“No,” he replied promptly. “I’ll ride alongside on horseback.”
She smiled, a real one this time—cool, composed, but with the faintest glimmer of satisfaction. “Good. I find that much more preferable.”
“As do I.”
“Until tomorrow, then, my lord,” Miss Theodosia said with a slight curtsy.
He bowed. “Until tomorrow.”
Theodosia sat on the floor of her bedchamber, the morning sun slanting through the tall windows and casting long, golden beams across the room. Before her sat two open trunks—half-filled, half-forgotten—and a scattering of neatly folded gowns, underthings, and shawls strewn across the carpet.
Her hands rested in her lap, still, unmoving.
What am I doing?
The question rang in her mind like a bell. Could she really travel to London with Lord Wilton—a man she was hardly acquainted with and barely tolerated? He was arrogant, overbearing, and altogether too self-satisfied. And if his sister was anything like him? Theodosia couldn’t bear the thought of spending days—weeks—in the company of people who would surely look down their noses at her.
She belonged here. In the village. With her ledgers and her fields and her tenants. With the wind in the trees and the sound of the church bells each Sunday morning. She had a purpose here.
What if her steward failed her in her absence? What if rents went uncollected, roofs leaked, or livestock fell ill? People depended on her. She couldn’t abandon them just to go gallivanting off to London for some foolish adventure that might end in disaster.
Her resolve hardened. Rising from the floor, she moved towards the nearest trunk and reached for the lid.No. She would stay. It was the sensiblething to do.
Before she could close it, the door swung open, and Penelope swept into the room. “Good morning,” her friend sang cheerfully, pausing at the threshold.
Theodosia turned, managing a faint smile. “Good morning.”
Penelope’s sharp eyes scanned the trunks and the piles of carefully arranged garments. With an exaggerated gasp, she dropped to the floor beside Theodosia. “Well, if the great packing has commenced, I assume this means you’ve decided to go to Town?”
Theodosia hesitated. Then, with a sigh, she closed the lid and settled onto the trunk. “Actually… I’ve decided not to go.”
“What? Whyever not?”
“I have an estate to run,” Theodosia replied. “People who rely on me. I can’t leave them in the hands of someone else—not for weeks.”
Penelope raised a brow. “You have a man of business. And a very capable one, if I recall correctly. You chose him.”
“What if he isn’t as capable as I thought?” Theodosia asked. “What if something goes wrong and I’m not here to fix it?”
“You won’t know unless you trust someone else to try,” Penelope replied. “And you are careful. You don’t make hasty decisions. If you believe he can do the job, then he likely can.”
Theodosia stared down at her hands. “Maybe. But even if I do go, I know nothing about being a companion. What if I make a fool of myself? What if I’m simply… not enough?”
Penelope gave her a wry look. “Methinks you protest too much.”
Theodosia arched a brow. “I’m serious. What if I’m a disaster? What if I’m dismissed the moment we arrive?”
“Then you come home. And at least you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you tried.”
“I don’t like uncertainty,” Theodosia murmured. “Here, I know what to expect.”
Penelope leaned forward, her tone shifting to something softer. “And that is exactly why you should go. You’ve spent your life doing what is expected of you. Running an estate, tending to others, and being utterly dependable. But when was the last time you did something just for yourself?”
Theodosia didn’t reply. She wasn’t sure she could.
Penelope continued. “You deserve to see more of the world than the borders of this village. You deserve ballrooms and fireworks and whispered secrets behind fans. You deserve to stand in a grand house and know that you belong there.”
“But what if I fail?”
