Chapter 12
Richard adjusted his top hat with a brisk tug, settling it more firmly on his head as the open carriage rolled through the streets of London. The sun was bright and cheerful, but his jaw was clenched as he recalled his last conversation with Miss Theodosia.
What in the blazes had he been thinking telling Miss Theodosia that she would look lovely in a blue gown?
He didn’t care what she wore. He couldn’t afford to care.
And yet, the very thought of how that particular shade complemented her eyes had formed on his tongue before he could stop it.
Madness. Absolute madness. She was not even a proper guest in his household—merely installed there under the guise of being Olivia’s companion.
And here he was, thinking about the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled.
Dangerous territory indeed.
The last thing he needed to do was develop feelings for her.
The carriage slowed and came to a halt before Gunter’s.
Patrons were already gathered beneath the establishment’s distinctive green awning, many of them pausing to note their arrival.
Richard’s gaze swept over the assembly, daring anyone to voice their opinions aloud.
Let them stare. He would not have Olivia subjected to ridicule—at least, not in his presence.
Across from him, Olivia looked about nervously. “Why did I agree to this outing?” she asked under her breath.
“Because the lemon ice is divine,” Miss Theodosia replied with a teasing smile. “And because you deserve to indulge in a little sweetness now and again. Besides, why should we care what these people think?”
“I do care,” Olivia admitted. “I care very much. They are judging me... as harshly as I judge myself.”
Without hesitation, Miss Theodosia nudged Olivia’s shoulder affectionately. “Then it sounds to me like you need a distraction. I could read to you. Or—if you’re lucky—I might even juggle.”
Richard huffed. “You do not juggle.”
Miss Theodosia arched a brow at him. “And how can you be so certain, my lord?”
“Because women do not juggle,” he said in a tone that suggested the matter was beyond debate.
She gave him a slow, smug smile. “I am many things, Lord Wilton, but a liar is not one of them.”
He leveled a skeptical gaze at her. “Are you honestly expecting me to believe that a genteel-born daughter of a baronet has mastered such a skill?”
“I am,” she said simply.
Before he could press further, a male server from Gunter’s approached the carriage with a polite bow. “Are you ready to order, my lord?”
“We’ll have three lemon ices,” Richard replied, “and three oranges.”
The man looked surprised by the request. “Three whole oranges?”
“Yes,” Richard confirmed, his tone brooking no questions.
As the server turned away, Miss Theodosia leaned towards him with narrowed eyes. “Do you truly intend for me to juggle in front of Gunter’s, on a crowded afternoon?”
“Is that a problem?” he asked with feigned innocence.
She met his gaze. “Not at all. Though I ought to warn you, it will attract attention.”
“I believe that’s the entire point,” he said dryly. “Unless, of course, you care to admit that you fabricated the whole thing.”
“And why would I do that?” she countered. “It sounds to me as though someone is afraid of being proven wrong.”
“Juggling is not a drawing room accomplishment,” Richard said stiffly. “It belongs to the circus.”
Olivia turned in her seat to regard her companion with sudden eagerness. “Wait—can you truly juggle?”
“I can,” Miss Theodosia replied. “Though it’s been some time since I last attempted it. I might be a touch rusty.”
Just then, the server returned with a small wooden tray bearing three glossy oranges. He extended them towards Richard. “Will these do, my lord?”
“They are perfect,” Richard said, handing them over to Miss Theodosia. “Might I trouble you for a demonstration?”
She accepted the oranges and adjusted them in her gloved hands. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
Without another word, she tossed one orange into the air and caught it smoothly. Then the second followed. And finally, the third. Within moments, all three oranges danced between her hands in a swift, fluid rhythm that defied expectation. Her posture was effortless, and her movements were precise.
The surrounding patrons—many of whom had pretended not to notice their arrival—began to murmur and gawk openly.
After a few passes, she caught the oranges neatly and returned them to her lap with a triumphant smirk. “Are you satisfied now, my lord?”
He stared at her, quite dumbfounded. “How did you come by such a skill?”
“My uncle taught me,” she said with a casual shrug. “Much to the mortification of my mother and father. It amused him to see how quickly I could master it, but my mother made me swear never to do it in public again. She was terrified of what the villagers would think.”
Miss Theodosia turned her head, taking in the widened eyes and scandalized expressions of Gunter’s patrons, and continued. “It would appear I’ve gone and attracted quite the audience.”
Olivia laughed, clearly delighted. “At least they’re staring at you now instead of me.”
“I don’t mind,” Miss Theodosia said. “You deserve kindness, Olivia. Not the judgment of people who are too proud to examine their own faults.”
The server returned with three glass bowls filled with lemon ice. “Will there be anything else?”
“No,” Richard said, handing the desserts to the ladies. “This will do nicely.”
As they began to eat, the atmosphere grew lighter, the ice a welcome reprieve from the warmth of the day.
Miss Theodosia dabbed her lips with a napkin. “Does anyone else have a hidden talent they’ve kept secret?”
“I can play the pianoforte,” Olivia offered, reaching for her spoon.
“That is hardly a shocking revelation,” Miss Theodosia remarked.
“No, but what most people don’t know is that I’m quite good at it,” Olivia replied. “I always play the simpler pieces in public. I don’t care to perform for an audience.”
Richard nodded. “She’s telling the truth. Olivia plays with remarkable skill when no one’s watching.”
“I never learned,” Miss Theodosia confessed. “The pianoforte never held my interest.”
Olivia’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Not at all?”
“I’m afraid not. My interests… wandered elsewhere,” she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
He shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. What a curious, infuriating, impossible woman. However, the image of her juggling oranges—utterly unrepentant and proud—refused to leave his mind.
Richard had just polished off the final spoonful of his lemon ice, savoring the lingering chill on his tongue, when he caught sight of a familiar figure weaving through the crowd. Mr. Addington, impeccably dressed as always, approached the carriage with a purposeful stride.
Lifting a hand in greeting, Richard called out, “Addington.”
His friend halted beside the carriage and offered a polite bow. “Good afternoon, Wilton.” His gaze shifted to the others. “Lady Olivia.” He bowed again, this time with greater courtesy.
“Mr. Addington,” Olivia returned with a cordial smile.
But Richard noted the brief, inquisitive pause in Addington’s gaze when it settled on Miss Theodosia.
Without hesitation, Richard gestured towards her. “Mr. Addington, allow me to introduce Miss Theodosia Smith—Olivia’s companion during her stay in Town.”
Addington tipped his head. “Miss Theodosia. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is mine, sir,” she answered, responding in kind.
Olivia leaned slightly forward. “I believe I heard you are now a Fellow at Oxford. Is that true?”
Addington puffed out his chest in pride. “Indeed. I received the appointment last month.”
“How very impressive,” Olivia said. “Your parents must be pleased.”
At once, his expression faltered, and he offered a rueful smile. “Ah, I’m afraid not. My father considers it a waste of time. He believes a proper Englishman should be acquiring estates, not lecturing about ancient Rome to distracted students.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Olivia said.
He waved a hand as if brushing away her sympathy. “No need. I reconciled myself to disappointing him long ago. Besides, it’s far too pleasant a day for complaints, is it not?”
Richard gave a faint nod of agreement, though his attention was more fixed on the subtle change in his sister’s demeanor. She was toying with the lace of her sleeve, her gaze distant.
“How is Lord Harwood enjoying married life?” Olivia asked.
“He and his new bride are still enjoying their wedding tour. I’m told they are somewhere along the coast now—Devonshire, perhaps,” Addington replied.
Olivia dropped her gaze, and in that instant, Richard saw the brightness leave her eyes. A shadow passed over her features—pain, or perhaps longing. The transformation was swift but unmistakable.
He furrowed his brow. What was it about that comment? Was it the mention of a honeymoon? Of Lord Harwood content in marriage? Whatever it was, Olivia was clearly unsettled.
Taking a step back, Addington said, “Well, I should be on my way. I hadn’t meant to intrude.”
“You’re not,” Richard responded. “You’re welcome to stay and join us.”
“That is kind of you, but I shall have to decline.”
Richard noticed Addington’s gaze drift once more towards Miss Theodosia. This time it lingered—just a moment too long, with a spark of appreciation that Richard found oddly unwelcome.
The reaction was irrational, of course. Miss Theodosia was young, strikingly beautiful, and carried herself with a confident grace. It was of little wonder that Addington would notice. Any man would.
So why was Richard’s jaw tense?
Something about the idea of Addington—charming, well-positioned, and altogether eligible—showing interest in Miss Theodosia unsettled him far more than it ought to have.
He forced a polite smile. “Perhaps we’ll see you at Warwicke’s ball?”
Addington tipped his hat. “If I can finish my work before then, I’ll be there.”