“Because I’ve watched you brood over this woman,” Alcott said. “You have changed since she arrived—and not for the worse. Because maybe, just maybe, she matters more than you’re willing to admit.”
Richard said nothing. He hated how close his friend was to the truth. He’d been so consumed by fury the night before that he hadn’t even given Theodosia the dignity of a defense. In spite of everything, her eyes had haunted him, filled not with guilt—but sorrow.
Would she lie to him again? Could he trust her?
Could he risk it?
Alcott placed a hand on his shoulder. “Listen to your heart, Wilton. What is it telling you to do?”
Richard huffed a laugh, though it held no humor. “Since when did you become a hopeless romantic?”
“I haven’t,” Alcott said, dropping his hand. “When I marry, it’ll be for practical reasons. Someone to help with Charlotte. Someone steady.”
Richard raised an eyebrow. “Is Charlotte really so terrible?”
“She ignores half of what I say,” Alcott responded. “And she’s always scribbling in that blasted notebook of hers.”
“Is that truly so awful?”
“There are worse vices, I suppose. But sometimes I feel like I’m guardian to a whirlwind.”
A small line was forming beside the ring. Richard glanced over and noticed several men waiting for their turn. “I think I’ve had enough boxing for today.”
Alcott inclined his head, following him out of the ring. “How is Lady Olivia handling all of this?”
Richard paused beside the bench and sat heavily. “She doesn’t know. She’d already retired to bed when Mr. Smith arrived.”
“You need to tell her,” Alcott said. “Soon.”
“I know,” Richard murmured as he began to unravel the linen from his knuckles. “But once she learns what Theodosia’s done—or what I think she’s done—she’ll be devastated. She trusted her.”
Alcott sat down beside him. “Are you sure she did something?”
Richard shot him a look.
Alcott held up his hands. “All I’m saying is… I’m not convinced she’s the villain in this story.”
“Sheactsinnocent,” he said quietly. “Too innocent.”
“Or,” Alcott countered, “sheisinnocent. You just don’t want to believe it because then you’d have to face what you feel for her.”
Richard gave a hollow laugh. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”
“Constantly,” Alcott agreed cheerfully. “But I also happen to be an excellent judge of character. And something tells me Miss Theodosia deserves better than your current opinion of her.”
“I would prefer,” Richard said, raking a hand through his damp hair, “if we talked about something else. Anything, really.”
Alcott, to his credit, didn’t press. He simply nodded as he settled back on the bench. “Very well. How is your bill coming along?”
“Warwicke and I are drafting it now, but I’m not optimistic about its reception.”
“That doesn’t sound like you,” Alcott remarked. “You’re usually more stubborn than that.”
“This isn’t about stubbornness,” Richard replied, reachingdown to untie the last strip of linen from his wrist. “It’s reality. If this were my father’s bill, it would pass without debate.”
Alcott leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Yes, well, your name is attached to it, not his.”
“Exactly,” Richard remarked. “My father had sway on both sides of the aisle. Tories and Whigs alike deferred to him. He spoke, and votes followed. I’m not afforded that same courtesy.”
