Theodosia felt the sting of tears pressing against her eyes and blinked them back furiously. She would not cry now—not in front of Olivia, not when she still had so much packing left to do. Those tears, the ones that threatened to undo her, would have to wait until she was alone. Until she was far, far away.
Olivia continued. “You’re giving up too soon. I know my brother. He may be stubborn and prideful, but he’s not unfeeling. He cares for you.”
“He threatened to send me to prison.” Her voice cracked slightly, but she steadied herself. “He was ready to call the constable.”
“Well... I never claimed my brother was a smart man.”
That drew a faint, fleeting smile from Theodosia. “Thank you,” she said. “For being my friend. I will always treasure the time I spent with you.”
“You were the best companion I ever had,” Olivia replied, her voice breaking.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door, and before either of them could speak, it opened to reveal Lady Wilton. Her expression was solemn, but her eyes held only compassion.
“The coach is waiting out front to take you home,” she said.
Theodosia turned towards her. “That won’t be necessary. I intend to take the mail coach back to my village.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Wilton replied, waving a dismissive hand. “We have a perfectly suitable coach already prepared. You shall take it.”
Theodosia hesitated. “Will Lord Wilton object?”
A knowing smile tugged at the corners of Lady Wilton’s lips. “Let me worry about my son.”
Olivia threw up her hands in exasperation. “Why are we even discussing this? Dosia can’t leave. She’s done nothing wrong!”
“I agree,” Lady Wilton said. “She told me everything this morning.”
“Then why aren’t you stopping her?” Olivia demanded. “Why aren’t you encouraging her to stay and make things right with Richard?”
“Because,” Lady Wilton said, turning to Theodosia, “it is her choice. And hers alone. We do not get to decide what she must endure.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Theodosia replied.
A kind smile came to Lady Wilton’s lips. “If you intend to leave, you should go soon—before Richard returns from the boxing club.”
Olivia groaned. “This is ridiculous! Why are you sneaking off like a thief in the night? You did nothing wrong.”
Theodosia returned to her trunk, folding one of her gowns. “Perhaps not. But Mr. Pritchett was right about one thing—I don’t belong in this world.”
Olivia’s eyes filled with pain. “You do. You belong with us. With me.”
“No. I was pretending. Pretending I fit in, pretending I mattered. But last night, Richard made it abundantly clear what he truly thinks of me.”
Olivia came beside her and began folding gowns with brisk efficiency. “This is a mistake, but I shall help you.”
“Duly noted,” Theodosia said, her voice tight.
A short while later, Theodosia descended the stairs, her blue traveling gown rustling softly as she walked behind the footmen carrying her trunks to the waiting coach. Her hair had been hastily pinned into a loose chignon and a bonnet was in her hand.
The main door opened suddenly, and Richard stepped into the entry hall, his cravat askew. His eyes fell immediately on the trunks—and then on her.
“Where do you think you are going?” he asked, his voice sharp with disbelief.
“I am going home, my lord.”
“Like hell you are,” he snapped, striding towards her. “You will remain here until you tell me the truth about Mr. Smith.”
Olivia’s voice echoed down from the top of the stairs. “Let her go, Richard. She told me everything and she is innocent.”
