Chapter 11 #3
His answering chuckle was low and genuine—the sort of sound that invited a smile in return. “I merely speak the truth. Would you prefer I lie?”
“No,” she responded. “I prefer the truth.”
He reached out then, his fingers brushing along a bolt of pale blue muslin that lay unfurled across the settee. “This one,” he murmured. “I believe this would suit you exceedingly well. It would bring out the color in your eyes.”
It was the way he said it—quiet, unforced, utterly sincere—that made the words land with unexpected weight. Her breath caught just slightly, and to her mortification, warmth rushed to her cheeks. She ducked her head in an attempt to hide the flush.
Why was she reacting this way? They were only words. Kindly meant, perhaps. But still, only words.
Before she could muster a reply, Olivia’s voice rang out from behind them. “I am ready to depart!”
Relieved by the timely interruption, Theodosia turned towards her a touch too quickly. “Let us depart, then,” she said, her voice perhaps a little louder than it needed to be.
Yes, far too loud.
But if Lord Wilton noticed her discomposure, he made no mention of it. Instead, he merely offered his arm with the easy politeness of a gentleman.
And, after a brief pause, she took it.
She allowed Lord Wilton to lead her from the parlor.
They walked in silence through the corridor, and for that she was grateful.
Her thoughts were still far too muddled by the strange flutter she’d felt in his presence just moments ago.
It had been the most ordinary of compliments, yet it had left her oddly unsettled.
Why?
She stole a glance at him as they reached the entry hall, but his expression was unreadable—composed, as always. Did he know how easily he’d flustered her?
The butler straightened as they approached and gave a dignified nod. “The open drawn carriage is out front, my lord.”
“Thank you,” Lord Wilton replied.
They stepped outside and the open carriage stood ready at the base of the steps, the horses tossing their heads impatiently.
Without hesitation, Lord Wilton turned to assist the ladies.
Olivia climbed in first and then Theodosia placed her gloved hand in his.
His grip was warm and firm as he helped her up, steadying her with more care than was necessary.
Once she was seated beside Olivia, he circled around and took his place opposite them.
With a lurch, the carriage set off, wheels creaking as they rolled onto the bustling street. The familiar clatter of hooves and distant murmur of London life surrounded them, yet within the carriage lingered a moment of quiet.
It was Olivia who broke it, her voice light with interest. “I was thinking we should attend Lady Warwicke’s ball in a few days.”
“A ball?” Lord Wilton repeated, lifting a brow. “Do you truly think that is wise, given the current murmurings about our family?”
Olivia waved a hand dismissively. “The gossip will fade. It always does. And what better way to remind Society that we are not hiding in shame than to be seen at one of the Season’s most anticipated events?”
His gaze sharpened slightly, but he made no immediate rebuttal. Instead, he turned his attention to Theodosia. “And what say you? Does the idea of a grand ball appeal to you?”
She felt herself sit a little straighter beneath the weight of his scrutiny. “I have never attended a ball in London,” she admitted, a tinge of excitement creeping into her voice despite her best efforts to remain composed. “I imagine it would be quite the experience.”
His lips quirked in a way that might have been amusement—or approval. “Then I suppose we shall accept the invitation.”
Olivia clasped her hands together. “What fun we shall have! I simply adore a good ball.”
Theodosia smiled faintly, but her thoughts had already begun to drift. Despite her initial hesitations about London Society, she found herself genuinely eager for the upcoming ball. Would a gentleman ask her to dance? Would Lord Wilton?
She tried to imagine it: his gloved palm reaching for hers, the press of his hand at her back, the strength of his arm as he guided her through the elegant steps of a waltz.
The closeness of such a thing—of him—was enough to make her breath catch.
It was foolish, of course. And yet… the thought carried with it a strange, undeniable allure.
“Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Theodosia?” Lord Wilton asked.
His voice cut through her reverie like a blade, and she blinked. “Pardon?” she said. “I’m afraid I was… woolgathering.”
He looked amused. “Anything you’d care to share?”
“No,” she replied swiftly, a touch too quickly. “Nothing of importance.”
Olivia’s brows lifted, clearly intrigued, but to her credit, she said nothing.
Theodosia folded her hands in her lap and fixed her gaze out at the bustling street, willing the warmth in her cheeks to fade. Whatever had possessed her to woolgather about dancing with Lord Wilton—of all people—needed to be banished.
He was her employer’s brother. Nothing more.
As the carriage rattled forward, she knew no good would come from dwelling a moment longer on the infuriatingly handsome Lord Wilton.