Chapter 14 #2
She turned fully at that, eyes dancing with amusement. “So I’ve been told… by you, repeatedly, I might add.”
With a parting smile, she dipped into a graceful curtsy and slipped through the doorway. He dropped into the nearest chair. What was wrong with him?
He had developed feelings for Miss Theodosia. Real ones. Inconvenient, entirely inappropriate feelings. And the most maddening part was that he had known about them for some time, known about them and ignored them, or perhaps pretended they would pass.
But they hadn’t. Those feelings had only deepened.
He leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling as if it might offer some sort of wisdom. What sort of fool falls for the very woman he suspects of harboring secrets? The woman he had deceived into coming to London under false pretenses.
The worst part wasn’t that he cared for her. It was that he knew, with unwavering certainty, that he would do absolutely nothing about it.
Miss Theodosia was the last woman he could ever consider for a wife. She was unsuitable for a myriad of reasons, and, worst of all, dangerous to his peace of mind.
No. He could not act on these feelings.
He wouldn’t.
But heaven help him, he wanted to.
Theodosia paused just outside the door to Lord Wilton’s study, her back pressing lightly against the paneled wall as though she needed its support to remain upright.
Her pulse still fluttered with agitation, her thoughts befuddled.
What had just transpired between them? One moment they had been speaking of figures and ledgers, and the next…
it had shifted. Subtly. Powerfully. Irrevocably.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, willing her heartbeat to slow.
It was utterly maddening—this effect he had on her.
Lord Wilton, with his abrupt manner and guarded expression, was the last man she ought to feel drawn to.
And yet, when his facade slipped, when a flicker of vulnerability crept into his voice…
it stirred something deep within her. Something dangerous. Something undeniably compelling.
Her reverie was broken by the familiar voice of Olivia. “Oh, there you are,” she called as she approached. “Some of your dresses have arrived.”
Theodosia pushed away from the wall and straightened her shoulders. “Already?”
“Yes, and we must see them at once,” Olivia said eagerly. “The maids have laid them out in the parlor for your inspection. Come along—Madame Duchon has surely outdone herself.”
Theodosia managed a smile, grateful for the distraction. “Wonderful,” she murmured, though her thoughts still tangled stubbornly around Lord Wilton.
They made their way down the corridor, and Olivia chattered happily as she opened the parlor door. Inside, sunlight streamed through tall windows, catching on the delicate fabrics draped over the settees. Four gowns—muslin and lace, adorned with careful embroidery and fine netting—were displayed.
Theodosia moved closer, running her fingertips along the edge of a sleeve. “These are exquisite,” she murmured in genuine awe.
Olivia nodded, folding her arms with satisfaction. “She truly surpassed herself. And this is just the beginning. There is more to come, including your ball gown. Though I do believe she mentioned a delay in delivery.”
Theodosia’s gaze lingered on a pale blue gown with puffed sleeves and a scooped neckline. “This one might suit for a ball,” she suggested hopefully.
Olivia let out a laugh. “Hardly. That is an afternoon gown. Lovely, yes, but not nearly dramatic enough for the ballroom.”
“I have never worn anything so fine before,” Theodosia admitted, brushing a bit of lace between her fingers.
“You deserve every stitch,” Olivia said, then added with a grin, “especially since you’ve had to endure my brother’s charming moods.”
Theodosia’s cheeks warmed at the mention of him, and her thoughts flew back to the moment in the study—the way his eyes had searched hers, unguarded. “It isn’t all bad,” she said before she could think better of it.
Olivia narrowed her eyes, clearly intrigued. But before she could press the matter, the butler appeared in the doorway and announced, “Mr. Addington has requested a moment of your time, my lady. He is in the drawing room.”
“We shall be there shortly,” Olivia replied.
With a nod, the butler withdrew. As soon as he was gone, Olivia turned back with her brow arched. “Did something happen between you and Richard?”
Theodosia offered a swift, practiced smile. “No,” she lied. She wasn’t entirely certain what had happened—but something had.
Olivia gave her a long, knowing look. “Very well. I’ll let it go… for now. But you know I always manage to uncover the truth.”
Rather than reply, Theodosia inclined her head. “Should we not go to Mr. Addington? It would be impolite to keep him waiting.”
Olivia acquiesced with a sigh. “I am terribly curious to learn what brings him here.”
They walked to the drawing room together, and as they entered, Mr. Addington stood. His expression brightened instantly upon seeing Olivia.
“Olivia,” he said warmly, bowing.
She dropped into a graceful curtsy. “Evander.”
But when his gaze shifted to Theodosia, the warmth faded noticeably. “Miss Theodosia,” he offered, with far less enthusiasm.
“Mr. Addington,” she replied with a polite nod.
He barely waited for her words to fade before turning back to Olivia. “Might I speak with you privately?”
Olivia waved her hand in front of her. “You may speak freely. Dosia is my companion and utterly trustworthy.”
He hesitated but pressed on. “You seemed upset earlier at Gunter’s. I came to ensure you were well.”
“I am perfectly fine,” Olivia said, too swiftly.
“Perhaps—but is it the truth?”
Her posture stiffened. “Yes. And I’m glad your friend has found happiness with his new wife.”
Mr. Addington stepped closer, his voice gentling. “He is no longer my friend. Not after what he did to you. We both know he had affection for you.”
“Had,” Olivia repeated firmly. “The past tense is key.”
“Olivia—”
“I appreciate your concern, Evander, but Lord Harwood is in my past. That is where he shall remain.”
“I know he made promises—”
“And broke them,” she cut in. “What does it matter now?”
There was sorrow in his eyes. “I don’t wish to cause you more pain. I only want you to know I’m here if you need to talk.”
Olivia shook her head, blinking rapidly. “Thank you, but I have no desire to dwell on him. I am a married woman now.”
He pressed his lips together. “Yes, I have heard.”
Olivia gave him a brittle smile. “Shall we enjoy a cup of tea and speak of more pleasant things?”
But Mr. Addington did not sit. His eyes, filled with quiet intensity, remained fixed on her. “Feelings are not so easily dismissed, Olivia. I’ve known you since childhood. I can tell when you’re pretending.”
Olivia met his gaze with open defiance. “And what would you have me do? Languish over a man who discarded me like yesterday’s newssheets?”
The pain in her voice struck Theodosia like a blow. She could feel her friend’s heartbreak pulsing in the very air.
Mr. Addington’s voice was heavy with regret. “I know how much he meant to you...”
Olivia’s hand came up, stilling his words. “He lied. He promised me a future, and then he married another. That is the whole of it.”
He took another step towards her. “Tell me how I can make it right.”
“You can’t,” she whispered, her voice tight with unshed tears. “And that is the greatest cruelty of all. Excuse me.”
She turned abruptly and fled the room, her skirts brushing the doorframe as she disappeared.
Theodosia made to follow, but Mr. Addington’s quiet words halted her.
“Poor Olivia,” he murmured, gazing after her. “She’s always been so brave.”
Theodosia remained silent, unsure of what to say.
Mr. Addington continued. “She once fell from a tree and broke her arm clean through. She didn’t shed a single tear—not even when the doctor set the bone. But heartbreak… heartbreak is harder to hide.”
Curiosity tugged at her. “Why did Lord Harwood marry another?”
Mr. Addington’s expression darkened. “Because he’s selfish. Always has been. I suspect it had to do with his new wife’s dowry.”
“But Olivia had a dowry of twenty thousand pounds. That is no small sum.”
With a frown, Mr. Addington revealed, “His bride brought forty.”
Theodosia drew in a quiet breath. So that was the price of a broken heart.
“I believe I should take my leave,” Mr. Addington said, his voice tinged with regret. “It seems I may have only added to the distress rather than soothed it.”
“You meant well,” Theodosia responded. “You are a loyal friend.”
At that, a shadow flickered across his face, and his jaw tightened. “Yes… a friend,” he echoed. “Olivia and I have been through a lot over the years, and I need to know she is all right.”
There was something in the way he said it that gave Theodosia pause. He might not have declared it aloud, but his feelings for Olivia surely went deeper than friendship. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, a familiar voice cut through the room.
“Addington,” Lord Wilton said from the threshold, his tone unmistakably curt. “What brings you by?”
Mr. Addington turned towards Lord Wilton. “I came to speak with Olivia.”
“And yet you are here alone… with Miss Theodosia,” Lord Wilton replied, each word slow and clipped.
“Olivia was present,” Addington explained. “Until I upset her. That was not my intent, but the conversation proved… difficult.”
“Then perhaps you are right to take your leave.”
Addington inclined his head, making no attempt to argue. “Miss Theodosia,” he said, “it was a pleasure to see you again.”
“The pleasure was mine, sir,” she replied, her voice composed, though she could feel Lord Wilton’s gaze like a weight upon her.
As Mr. Addington passed, he paused beside Lord Wilton. “We should have that drink soon.”
“Tomorrow?” Lord Wilton suggested, his tone still tight.
“That would do. I’ll send word to the others.”
And with that, Mr. Addington departed, leaving behind a silence that prickled with unsaid things. Theodosia turned to find Lord Wilton’s eyes fixed upon her, his expression far from warm.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “The rules of propriety may be more forgiving in the country, but in London, a young lady does not remain unchaperoned with a gentleman. Surely even you must be aware of that.”
“I was not meeting with Mr. Addington,” Theodosia returned, her spine stiffening. “He came to speak with Olivia. She excused herself, and I remained. That is all.”
“Regardless,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “the result remains the same—you and he, alone together.”
Her temper flared. “Yes, and quite unintentionally. Are you accusing me of some impropriety, my lord?”
He didn’t answer at once. Instead, he approached her, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I would have to be blind not to notice that Mr. Addington holds a certain fondness for you.”
That startled a laugh from her. “Then I fear your eyesight is in question, for you are entirely mistaken.”
“Am I?” he asked. “He is the second son of an earl, with excellent connections, and he is a Fellow at Oxford. You could do far worse.”
“I have no intention of marrying Mr. Addington.”
“You say that now—”
“I will say that always,” she interrupted, her voice firm.
A discreet throat clearing from the doorway broke the taut silence between them.
Both turned. Mr. Addington stood there, his expression strained and his posture awkward, as though he regretted returning at all. “Forgive me,” he said. “I appear to have left my hat.”
Theodosia followed his gaze to the table near the window, where a well-brushed black top hat rested beside a porcelain vase. “Indeed.” She crossed the room, retrieved the hat, and handed it to him with a polite smile. “Here you are.”
For a moment, Mr. Addington lingered, glancing between them with his brow slightly creased. “Good day, Wilton. Miss Theodosia,” he murmured, bowing briefly before taking his leave.
Theodosia turned back towards Lord Wilton. “If you will excuse me, I should check on Olivia.” She took a step, then paused. “That is… assuming I have your permission to go unchaperoned,” she added, her tone laced with mockery.
“By all means, do as you please. But keep in mind what I said about propriety.”
“I shall never forget it,” she said dryly, sweeping towards the door.
She left without a backward glance and hurried up the stairs. But even as her steps carried her towards Olivia’s room, her thoughts lingered stubbornly in the drawing room.
She didn’t understand him.
Lord Wilton had looked almost… possessive. Irritated by Mr. Addington’s presence. Perhaps even jealous? But that was absurd. Entirely absurd.
What possible reason could Lord Wilton have to be jealous of another gentleman’s attention?
She paused in front of Olivia’s bedchamber and gently rapped her knuckles against the door.
“Olivia,” she called softly. “It’s me.”
There was a brief silence, followed by the soft scrape of a bolt being drawn back. The door opened, and Olivia appeared, her face pale and her eyes rimmed with red. It was clear she had been crying, though she made no attempt to conceal it.
“I’m about to lie down,” she said quietly, her voice thick with exhaustion. “I don’t feel much like talking.”
Theodosia’s heart ached at the sight of her friend’s pain. “Of course,” she replied. “We can speak later, if you feel up to it.”
Olivia gave her a faint, grateful smile before slowly closing the door again.
The latch clicked softly into place, and Theodosia continued down the corridor, feeling unusually helpless.
If there were something she could do—something to ease Olivia’s heartache—she would do it without hesitation.
But heartbreak was not a wound easily tended, and words were a poor balm for betrayal.
And worse still, her mind was anything but steady. For no matter how hard she tried to focus on Olivia, Lord Wilton’s voice continued to echo in her memory. His sharp words. His narrowed gaze. That flash of something she hadn’t quite dared to name.
It was exasperating. Infuriating.
And far too telling.
She pressed a hand to her temple, determined to master her thoughts—particularly those that revolved around one infuriating marquess who, despite all logic, had found a way to occupy far too much space in her heart.