Chapter 18
Richard sat in the coach as it rumbled through the darkened streets of London, its wheels clattering softly against the cobblestones.
He was wedged between his mother and the window, but his attention was far from the passing scenery.
Opposite him sat Miss Theodosia and Olivia, their skirts pressed close together in the narrow confines of the carriage.
Every so often, as the coach jostled over a rut or turned a corner, his knee would bump against Miss Theodosia’s.
Each accidental touch sent a ripple of awareness through him that he tried—and failed—to ignore.
Olivia shifted in her seat and glanced towards him with a look of trepidation. “I do hope I haven’t made a terrible mistake by coming tonight.”
“You haven’t,” Richard rushed to assure her. “I dare anyone to say something unkind in my presence.”
Olivia gave a dry laugh. “Oh, they won’t say it to your face. They’ll whisper it behind their fans, all the while smiling sweetly to me.”
Miss Theodosia offered Olivia a reassuring smile. “If at any time you wish to leave, say the word. I’m here for you, not the ballroom.”
Olivia’s gaze softened. “But this is your first ball in Town. I want you to enjoy it. Perhaps even dance with an eligible gentleman or two.”
Miss Theodosia flushed and looked down at her gloved hands. “I should not assume to be so bold.”
At that, Lady Wilton nudged her son with her elbow and gave him a look that required no words.
Suppressing a sigh, Richard cleared his throat. “I was rather hoping you might save me a dance this evening.”
Miss Theodosia’s brows lifted in mild surprise. “I appreciate your kindness, my lord, but you needn’t offer me pity.”
“Pity?” he repeated, the word tasting foul. “That isn’t what this is. I asked because I would like to dance with you.”
She regarded him carefully, as if weighing his words. “Very well. I shall consider it, then.”
He raised a brow. “You do realize I am a marquess. Most young ladies would be thrilled for the honor.”
Olivia snorted. “Good heavens, do you ever hear yourself speak?”
“It’s merely the truth,” Richard said, puffing his chest out in exaggerated pride. “I am, after all, quite the eligible bachelor.”
“Also incredibly humble,” Olivia muttered.
Miss Theodosia gave a soft laugh behind her gloved hand. “She isn’t wrong.”
He clutched his chest dramatically. “Et tu, Miss Theodosia?”
The coach slowed, then stopped in front of Lord Warwicke’s grand townhouse, ablaze with lights.
Richard stepped out first after the footman placed the steps down.
He assisted his mother and sister, but when it came time to help Miss Theodosia, he held her hand a moment longer than propriety allowed.
Her skin, even through her glove, felt warm against his palm, and it was with great reluctance that he let go.
He stepped back and admired Miss Theodosia.
She wore a silver gown that shimmered like moonlight, and her dark hair was swept into an elegant arrangement with soft curls framing her face.
She was, quite simply, radiant. He knew she would turn heads tonight—even without a noble pedigree to bolster her status.
And part of him hated that. Hated the vulnerability of it.
He offered his arm to his mother and sister, and they made their way up the steps and into the crush of the ballroom.
A crystal chandelier hung high above their heads, its many facets scattering light like fire across the chalked dance floor underfoot.
The room was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with the best and worst of the ton, and Richard felt his jaw tighten at the sheer press of bodies and over-loud laughter.
A voice behind him drew his attention.
“Just pretend we aren’t packed in here like cattle,” Miss Theodosia said lightly.
He turned his head, grateful for her levity. “It’s far too crowded for my tastes.”
“But you’re here to support your family,” she said. “That’s what matters.”
He nodded, glancing around only to find a half-dozen young women eyeing him like a prized bull, their eyelashes fluttering. Subtlety was clearly out of fashion.
They reached the rear of the ballroom and Lady Wilton slipped her hand off his arm. “Excuse me, I see someone I must speak to.”
Richard patted Olivia’s hand where it rested on his sleeve. Her eyes were wide, her shoulders tense.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “You’re not alone.”
“Let’s hope this night doesn’t end in utter disaster,” Olivia whispered.
“It won’t,” he said, hoping he spoke true.
Just then, Lady Granleigh and her daughter, Lady Fanny, swept towards them with bright smiles on their faces.
“Lord Wilton,” Lady Granleigh said sweetly. Too sweetly. “Is it not a fine evening?”
“Perfectly pleasant,” Richard replied.
“Fanny was just saying how beautiful the gardens are tonight,” Lady Granleigh continued. “Perhaps you might escort her for a stroll later?”
“I shall consider it,” Richard said with a courteous bow.
The ladies curtsied and moved on.
Olivia leaned in and said, “She didn’t even look at me. Her sights are clearly set on your title for her daughter.”
“Lady Fanny has a faultless reputation,” Richard replied.
“Yes, but Lady Fanny once spent twenty minutes telling me about lavender ribbon,” Olivia muttered. “Is that truly what you want? A woman who has nothing of interest to say?”
His gaze drifted towards Miss Theodosia, who was staring up at the chandelier with quiet wonder. No. That wasn’t what he wanted.
He wanted her.
He wanted the woman who made him laugh and made him think—who made him feel seen.
But she wasn’t his to claim.
Olivia nudged him again. “You’re staring.”
“I was merely woolgathering.”
“About Dosia, no doubt,” she said. “Why not end your misery and ask her to dance?”
Feigning ignorance, he asked, “With Lady Fanny?”
“Don’t be absurd. No—Dosia. You remember her. Dark hair. Opinionated. Beautiful,” Olivia said with amusement in her eyes.
Just then, Miss Theodosia turned back to them, eyes alight. “I’ve never seen a chalked dance floor before. It’s almost too beautiful to step on.”
“It won’t last,” Olivia said. “By the night's end, it’ll look like someone spilled a paintbox.”
“That’s a shame,” Miss Theodosia murmured.
The musicians struck the opening chord of the waltz to announce that the next set was about to begin.
Richard turned to Miss Theodosia. “Might I have the pleasure of this dance?”
She looked down at his outstretched hand, hesitant. “It’s a waltz.”
“I noticed. I’m very observant,” he said with a teasing smile.
“I’ve never danced it before.”
“It’s simple enough,” he said, wiggling his fingers. “Just let me lead.”
After a pause, she slipped her hand into his. “I only hope I don’t make a fool of myself.”
“I won’t let that happen,” he rushed to assure her. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
She smiled at him, and something inside his chest clenched. She trusted him. But could he say the same in return?
They took their place on the floor. As the music began, he set his hand at her waist and lifted her other in his. Her frame was stiff, her movements cautious.
“You can relax,” he murmured.
“Everyone is watching,” she whispered, her eyes roaming over the room.
He met her gaze. “Forget them. It is just you and me.”
She drew in a breath, then let it out slowly. “I rather like the sound of that.”
“So do I,” he said, and he meant it. More than anything, he wanted this moment to stretch forever. However, he was in trouble. Now that she was in his arms, he never wanted to let her go. He knew that he would never be able to escape his heart. Perhaps it was better to listen to what it had to say.
But reality would not be kept at bay. He had a duty to his family and himself. He couldn’t marry whoever he desired.
So, just for tonight, he would dance with her.
Then he would have to let her go.
As the final notes of the waltz drifted into silence, Richard released her and stepped back. He bowed. “Thank you, Miss Theodosia, for the honor of the dance.”
She dipped into a graceful curtsy, the faintest flush on her cheeks. “You are most welcome, my lord.”
Without speaking further, he offered his arm, which she accepted with a gloved hand, and together they made their way across the ballroom floor. The sounds of music, laughter, and murmured conversation swelled around them, but Richard noticed none of it. His only focus was on Miss Theodosia.
As they reached the edge of the room, he immediately noted something amiss. Olivia stood alone, her posture too stiff. Her eyes shimmered, and she blinked rapidly, as if trying to hold back tears.
“What is it?” he asked, his tone low with concern.
Olivia looked up, her voice brittle. “I just saw Lord Harwood… with his wife.”
Richard’s brows drew together. “He has returned from his wedding tour, then?”
“Apparently so,” she muttered.
Miss Theodosia moved instinctively to Olivia’s side, her concern plain. “We should go.”
“No,” Olivia protested. “It’s early yet and—”
But Miss Theodosia cut her off. “I am far more concerned about you than I am about Society’s expectations. I can attend another ball. But I won’t miss the chance to be the friend you need tonight.”
For a moment, Olivia’s composure crumbled. Her eyes welled, and her lips trembled with gratitude. “Thank you, Dosia,” she whispered.
Miss Theodosia turned to Richard. “I’ll escort her to the carriage. Would you mind informing your mother about what’s happened?”
“Of course,” he said, already reaching into his jacket. He produced a neatly folded handkerchief and offered it to his sister.
Olivia accepted it with a soft, embarrassed laugh. “I’m making such a spectacle of myself.”
Miss Theodosia placed a comforting hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “You are doing no such thing. Now, shall we make a discreet escape through the French doors?”
“I think that’s wise,” Olivia murmured, already leaning towards her.