Chapter 12 #2
With one last look at Miss Theodosia—this time paired with a parting smile—he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.
Silence descended over the carriage, and Richard saw Miss Theodosia eyeing him curiously.
“Is something wrong, my lord?” she asked.
“Not at all,” Richard replied briskly, though his tone lacked conviction. “I simply find it curious how many gentlemen discover their manners when introduced to you.”
Her lips curved faintly. “And do you object to good manners?”
“I object to someone ogling you.”
“And you think Mr. Addington was ogling me?” Miss Theodosia asked with amusement in her voice.
He adjusted the cuff of his coat. “It was merely an observation.”
She said nothing, but the look in her eyes told him she saw more than he wished to admit.
Much more.
Olivia spoke up. “Mr. Addington is not capable of ogling anyone. I daresay you are mistaken, Brother.”
“I know what I saw,” he replied, a touch too forcefully.
“Perhaps you need spectacles, then,” Olivia remarked lightly.
Richard did not want to prolong this line of conversation, especially under his sister’s perceptive gaze. She would see through him—just as Miss Theodosia had.
Theodosia sat near the window in the parlor, her needle moving in and out of her embroidery.
A shaft of golden afternoon sunlight illuminated her stitches, though her concentration faltered now and then—not from difficulty with the pattern, but from the music filling the room.
Olivia was seated at the pianoforte, her fingers gliding across the keys with graceful mastery.
The melodies were light and elegant, yet tinged with something more wistful beneath the surface.
Still, since their visit to Gunter’s, a question had been gnawing at the edge of her thoughts, refusing to be silenced.
The final note drifted into silence, and Olivia let her hands fall into her lap. She rose from the bench with a soft sigh and crossed to the settee, flopping onto it with none of the polish expected of a lady.
“What shall we do now?” she asked, brushing a stray curl from her face.
Lowering her needlework to her lap, Theodosia said, “We could speak about what happened at Gunter’s earlier.”
Olivia made a face and sank deeper into the cushions. “I would prefer not to.” She pointed towards the chessboard on a side table. “We could play a game instead.”
Theodosia gave her a knowing look. “I take it the gentleman you once loved is Lord Harwood.”
Olivia stiffened slightly. “Was it so obvious?”
“Not to most,” Theodosia replied. “But I’ve never known you to appear uneasy around anyone. Today was… different.”
With a resigned sigh, Olivia clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “Yes. I once believed I was in love with Lord Harwood. Foolishly, of course.”
“And you no longer believe it?”
“Not when the man is married to another,” Olivia said bitterly. “That has a way of stripping away illusions.”
Theodosia offered a faint, understanding smile. “Feelings don’t vanish the moment someone becomes unavailable. It simply means you mustn’t act upon them.”
“Oh, I would never,” Olivia said, her voice laced with scorn. “The man is a blackguard. He promised me everything—devotion, a future, even marriage. And then he married another without a word of explanation.”
Theodosia’s smile faded. “I’m sorry, Olivia. That must have been painful.”
Olivia waved a hand dismissively, though the motion lacked its usual liveliness. “It’s over now. He made his choice, and I must live with it.”
“You didn’t deserve to be treated so callously.”
“No, I didn’t. But that’s the world we live in, is it not? Where trust is a fool’s currency.”
Theodosia met her gaze. “You can trust me.”
“Can I?”
“Why are you surprised?” Theodosia asked. “I want only what is best for you.”
There was a pause, and then Olivia spoke carefully. “Are you acquainted with my husband?”
Theodosia blinked, taken aback. “No. Why would I be?”
“It’s just…” Olivia hesitated. “My brother seems convinced that you know more than you’re letting on about Luke Smith.”
Setting her embroidery aside on the nearby table, Theodosia straightened. “I have told your brother—repeatedly, in fact—that I do not know this Mr. Smith. He is not my brother, nor any relation to me. The name is a mere coincidence.”
Olivia tilted her head, studying her, as if gauging her sincerity. After a long moment, she nodded. “I believe you.”
“Good,” Theodosia said. “Now perhaps you can knock that truth into your brother’s thick skull.”
Adopting a more rigid posture, Olivia deepened her voice in imitation. “‘You cannot insult me. I am a marquess!’”
Olivia’s impersonation was so uncanny that Theodosia burst out laughing. “He does announce it rather often, doesn’t he? Do you think he ever forgets?”
“I highly doubt it,” Olivia replied, giggling.
Just then, the parlor door opened and Lady Wilton swept in and lightly chided, “Do leave your brother alone, Olivia.”
“I cannot help myself, Mother. He is just so terribly stuffy.”
Lady Wilton made a sound between a laugh and a sigh as she took a seat beside her daughter. “He is very much like his father in that respect. Stiff and stubborn, but both with hearts of gold.”
Turning her attention to Theodosia, she asked, “How are you settling in here, dear?”
“I’m enjoying myself greatly,” Theodosia replied with genuine warmth. “Everyone has been most welcoming.”
Lady Wilton’s face lit with pleasure. “Wonderful. I’m so pleased to hear it.”
At that moment, the butler entered, bearing a silver tray with a single letter atop it. “A letter for Miss Theodosia.”
She rose, accepted the letter with a murmur of thanks, and glanced down at the handwriting. Her heart lifted. “It’s from my dearest friend, Penelope.”
“Will you read it now?” Lady Wilton asked.
“I shall, in a little while,” Theodosia replied, slipping the missive into a concealed pocket in her gown as she returned to her seat.
Lady Wilton held her gaze and asked, “Have you heard from your man of business recently?”
“Not yet,” Theodosia said. “But before leaving, I gave him a very thorough list of what I expect to be managed in my absence. I’m quite detailed when it comes to estate affairs.”
Lady Wilton nodded with a look of impressed approval. “You must have a remarkable head for business.”
Olivia straightened suddenly, her eyes bright. “Do you think I could manage an estate?”
Without looking at her, Lady Wilton answered, “No.”
Olivia’s mouth fell open. “Well, that was rather rude.”
“I meant no offense, darling,” her mother said, clearly amused. “But you and Richard both inherited my lack of skill with numbers. We tend to mix them about, even when we try very hard not to.”
Olivia gave a theatrical sigh and flopped back against the settee. “So much for my future as a shrewd landowner.”
“I daresay that you shall manage,” Lady Wilton said.
Just then, a maid entered the room, balancing a gleaming silver tea service upon a tray. She moved with silent efficiency and placed it carefully upon the low table before Lady Wilton.
“Shall I pour, my lady?” the maid asked politely.
Lady Wilton gave a shake of her head. “That won’t be necessary. Lady Olivia shall see to the tea.”
Olivia straightened at once and reached for the teapot with exaggerated seriousness. “So I cannot be trusted with numbers,” she muttered, “but I am deemed fit to serve refreshments.”
“Precisely,” Lady Wilton said with a smile. “An invaluable skill.”
Olivia poured three cups of tea and distributed them. Theodosia took a sip of her tea and then lowered her cup to her lap, turning her gaze to Lady Wilton.
“I understand,” she began slowly, “that your marriage to the late Lord Wilton was… a practical arrangement?”
Lady Wilton did not appear startled by the question. Her gaze turned contemplative. “Yes, it was. A marriage of convenience, arranged by our families. There was no courtship to speak of. We barely knew each other.”
“But it changed over time?”
Lady Wilton’s expression softened. “Yes. Respect came first. Then affection. And eventually, something far deeper. When he passed, I found myself quite lost. I could not imagine my life without him by the end.”
“I think that’s rather beautiful,” Theodosia murmured.
“You will have your own love story one day,” Lady Wilton encouraged. “I’ve no doubt of it.”
Theodosia’s fingers tightened slightly around the teacup. “I often wonder… what I would have to give up to be married.”
Lady Wilton considered her thoughtfully. “Perhaps you are looking at it the wrong way. What if, instead, you asked yourself what you might gain?”
“I wish it were that simple.”
“Sometimes,” Lady Wilton said, setting her cup down, “it can be. Two good people, committed to one another, can create something wonderful together. But both must bring sincerity to the table.”
Theodosia’s voice lowered. “If I were to marry, my husband would almost certainly insist on managing my estate. And I… I could not abide that.”
Lady Wilton nodded with understanding. “Then the right man would not ask it of you. He would recognize that managing your estate brings you joy, and he would wish for you to keep doing so.”
Theodosia gave a soft laugh, more wistful than amused. “And where might I find such a man?”
A knowing smile touched Lady Wilton’s lips. “He may be closer than you think.”
The butler appeared in the doorway and cleared his throat discreetly. “Pardon the interruption, my lady. Mr. Pritchett has come to call on Miss Theodosia Smith. He requests a few moments of her time.”
Lady Wilton lifted a single brow. “And who, precisely, is Mr. Pritchett?”
Olivia set her cup down and leaned forward with interest. “He proposed to Dosia before she came to London. She refused him.”
Lady Wilton turned to Theodosia and asked, “And what would you like to do, my dear?”
Theodosia glanced towards the open doorway, her features composed, though her stomach tightened. “I suppose there’s no harm in allowing him a few minutes.”
“As you wish,” Lady Wilton said, giving a slight nod to the butler. “Show Mr. Pritchett in.”
The butler bowed and disappeared. A few moments later, the parlor door opened again to admit Mr. Pritchett, who had perspiration gleaming at his temples. He clutched a handkerchief in one gloved hand and offered a shallow bow upon entering.
“Forgive me,” he said with a sheepish smile, dabbing at his brow. “It is rather warm out this afternoon.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Theodosia replied, rising from her chair. Her tone was cordial but she didn’t wish to encourage the man. She had refused his offer of marriage for a myriad of reasons. She gestured to an armchair across from hers. “Please, do sit down, Mr. Pritchett.”
“You’re looking well, Miss Theodosia,” he said, his gaze lingering on her face with unmistakable admiration. “Quite well, indeed.”
“Thank you,” she replied.
An awkward silence hovered for a breath too long before Lady Wilton leaned subtly towards her daughter and murmured, “Dear, we have a guest. I am certain he would appreciate a refreshment.”
Olivia gracefully reached for the teapot. “Would you care for a cup of tea, Mr. Pritchett?” she asked sweetly, though her smile did not quite reach her eyes.
He waved a hand. “Most kind of you, Lady Olivia, but I fear I must decline. The very thought of tepid tea on such a warm day turns my stomach.”
Knowing what was expected of her, Theodosia gestured between their guest and Lady Wilton. “Mr. Pritchett, allow me to introduce you to Lady Wilton.”
Mr. Pritchett scrambled to his feet and gave a stiff, awkward bow in the older lady’s direction. “My lady. A true honor.”
Lady Wilton responded with a courteous nod, though her expression remained neutral. Her eyes quickly returned to her tea.
Once Mr. Pritchett had reseated himself, Theodosia asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today, sir?”
He gave a rueful smile and leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “Only the pleasure of your company, Miss Theodosia. I happened to be in the area and thought I might pay my respects.”
Theodosia forced a smile to her lips as she attempted to come up with a believable lie to end this visit. “That is… thoughtful of you. But I’m afraid we cannot linger long since Lady Olivia insists upon a daily turn about the gardens with her dog before we begin preparations for supper.”
Olivia, ever quick to catch a cue, nodded with feigned earnestness. “It is quite true. I find that if my dog does not take the air at least twice a day, he becomes rather insufferable to those around him. It’s how I manage his excess energy.”
Mr. Pritchett gave a short nod, dabbing his brow again. “I understand. I would not dream of imposing upon your routine.” But his eyes flicked towards Theodosia once more, his disappointment only thinly veiled.
Theodosia shifted slightly in her seat, the angle of her posture growing a fraction more formal.
She had no wish to wound Mr. Pritchett’s feelings outright.
He had never been unkind, only persistent—and woefully mismatched.
Still, that did not obligate her to offer warmth where there was none to give.
Politeness, yes.
Encouragement, no.
And she would not make the mistake of blurring the line between the two.