The tension in his posture eased. For a long moment, he simply looked at her, as if weighing the meaning behind her words. Then he nodded. “If that is what you would prefer, then here I shall remain.”
She exhaled a shaky breath, her grip loosening, but her gaze never wavering from his. His presence steadied her, settled something frantic within her chest. Just having him there, close by, was reassuring and dangerously intoxicating.
Olivia’s voice cut through the night air. “Just say the word, and I’ll shoot Mr. Pritchett in the foot. Fingers crossed it gets infected and he loses it. Then we can call him ‘One-Foot Pritchett.’”
A laugh escaped Theodosia’s lips, despite herself. “There is no need to shoot him,” she said, though the amusement lingered in her tone.
“A pity,” Olivia muttered, tucking the small pistol back into her reticule with a dramatic sigh.
It was only then that Theodosia realized her hand was still resting against Lord Wilton’s arm. Embarrassed, she released him and took a small step backward, smoothing the fabric of her gown as if to gather her composure.
“I imagine Mr. Pritchett has finally received the message loud and clear,” she said, her voice regaining some of its steadiness.
Lord Wilton’s attention shifted to his sister, his tone somewhere between concern and exasperation. “Since when do you carry a muff pistol?”
Olivia shrugged. “London can be a dangerous place. I find it best to be prepared.”
He gave her a long look, and a reluctant smile tugged at thecorner of his mouth. “I would urge a bit of caution, Olivia. You carry that pistol with such confidence, but one misstep and you might very well be called ‘One-Foot Olivia.’”
Olivia huffed with theatrical indignation. “I am far too clever to shoot myself in the foot.”
“We shall see,” he said dryly.
She rolled her eyes in response, entirely unbothered. “Very well. If your teasing is quite finished, shall we resume our grand tour of Vauxhall Gardens? There is still the Chinese Pavilion and the fireworks display to admire, assuming we haven't missed them entirely.”
Theodosia stood silently for a moment, her hands clasped before her as she looked out into the hedged paths beyond. Her heart was still thudding in the aftermath of what had occurred, and though she tried to compose herself, the idea of returning to the public gaiety of the gardens felt overwhelming.
But she would not be the one to spoil the evening again—not after such a dramatic interruption. She straightened her shoulders and forced a pleasant expression, even as her nerves still prickled beneath the surface.
Lord Wilton turned towards her with gentleness in his gaze as if sensing her hesitation. “I believe it would be best if we called it an early night,” he said, his tone laced with concern. “There’s no need to press on when we can easily return another evening. Vauxhall Gardens will still be here tomorrow.”
“That sounds perfect,” Theodosia murmured, grateful for his understanding.
With a gracious nod, he extended his arm to her. “May I escort you to the carriage, Miss Theodosia?”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “I would greatly appreciate it.”
“Good,” he said, his voice suddenly low and purposeful, “because I don’t want you out of my sight.”
She looked up at him in surprise, her breath catching at theintensity in his gaze. Then, he blinked and shifted his gaze towards the path leading out of the maze.
Behind them, Olivia’s wry voice rang out. “Do feel free to leave me behind. I’m certain I can find my way back to the coach through this charming labyrinth of hedges in the dark.”
Lord Wilton glanced back with a chuckle and held out his other arm with a gallant sweep. “My deepest apologies, Sister. Come along—we shall all exit this romantic maze together.”
Olivia linked her arm with his and offered a grin. “Much better.”
