Alcott studied him a moment before replying, “You will have that influence. It doesn’t come overnight.”
Richard shook his head. “I’m not so sure. The House of Lords still sees me as my father’s son, not my own man. And they’re watching—waiting for me to misstep.”
“They’re also watching to see if you rise to the occasion,” Alcott pointed out. “Which you will.”
“That’s wishful thinking.”
Alcott’s mouth tugged into a grin. “Then it’s a good thing you’ve caught me on an unusually optimistic day.”
Richard glanced at him sideways. “Remind me to ask again when you’re in a foul mood. Perhaps then I’ll get the truth.”
Alcott chuckled. “You’ll get the same truth, just with a lot more sarcasm.”
With a weary sigh, Richard pushed to his feet, stretching his shoulders as though preparing for battle rather than a quiet return home. “I suppose I ought to head back,” he said, his tone dry. “It’s time I faced what I’ve been putting off… even if I dread every moment of it.”
Alcott stood as well, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. “I don’t envy you,” he replied, his tone turning sincere. “But I do wish you luck. You’re going to need it.”
“Thank you,” Richard said before turning towards the door, the weight of what awaited him pressing heavily on his shoulders.
Theodosia sat on the floor beside one of her trunks as she folded a gown with trembling fingers. Her wardrobe lay in scattered disarray, the contents of her life hastily thrown about the chamber in her attempt to leave before she lost her nerve. She couldn’t stay here. Not after what had happened.
She had to leave—needed to, if she hoped to preserve even a shred of her heart. Last night, while waltzing beneath the glittering chandelier, she had realized with painful clarity that she had fallen in love with Richard. It had stolen into her awareness like a thief in the night—subtle, inevitable. However, no sooner had her heart acknowledged it than it had been shattered. Richard had dismissed her so coldly, so swiftly, never once allowing her to explain the truth about her sister. His anger had been cutting, his words sharper than any blade.
She blinked back the sting of fresh tears. She deserved better than to be so easily discarded.
A firm knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts.
“Enter,” she called, not even bothering to glance up.
The door creaked open and Olivia stepped inside, halting at the threshold as her eyes fell upon the chaos in the room. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice filled with confusion and rising alarm.
“I’m leaving,” Theodosia said simply, continuing to fold a chemise and tuck it beside her boots.
“Leaving?” Olivia echoed, walking farther into the room. “Why? What’s happened?”
Theodosia finally looked up. “I cannot stay under the same roof as your brother.”
Olivia lowered herself slowly onto the edge of the bed, frowning. “Did something happen last night?”
Theodosia let out a long, unsteady sigh. “Yes. It did.”
“Then tell me,” Olivia urged. “Please. Let me help fix it.”
“There’s no fixing this,” Theodosia said, rising to her feet. “Richard brought me to London under false pretenses. He made me believe I was needed as your companion when in reality?—”
Olivia’s face fell. “He told you that?”
“No,” Theodosia replied. “Mr. Smith did.”
Color drained from Olivia’s cheeks. “You spoke with Luke?”
Theodosia nodded. “Last night. He came to… rescue me, I suppose. But there’s something you must know.”
Suspicion sparked in Olivia’s gaze. “You do know Luke. Even though you denied it.”
“I do,” Theodosia admitted. “But Luke isn’t who you think he is. The man you know as Mr. Smith is my sister, Lucinda.”
Olivia shot to her feet, her mouth falling open. “That’s… impossible. I would have known if Luke were a woman.”
