Olivia waved a hand, but there was a terseness in her words. “You owe me no thanks. Pritchett is a coward—accosting a woman in the shadows like some back-alley villain.”
“I never imagined he would stoop to such behavior.”
“People reveal their darkest sides when they’re cornered.When they think they’ve lost everything.” Olivia’s voice took on a pensive quality that gave Theodosia pause.
She studied her friend. “Is that how you feel? Like you’ve nothing left?”
Olivia exhaled slowly, turning her face towards the window as the city passed them by. “I don’t know what I feel anymore. Some days it’s despair. Other days... nothing at all.”
With gentle care, Theodosia reached across the coach, touching Olivia’s gloved hand. “You do have something left. You have yourself, your wit, your courage. Don’t let one man’s betrayal define your future.”
A weak smile flickered on Olivia’s lips. “A part of me believes that. But another part, the louder part, insists I’ve ruined everything beyond repair.”
“Then quiet the louder part,” Theodosia insisted. “You alone choose which thoughts to believe. That is a power no one can take from you.”
There was a long pause before Olivia whispered, “I fell in love with a rake who made me feel seen. I thought I could change him. I was wrong. And the worst part? I feel like a fool.”
“No,” Theodosia asserted. “You believed in love. That’s never foolish. It’s brave.”
Olivia let out a mirthless chuckle. “Perhaps I should abandon love altogether and take after my brother—practical to a fault.”
Theodosia grinned. “There must be a middle path. Somewhere between reckless rapture and rigid reason.”
After a moment, Olivia glanced sideways. “I told Richard last night. About Lord Harwood.”
Theodosia’s brows lifted. “You told him everything?”
“Heavens, no,” Olivia said quickly. “Only that I loved him. Had I confessed we were secretly engaged, Richard would’ve challenged him to a duel before sunrise.”
“Well,” Theodosia said, “I daresay Lord Harwood deserves a duel.”
Olivia laughed—genuinely this time. “Perhaps I should challenge him. It might do Society some good.”
“Women are far too practical for duels,” Theodosia said wryly. “We use our words as weapons. Far more effective, I’d argue.”
“Perhaps,” Olivia murmured. “Though a pistol would certainly solve some problems more quickly.”
Theodosia’s eyes flicked to the small reticule dangling from Olivia’s wrist. “Are you carrying your muff pistol now?”
“I am,” Olivia said without a trace of shame.
“Well, oddly enough, I feel safer knowing that,” Theodosia admitted. “Though your brother insists upon footmen for our protection.”
“One can never be too prepared,” Olivia replied.
Just then, the coach slowed and came to a gentle halt. Theodosia gathered the books and stepped onto the pavement, nodding for Olivia to follow. Together, they crossed the pavement and entered the familiar hush of the circulating library.
After returning their finished books inside, they wandered among the shelves, the quiet rustle of pages and distant murmurs of other patrons surrounding them like a comforting shroud.
Theodosia had just reached for a novel with a blue cloth cover when a voice, low and unwelcomely familiar, broke through the calm.
“We meet again.”
A cold shiver coursed down her spine. Slowly, she turned to face Mr. Pritchett.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded in a hushed voice, her fingers tightening around the book.
“I came to speak with you,” he said simply.
