Chapter 15 #2
Richard chuckled, though the sound caught slightly in his throat. His eyes dropped to her perfectly formed lips.
For a moment, he was no longer the Marquess of Wilton burdened by responsibility and pride—but simply a man standing before a woman who saw him, understood him, challenged him in ways no one ever had.
And he very much wanted to kiss her.
But he didn’t. Not yet.
Not while questions still lingered about Mr. Smith and her past involvement with him.
With great reluctance, Richard took a single step back, putting space between them. “I should return to my work,” he said, though even to his own ears, his words sounded gruff.
Her brow creased, clearly puzzled by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “Yes, and I should return to my reading.”
“Very good,” he murmured, already turning towards the desk, feigning focus on the scattered documents as though the confrontation with Mr. Benson demanded his immediate attention. It was easier than facing the regret in her expression.
She quickly exited the study. The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence that followed was stifling.
Richard exhaled and dragged a hand through his hair in frustration. What in the blazes was he doing?
She had stood by him, defended him in her quiet, composed way. She had seen what others could not, and still, he had sent her away. Because of fear. Because of propriety. Because of Mr. Smith.
He stared at the closed door, torn between responsibility and something far more dangerous—hope.
And for the first time, he realized just how much he wanted her to walk back through that door.
The late afternoon sun filtered through the lace curtains of the parlor as Theodosia sat on the settee, a book from the circulating library open upon her lap.
Yet, despite her best efforts, her eyes lingered on the same sentence again and again, the words blurring as her thoughts drifted elsewhere—namely, to Olivia.
She had scarcely turned another page when the door opened with a quiet creak. Olivia entered, her expression weary and her eyes red-rimmed, as though she’d fought back tears too long.
Theodosia set the book aside and asked, “How are you faring?”
“I am… doing well enough,” Olivia replied, her voice flat.
“And what, precisely, does that mean?”
A slight shrug lifted Olivia’s shoulders. “I don’t rightly know. Everything feels… too much and not enough all at once.”
Theodosia patted the cushion beside her. “Come sit with me.”
Slowly, Olivia crossed the room and lowered herself onto the settee. Her hands twisted together in her lap, betraying her restlessness.
“I was such a fool,” she whispered. “Falling in love with Lord Harwood was the most stupid thing I’ve ever done.”
“You were not a fool,” Theodosia responded.
But Olivia shook her head. “Oh, but I was. We were engaged—secretly, of course. He insisted we keep it between us for a time, and I believed him. I trusted him.” Her voice broke. “The only one who knew was our friend, Evander.”
Theodosia’s eyes widened. “You were engaged?”
Olivia nodded, her lips trembling. “And I believed every promise he whispered to me. I thought we would marry and spend our lives together, and I allowed him liberties I never should have.”
Theodosia’s stomach clenched. “What sort of liberties?”
“Nothing more than kisses,” Olivia rushed to assure her as a shadow crossed over her expression. “Lord Harwood didn’t even have the decency to tell me himself that he was marrying another. I read about it in the Society pages.”
Theodosia’s heart ached. “Oh, Olivia…”
“I married Mr. Smith to preserve what little dignity I had left,” Olivia continued, her tone tinged with bitterness.
“I met him at the circulating library that same day and, for some inexplicable reason, I told him everything. He offered a solution—Gretna Green—and I was so despondent I followed him without question.”
“Mr. Smith preyed upon your vulnerability,” Theodosia said.
“He did,” Olivia admitted. “But at the time, it seemed like the only option. I am five and twenty years old, and I thought no one else would want me. I felt unlovable.”
Theodosia reached out and gently clasped Olivia’s hand in her own. “I understand now why you did what you did.”
Olivia glanced down at their joined hands, her voice quiet. “It hasn’t been easy, pretending everything was well. I am glad you’re here, Dosia. Truly.”
“You haven’t told anyone? Not even your mother?”
A humorless smile flitted across Olivia’s lips. “She would no doubt tell Richard, and I couldn’t bear another of his lectures about propriety and decorum.”
Theodosia squeezed her hand. “Your brother may surprise you. He has surprised me of late.”
Olivia scoffed. “My brother? He is nothing but predictable. He has been telling me what to do since my hair was in braids.”
“He is… different now,” Theodosia mused. “Beneath that gruff exterior, I see a tenderness he tries so very hard to hide.”
“That’s only because you’re beautiful. If you were toothless and bald, I daresay he wouldn’t be quite so kind.”
Theodosia laughed. “I don’t think that’s the reason.”
As if summoned by their conversation, the door opened and Lord Wilton stepped inside. “I have made a decision,” he announced. “We are going to Vauxhall Gardens this evening.”
Theodosia’s lips parted in surprise. “Truly? That sounds positively delightful.”
He smiled, clearly pleased by her response. “I thought you might approve.”
Theodosia sprang to her feet. “Then I must change into one of my new gowns immediately.”
Olivia, however, remained seated. “I don’t know that I am in the mood for such an outing.”
“You must come,” Theodosia urged. “A diversion will do you good.”
“I fear I shan’t be very good company.”
“Then come exactly as you are. I expect nothing more,” Theodosia asserted.
Lord Wilton clapped his hands together. “It is settled, then. I shall see that the coach is brought round.”
As he strode from the room, Olivia watched him go with narrowed eyes. “My brother detests crowds. Why is he dragging us to Vauxhall Gardens?”
“Does it matter?” Theodosia asked.
“I suppose not.”
Looping her arm through Olivia’s, she gave her a gentle tug. “Come, let us change. We mustn’t keep your brother waiting for too long.”
Olivia allowed herself to be led, a soft chuckle escaping. “You’re far too eager for a trip to Vauxhall Gardens.”
“I’ve only ever read about it,” Theodosia replied. “The gardens are lit with hundreds of lamps, which are disposed in different figures of suns, stars, and constellations. The very idea sounds like something out of a fairy tale.”
“I always loved the statues,” Olivia replied, a wistful smile touching her lips.
As they descended into the entry hall, they found Lord Wilton and Lady Wilton in quiet discussion with the butler.
Lady Wilton turned towards them with a fond smile. “You shall have such fun tonight, my dears.”
“Would you care to accompany us?” Theodosia asked.
“Heavens, no,” Lady Wilton replied. “You do not want an old woman coming along. Go and enjoy yourselves, and I expect a full report tomorrow.”
“You are not old,” Theodosia protested.
With a grin, Lady Wilton said, “I knew I liked you.”
Lord Wilton stepped to his mother’s side. “Do not waste your breath, Miss Theodosia. My mother is most insistent that she remain home.”
“It is true,” Lady Wilton agreed. “I prefer going to bed at a reasonable hour and not staying up until the sun rises.”
Just then, the butler stepped forward. “The coach is waiting, my lord.”
Theodosia glanced at her gown. “I still need to change. I hope that won’t delay you.”
“Take all the time you need,” Lord Wilton encouraged.
“Thank you, my lord,” Theodosia said, holding his gaze longer than what would be considered proper.
Olivia broke the moment by tugging lightly on Theodosia’s arm. “Come,” she urged. “Let us change. We shall be down shortly.”
They ascended the staircase together, their footsteps muffled against the carpet runner. Once they reached the upper landing, Olivia leaned in, her tone hushed but pointed. “Do you wish to explain what that was about?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Olivia gave her a look of long-suffering incredulity. “Do not pretend ignorance. That exchange between you and Richard. You looked at each other as if no one else existed in the world.”
“We are merely friends,” Theodosia replied, though her voice lacked conviction.
Olivia snorted. “Oh, is that why he allowed you to review his accounts? Because I have been trying to peek at his ledgers for years and he guards them more fiercely than a dragon protects its hoard.”
“I offered my assistance,” Theodosia said. “And he accepted. It was nothing more than that.”
“Mmm,” Olivia murmured, clearly unconvinced. “And the matter with Mr. Benson? I heard whispers from below stairs that you uncovered his embezzlement.”
“It’s true.”
Olivia stopped just shy of Theodosia’s chamber door and asked, “So my brother is indebted to you?”
“Not in the slightest,” Theodosia replied. “I was simply helping him. He finds figures troublesome.”
“As do I,” Olivia muttered as she pushed open the door and stepped inside ahead of her. “You should wear the new blue gown tonight—the one Richard said you’d look lovely in.” Her grin turned mischievous. “You know the one.”
“You heard that?”
Olivia’s smile widened. “The servants hear everything, and they are far from tight-lipped. You would be wise to remember that.”
Inside, Mary was busily straightening the dressing table, arranging hairbrushes and ribbon spools with practiced efficiency. She turned as they entered and gave a knowing smile.
“I understand we’ve only a short time to prepare for Vauxhall Gardens,” she said, already eyeing Theodosia’s hair with a critical gleam. “We must make haste.”
Olivia took a step back. “I shall leave you in Mary’s capable hands while I see to my own gown. Do try not to keep Richard waiting too long since he gets awfully cross when women dawdle.”
With a teasing wink, she exited, leaving Theodosia alone with her maid.
Mary patted the back of the dressing chair. “Let’s begin by arranging your hair into something more elegant. Perhaps a coiled chignon with a few artful curls?”
Theodosia lowered herself into the chair. “Whatever you think best.”
After Mary gently removed the final pin from Theodosia’s hair, setting it aside in a tidy row upon the dressing table, she began brushing through the dark strands. “I’ve never been to Vauxhall Gardens before. I’ve heard it’s like stepping into a dream.”
“Nor have I,” Theodosia replied, her voice light with anticipation. “And I find myself quite eager to see it with my own eyes.”
Mary twisted her hair into an elegant chignon. “You must tell me all about the pavilions when you return. And the orchestra. I heard once that the Prince Regent himself was spotted there.”
“I shall try to recall every detail,” Theodosia promised. “Though I suspect my thoughts will be too scattered to retain much.”
Once her hair had been intricately arranged, Theodosia stood and slipped out of her gown. Meanwhile, the maid fetched her new blue gown and held it out to her. She accepted it and stepped into it.
The process of fastening the back began—button by button, each one tugged and secured with care. As Mary worked, Theodosia ran a slow hand down the front of the gown, smoothing the muslin against her figure.
Her eyes lingered on her reflection in the looking glass. A strange flutter stirred within her chest. Would Lord Wilton approve? Would there be a flicker of admiration in his gaze when he saw her? And why, in all reason, did that matter?
She bit the inside of her cheek. It doesn’t matter, she told herself firmly. I wear this because I like it. Because I feel confident in it. Not because of him.
Mary gave the final button a firm press and stepped back, inspecting her handiwork with a nod of satisfaction. “There. That was the last one.”
Theodosia turned slowly to face her. “Thank you, Mary,” she said, offering a grateful smile. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
Mary’s expression softened. “That is the job of any good maid, Miss.”
With one last glance in the looking glass, Theodosia straightened her posture and reached for her gloves. She was ready, at least outwardly. But within, her heart still beat a little faster than usual.
Vauxhall Gardens awaited. And so did he.