Theodosia laughed. “Alas, he did not propose. And if he had, I assure you he would be the last man I’d consider accepting.”
“Not even before Mr. Pritchett?” Penelope teased.
Theodosia feigned a dramatic shudder. “Even Mr. Pritchett would be preferable. And that is saying something.”
Mrs. Worthing tsked. “Now, now, I won’t have you speaking ill of Mr. Pritchett. He’s a good-hearted gentleman.”
“He is,” Mr. Worthing agreed. “Steady fellow, and he has a sound head on his shoulders.”
“I don’t disagree,” Theodosia said, reaching for her napkin, “but you must admit that I could never make him happy. Nor he me.”
There was a pause, then a soft, almost reluctant nod from Mrs. Worthing. “Perhaps you are right, my dear.”
Just then, a maid entered carrying a large tray and began placing steaming dishes upon the table. Mr. Worthing rose and moved to carve the meat. As he sliced, Mrs. Worthing, ever the matchmaker, turned to Theodosia.
“Is there anyone else in the village who has caught your eye?”
Theodosia shook her head as a plate of food was placed before her. “I’m afraid not.”
Mrs. Worthing shifted her attention to her daughter. “What about you, Penelope? Mr. Pritchett does seem rather fond of you.”
Penelope gave a nonchalant shrug. “I’m not opposed to him. He’s always been kind.”
“There’s more to marriage than kindness,” Theodosia interjected.
“Don’t say such things,” Mr. Worthing protested. “If Penelope marries, she’ll leave us. I forbid it.”
“Now, George,” his wife scolded playfully. “Penelope can’t stay forever.”
“I can if I like,” Penelope declared. “Besides, I’ve no prospects at present, and I’m quite happy here.”
“Good,” Mr. Worthing declared. “Then it’s settled.”
Laughter danced around the table as the family began to eat, the warmth of the evening settled into Theodosia’s bones. It was moments like these that made her wonder why she ever longed for more.
Still, as the silence stretched into contentment, she found herself speaking. “Something rather absurd happened on my walk over.”
Penelope perked up instantly. “Let me guess—you were attacked by a werewolf and bravely fought him off.”
Theodosia snorted. “No. There were no werewolves.”
“One more guess!” Penelope raised a finger. “You fell into a hole and discovered a secret society of subterranean villagers.”
Mrs. Worthing laughed. “Let the poor girl speak, Penelope.”
Theodosia reached for a roll as she revealed, “Lord Wilton returned to speak to me.”
Penelope sat upright. “Did you kick him?”
“No, I did not kick him.”
“Pity.”
Theodosia smiled faintly. “He… apologized. For his behavior.”
The room fell silent.
“He did?” Mrs. Worthing asked at last.
