What if she stepped beyond those boundaries and found nothing but disappointment? What if she hated it? What if she didn’t belong?
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. The words refused to form. “I suppose,” she said finally, “I don’t know who I would be… if I left.”
Mrs. Worthing reached across the table and took her hand. “Sometimes, my dear, the only way to find out who you are is to get lost entirely.”
“It is not that simple,” Theodosia murmured, casting a glance down at her blue gown. Though it was finely made and fit her well enough, it was clearly the garment of a country lady—neat, serviceable, and entirely unremarkable. “I do not even possess the proper wardrobe for London.”
Mrs. Worthing looked unconcerned as she sat back. “Then you shall commission one in London.”
“That takes time.”
“Of course it does. And you will have the time. There is no urgency that you must attend a ball the moment your boots touch cobblestone,” Mrs. Worthing said.
“But what am I to do with all that time?” Theodosia countered. “I shall be dreadfully bored without my ledgers, my tenant accounts, and estate affairs to occupy me.”
Before Mrs. Worthing could reply, Penelope interjected. “I’ve read in the newssheets that Lord Wilton’s townhouse is quite grand. Surely there will be enough paintings, statues, and ancient tapestries to keep you amused.”
Theodosia chuckled despite herself, but then grew quiet. Her smile faded as the weight of the decision crept back in.
Could she go to London?
The question echoed in her mind. It felt foreign—ridiculous, even. Nonetheless, the pull was there. Subtle but persistent. She could walk the same streets that her mother once had. She could stand beneath the crystal chandeliers of grand ballrooms that her mother once spoke of in wistful tones. She couldseethe life her mother had known—not in fragments or memories, but with her own eyes.
But was she strong enough to go alone?
As if sensing her inner turmoil, Penelope gave her a soft, encouraging smile. “You are strong enough, Dosia.”
Theodosia looked at her friend in surprise. “How did you know I was thinking that?”
“Because I’ve known you since we wore matching pinafores and chased geese through our gardens. I’ve watched you survive heartbreak, loss, and the pressure of managing your family’s estate on your own. You carry the world on your shoulders and still manage to lift your chin. I know you. And more importantly—I believe in you.”
A lump formed in Theodosia’s throat, one she wasn’t entirely prepared for. She gave Penelope a shaky smile.
“And if you don’t go,” Penelope continued, now grinning, “I shall simply dress up in one of your gowns, pin my hair back like yours, and go in your place. I’ve been practicing your stern eyebrow in the mirror.”
Theodosia laughed, fully and freely, the tension in her chest easing for the first time that evening. Maybe… just maybe… it wasn’t such a terrible idea, after all.
