosia’s voice was hushed in awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Not even close.”
Olivia pointed towards a doorway on their left. “That leads to the salon. Ladies gather there to play card games, gossip, and engage in what they call serious conversation.” She grinned. “Come—I want to show you the books written by women.”
She led Theodosia to a long shelf tucked along the back wall. With great reverence, Olivia ran her fingers along the spines as though greeting old friends. “Every book here was written by a woman,” she explained.
“I had no idea so many women had written books.”
“Oh, many more than you think. But these women”—she tapped one of the covers—“were brave enough to claim their words.”
Theodosia plucked a small volume from the shelf, its cloth cover faded but the title embossed in gold. “Can anyone borrow these?”
“You must have a subscription,” Olivia explained. “But the annual fee is less than two pounds, which is entirely manageable for a single reader.”
“A fair price, considering what’s available to us,” Theodosia replied.
“My mother is a patron here,” Olivia said with a note of pride. She opened a nearby volume and inhaled its scent. “She always believed in supporting women’s education.”
“That is most generous of her.”
Olivia lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Would you care to see the scandalous French romances?”
Theodosia laughed. “I doubt I have a choice in the matter.”
With a gleam in her eye, Olivia guided her to another section, whispering as they walked, “Some critics claim these libraries encourage laziness and corrupt young ladies with fantastical ideas.”
“I disagree.”
“As do I,” Olivia said firmly. “It’s not as though I confuse Gothic horrors with everyday life.”
“I should hope not,” Theodosia responded, giggling.
They reached another row of shelves, and Olivia immediately began selecting books. “This one you must read,” she said, thrusting a volume into Theodosia’s hands. “And this one. Oh! You’ll absolutely love this.”
Before long, Theodosia was cradling an ever-growing stack of books, each one insisted upon with the same enthusiasm. She looked down at the pile and laughed. “I think I have enough to last me a fortnight—at the very least.”
Olivia smiled with satisfaction. “That’s the spirit.”
Theodosia crossed the room and made her way to an empty reading table tucked near a tall window. The sunlight filtered through the glass panes. With a slight huff, she set her burden down. “They were becoming rather heavy,” she shared.
Olivia joined her a moment later, brushing a few errant curls from her brow before plucking the top book from the stack. She turned it over in her hands, her expression thoughtful. “Dosia,” she asked, “have you ever been in love?”
Caught off guard by the question, Theodosia straightened the spine of one of the books before replying, “No. I haven’t.”
Olivia’s brow arched, curiosity still flickering in her gaze. “Any offers of marriage?”
Theodosia gave a small nod. “A gentleman from my village recently offered for me.”
Olivia carefully returned the book to the top of the pile. “And you refused him?”
“I did,” Theodosia confirmed, glancing down at her hands. “He was kind, respectable and a landowner. Everyone said I ought to be pleased, but… I didn’t love him.”
“You want love, then?”
Theodosia paused before admitting, “I do. I know some might think that na?ve or even reckless. But I would rather be alone than marry without affection.”
Olivia reached out and laid a hand over Theodosia’s sleeve. “I think that’s brave of you.”
“Brave?”
“Yes. So many women accept what is offered to them—security, position, a name. But love? That is rarely promised. And even more rarely insisted upon.”
There was something in Olivia’s tone—wistful and shaded with regret—that gave Theodosia pause. “Were you in love with Mr. Smith?” she asked.
A laugh escaped Olivia, short and bitter. She gave a firm shake of her head. “Heavens, no. Whatever I felt for Luke, it was most certainly not love.”
“But you have loved before, haven’t you?” Theodosia pressed.
Olivia’s posture stiffened slightly, and she turned her face away. “Yes. I loved someone once. And for a little while, I thought he loved me in return.”
Theodosia said nothing, sensing this was a confession long kept buried.
“He made me believe there was a future for us,” Olivia continued. “He gave me every reason to hope… and then he married someone else.”
Silence fell between them for a long moment. The only sound was the faint rustle of pages turning somewhere across the room.
“I’m sorry,” Theodosia murmured, unsure of what else she could say.
Olivia gave a small shrug, but her eyes shimmered. “It was a long time ago. And I’ve made my peace with it.” She forced a faint smile. “But it does leave you wondering whether love is worth the ache.”
Theodosia reached for Olivia’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I think it is.”
“That is why I so foolishly ran off to Gretna Green with Luke,” Olivia said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t thinking clearly, and I just wanted the pain to go away. But all I’ve done is make everything worse. I’ve only deepened the ache I was trying to escape.”
Theodosia gave her a sympathetic look. “There’s no simple remedy for a broken heart. I watched my father wrestle with his grief after my mother died. He went about his days as if nothing had changed, kept up appearances for my sake, but the sadness in his eyes never truly faded.”
Olivia reached into the delicate reticule hanging from her wrist and pulled out a lace-trimmed handkerchief. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “My brother doesn’t understand. How could he? I sometimes think his heart is partially made from stone.”
“Have you tried talking to him about all this?” Theodosia asked.
Olivia looked horrified at the mere suggestion. “Good heavens, no. Richard values duty above all else. He would never understand why I acted the way I did. I know he resents me for dragging our family’s name through the mud.”
“Has he said as much to you?”
“No. But I see it in his eyes when he looks at me. That particular look of silent judgment.”
Theodosia’s lips twitched. “Would you describe it as something between profound disappointment and barely restrained annoyance?”
Olivia’s brows lifted slightly. “That is… oddly precise.”
“Well, then I wouldn’t take it too personally,” Theodosia said. “Because that is exactly how he looks at me most of the time.”
Olivia laughed softly. “My brother plays the brooding lord role far too convincingly.”
“It is rather fun to tease him,” Theodosia admitted. “It is almost like poking a bear just to see its reaction.”
Olivia tucked her handkerchief away. “I won’t tell him you said that.”
“Thank you,” Theodosia replied, reaching for the stack of books she had earlier collected. “Now, where does one go to check these out?”
“Allow me,” Olivia said, taking half the stack from Theodosia’s arms. “This way.”
They made their way across the circulating library, weaving between tall shelves and small clusters of women deep in conversation.
In the center of the room, behind a wide wooden counter, stood a thin man with silver spectacles perched precariously on his nose.
A large leather-bound ledger lay open in front of him, his quill poised in hand as if caught mid-thought.
Olivia set her portion of books down beside the ledger with a decisive thump. “We would like to take these books home with us.”
The man looked up slowly, adjusting his spectacles and peering at the pile with wide eyes. “All of these?”
“Yes,” Olivia replied. “That won’t be a problem, will it?”
“No, my lady. Not at all,” he said quickly. “I will simply need a moment to record the titles.”
He reached for the first book, squinting slightly as he copied its information into the ledger with slow, precise strokes.
Olivia turned towards Theodosia and asked, “Have you ever been to Gunter’s Tea Shop for some lemon ice?”
“No, but I have been dying to try some,” she replied.
“We should go after this,” Olivia suggested.
Theodosia felt her lips curl into a smile. “I would like that.”