Chapter 18 #2
As the ladies turned towards the rear of the ballroom, Richard gently touched Miss Theodosia’s arm. She paused, and he leaned in just enough to mouth the words, thank you.
She gave him a warm smile in return before turning her full attention back to Olivia.
Richard watched them disappear through the French doors before he turned away and threaded his path through the crowded ballroom. His gaze roamed over the room until it settled on a familiar face near the refreshment table.
Lord Alcott stood chatting with his sister, Miss Winslow, who was absently swirling the champagne in her glass.
Alcott spotted Richard first and lifted his glass in greeting. “Good evening, Wilton.”
Richard nodded in acknowledgment and gave a curt bow to Miss Winslow. She offered a polite smile but quickly looked away, more interested in her drink than the men’s conversation.
“Have you seen my mother?” Richard asked, his tone clipped as his eyes scanned the crowded room once more.
“I believe I saw her last with Lady Warwicke—near the east alcove,” Alcott replied.
“Thank you.” Richard was about to move on when Alcott’s voice stopped him.
“Before you go, I couldn’t help noticing you danced with Miss Theodosia Smith,” he said with a glint of mirth in his eyes. “You appeared rather taken. I take it your circumstances have changed?”
Richard grew rigid. “You are mistaken. I am not ‘taken’ with Miss Theodosia.”
“Ah, my error,” Alcott responded. “Perhaps I should have said you were enchanted. Or captivated. Beguiled, perhaps?”
He lowered his voice. “Miss Theodosia is my sister’s companion. And I do not trust her.”
“Interesting,” Alcott said, folding his arms. “Because men of our standing do not typically dance with companions unless they have a compelling reason.”
“My mother requested it.”
“A terrible reason,” Alcott quipped. “Especially considering that half the ballroom is buzzing about her. Rumors are swirling, and no one seems to know who she really is. Yet there she was, in the arms of Lord Wilton himself.”
Richard’s lips thinned. “I’ve no patience for gossips.”
“Even when you’re the subject?” Alcott asked with a chuckle. “That’s admirable. Foolish, but admirable.”
“I’ve no time for this,” Richard snapped. “I need to find my mother and leave.”
Alcott shrugged. “Very well. I wish you luck with both endeavors.”
Without another word, Richard turned on his heel and strode away. But Alcott’s words stayed with him, irritatingly persistent. Rumors. Whispered suspicions. And worse—his own betrayal of emotion during that dance.
He could not afford to lose control.
Not over her.
The interior of the coach was cloaked in shadows, broken only by the occasional flicker of a gas lamp they passed.
Theodosia sat in silence, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Across from her, Lord Wilton stared unseeingly out the window, and his mother sat beside him, casting furtive, worried glances at her daughter.
Olivia sat stiffly at Theodosia’s side, dabbing her eyes with a damp handkerchief, her expression one of composed despair.
No one spoke. And the silence was deafening.
At last, the coach pulled up in front of the townhouse. Lord Wilton was the first to step out, turning back to assist each of the ladies with solemn care. When Theodosia reached the gravel drive, she withdrew her hand from his arm but lingered beside him.
He leaned slightly towards her, his voice low. “What can be done?”
She hesitated, watching Olivia from the corners of her eyes. “She’s always found comfort in chocolate. I can ask the cook to prepare some.”
He gave a faint nod. “A small kindness might help.”
“I can hear you,” Olivia stated, her voice startling them both. She didn’t turn around. “And I wouldn’t object to some chocolate, but I want it sent to my room.”
“I don’t think that’s wise,” Lord Wilton said. “We should speak and try to make sense of this.”
“Not tonight,” Olivia replied firmly, already ascending the steps. “Perhaps tomorrow. Right now, I simply want to forget this entire wretched evening.”
Lady Wilton took a step forward. “If that is your wish, dearest.”
“It is,” Olivia said without turning back. “Goodnight.”
As they followed Olivia into the townhouse, helplessness washed over Theodosia. She longed to comfort her friend, but sensed such an attempt would only wound Olivia further.
“Should I follow her?” she asked quietly.
“No,” came Olivia’s answer, firm and echoing faintly from the staircase.
Lady Wilton touched Theodosia’s sleeve in silent reassurance. “Let me go with her. You may retire, if you wish.”
Left alone in the entry hall, Lord Wilton turned to her with a weary expression. “I’m sorry. This wasn’t how I imagined the evening ending.”
A small smile tugged at Theodosia’s lips. “I rather thought it went splendidly. I danced with a very eligible gentleman. Did you know he was a marquess?”
He chuckled. “I think I did hear that.”
“And he was a fine dancer. Not once did I fall.”
His gaze softened. “You’re safe with me, Miss Theodosia.”
She tilted her head. “I do believe you have earned the right to call me Dosia. We are friends, are we not?”
“We are. But only if you’ll call me Richard.”
Her smile deepened. “That may take some getting used to.”
He stepped closer—still careful, still proper—but his presence felt suddenly warmer. “What say you? Shall we see if the cook left us any biscuits?”
“I never say no to a biscuit.”
“Nor do I,” he said, offering his arm with exaggerated courtliness.
Just as they turned towards the back passage, a sharp knock echoed through the entry hall. Richard paused, brows furrowing. “Who would call at this hour?”
Theodosia glanced towards the door. “Should we answer it?”
“The butler will see to it.”
Sterling appeared and went to the door as if summoned by those words. A moment later, a cloaked figure stepped into the dimly lit entry, his—or rather, her—silhouette familiar in an unsettling way.
The figure removed their hat, revealing a face Theodosia knew better than her own.
Her breath caught. “Lucinda?” she murmured.
But her sister ignored her, speaking instead to Richard in a low, deliberately masculine voice. “I heard you were looking for me, my lord.”
Theodosia blinked. Lucinda’s dark hair had been pulled back into a crude tie, and her attire was that of a gentleman—waistcoat, breeches, and boots. Her voice was deeper than usual, almost unrecognizable. But her eyes, pleading and defiant, were the same.
Richard’s gaze narrowed. “You are Mr. Smith, I presume.”
“I am,” Lucinda replied.
Theodosia’s voice cracked with disbelief. “What?”
Lucinda turned towards her sister. “Before anything else, I must speak with Theodosia. Alone.”
Richard looked at Theodosia, suspicion darkening his expression. “You claimed not to know who Mr. Smith was.”
“I… I don’t. Not really,” Theodosia said weakly, knowing how hollow it sounded.
His jaw tightened. “So you have lied to me. All this time.”
Pain lanced through her chest. She hadn’t meant to deceive him—not truly. But how could she explain something she herself didn’t understand?
“I need to speak with Mr. Smith,” she said, her voice trembling.
Richard’s voice was low and tight. “You have five minutes. Then I speak to ‘Mr. Smith.’” He turned on his heel and strode away, his disappointment palpable.
Theodosia faced her sister. “What is going on, Lucinda?”
Lucinda motioned towards the drawing room. “Come. I’ll explain.”
Once they arrived, the door closed behind them with a soft thud.
“You’d best start from the beginning,” Theodosia said, arms crossed.
Lucinda exhaled, adjusting her waistcoat. “It started as a misunderstanding. I wanted to attend a lecture restricted to men. I dressed the part, and no one questioned it. It was… liberating. So I continued.”
“And somehow this led to marrying a marquess’s daughter?” Theodosia asked incredulously.
Lucinda grimaced. “It was an accident. I met Lady Olivia at the circulating library. She looked so forlorn. I offered her conversation… then comfort… and when I jested about marriage, she didn’t laugh. She agreed.”
“You knew who she was. And you went through with it? Why?”
“She had a dowry of twenty thousand pounds,” Lucinda said, matter-of-factly. “It was a solution. For both of us.”
“You tricked her!” Theodosia gasped. “You married her under false pretenses!”
Lucinda shrugged. “But now I take off these clothes and Mr. Smith disappears. No one is the wiser.”
“And what of Olivia?” Theodosia demanded. “The scandal… the deception… you’ve ruined her.”
Walking over to the window, Lucinda unfastened the latch. “I have a coach waiting. We can leave tonight,” she said.
“You can’t be serious,” Theodosia stated. “Lord Wilton intends to challenge you to a duel for abandoning his sister.”
“Then we must go since I don’t intend to die in a duel.”
“You could tell Lord Wilton the truth,” Theodosia offered desperately. “He might understand.”
Lucinda scoffed. “Understand? He’ll have me arrested. Is that what you want?”
“No, but you broke the law—”
“I came to rescue you,” Lucinda snapped, “and this is the thanks I get.”
Her brows lifted. “Rescue me?” she asked. “I do not need rescuing.”
Lucinda reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “This letter says otherwise. It says that I will never see you again if I don’t come to retrieve you personally.”
Theodosia retrieved the letter and read the contents, confirming it was true.
Lucinda gave her a pointed look. “Lord Wilton is not so kind anymore, is he?” she mocked.
“There must be a misunderstanding,” Theodosia said, her head reeling. “I am Lady Olivia’s companion. He asked me to come. He promised me his protection.”
“No, he tricked you into coming to lure me out of hiding,” Lucinda remarked. “Don’t you see? You’re a pawn, Dosia. He used you.”
“No, Lord Wilton is not that type of man.”
Lucinda went to stand on the sill. “Are you going to come with me?”
“I can’t... I won’t,” Theodosia replied.
“Then this is a goodbye, Sister,” Lucinda said as she slipped out into the night.
Theodosia stared out after her, not knowing what to believe anymore. Had Richard truly deceived her this entire time?
The door slammed open with a thunderous crack, jolting her from her thoughts.
Richard stormed into the room, and his eyes raked the space until they landed on her. “You let him go?” he bellowed, the fury in his voice reverberating through the drawing room.
“I did—but if you would only give me a moment to—”
He cut her off with a bark of disbelief. “Why should I listen to anything you have to say? You told me you didn’t know Mr. Smith, yet he comes knocking at the door asking for you by name!”
“Richard, please—”
“Do not speak to me so familiarly!” he roared. “You lost that right the moment you lied to me!”
The sting of his words hit their mark, but she held her ground. “And you?” she shot back, her voice trembling with righteous fury. “Are you entirely innocent in this? Did you not deceive me as well?”
His brow furrowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She took a purposeful step forward. “Did you bring me here under false pretenses? Did you ask me to be Olivia’s companion only so you could draw out Mr. Smith?”
He didn’t answer immediately, and his silence said more than words ever could.
“I don’t owe you an explanation,” he said stiffly.
“Then I don’t owe you one either, my lord,” she responded.
A sharp gasp cut through the air.
“Dear heavens,” Lady Wilton exclaimed from the doorway. “What in the world is this shouting about?”
Richard turned towards his mother, his voice still seething. “Miss Theodosia is working with Mr. Smith. She’s been deceiving us all along.”
“That is not true!” Theodosia cried. “If you’d just stop for one moment and let me explain—”
“To tell more lies?” Richard spat. “I’ve heard quite enough of those from you.”
Her fists clenched at her sides, her whole body rigid with frustration. “You are the most infuriating man I have ever met. I’ve been trying to help you!”
He looked at her incredulously. “If this is your version of help, I want no part of it.”
Lady Wilton raised her hand, her tone firm but even. “Enough. This shouting serves no purpose. Both of you are clearly overwrought. Retire for the night. We can speak calmly and sensibly tomorrow.”
Richard didn’t back down. “How do we know Miss Theodosia won’t vanish in the night as well?”
Theodosia turned to him. “I’m still here, am I not?”
“For now,” he said, stepping closer until only a breath of space stood between them. “But understand this, if I don’t like your answers come morning, I’ll summon the constable myself and have you arrested for your part in this deception.”
Her chin lifted defiantly. “And what crimes, pray tell, do you think I’ve committed?”
“You tell me.”
With a breath that shook from the force of her fury, Theodosia brushed past him, refusing to shrink beneath his accusations. “I’ve had quite enough stupidity for one day. I can only hope you regain some sense by tomorrow.”
“Likewise, Miss Theodosia,” he called after her.
She didn’t look back. Every step up the stairs felt like a strike against her pride.
Her hands trembled at her sides, her heart pounded in her chest, not just from anger—but from heartbreak.
How could he believe the worst of her? After everything they had shared?
After the growing trust, the subtle warmth, the stolen moments?
It hurt more than she could admit, even to herself.
But she would make him understand.
And once she did… she would leave.
Leave him.
Leave all of it behind.