“And what if you marry a prince?” Penelope said brightly.
Theodosia rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to marry a prince.”
“You could,” Penelope said with a grin. “And you’d have a castle, and dozens of servants to do your bidding.”
“You, my dear friend, are completely delusional.”
“Perhaps,” Penelope conceded with a shrug, “but I’m your delusional friend. And I need to share in these adventures with you. Which means you must go and you must write to me with every delicious detail.”
Theodosia rose from the trunk and wandered to the window. She stared out at the familiar gardens, the same ones she had played in as a child, learned to prune roses in, and walked through alone after her father’s funeral.
The thought of leaving everything behind terrified her.
However, the thought of never leaving it at all terrified her even more.
Penelope came to stand beside her. “You don’t have to stay caged by the life you’ve always known, Dosia. It’s time to be brave.”
“I wish you could come with me,” Theodosia said.
“And leave my parents?” Penelope scoffed. “Impossible.They’d be lost without me. I’m the glue that keeps them from driving each other mad.”
Theodosia laughed, and the tightness in her chest eased just a little. “I’ll go,” she said, turning towards her friend with a small, determined nod. “I’ll go to London.”
Penelope threw her arms in the air triumphantly. “Good! And when you do marry a prince, I had better be invited to the wedding.”
Theodosia smiled. “I promise you that I will not be marrying a prince.”
“That is a real shame since the queen is trying to marry her sons off. You would’ve had your pick,” Penelope replied with mock solemnity as she looped her arm through Theodosia’s. “Now, since we’ve made the most momentous decision of your life, I believe we’ve earned a biscuit.”
“I do love biscuits,” Theodosia said as they started towards the door together.
“Then let us go and pillage the kitchen like the scandalous adventuresses we are.”
Laughter still echoed between them as Theodosia and Penelope stepped out of the bedchamber and descended the staircase. Though a knot of uncertainty remained curled in Theodosia’s chest, she felt lighter somehow. Doubts lingered, yes—but when would such an opportunity come again? Life rarely offered second chances at adventure.
As they walked into the sun-warmed kitchen, the scent of butter, herbs, and freshly baked bread wrapped around them like a familiar embrace. A cheerful fire crackled in the hearth, and Mrs. Meng, the stout, dark-haired cook, stood over a large iron pot, stirring with practiced ease.
Upon hearing the door, she glanced over her shoulder, her round face lighting with amusement. “I know exactly what you two are looking for,” she said, her voice rich with affection. “Go on, now. They’re on the table.”
Theodosia crossed the room, lifted a linen cloth, and revealed a generous plate of biscuits. She plucked one free and bit into it with a soft sigh of contentment. “I’m going to miss these when I’m in London.”
Mrs. Meng set her spoon aside. “I’ve no doubt that handsome marquess keeps a proper French chef on his household staff. You’ll be well fed.”
“Lord Wilton? Handsome?” Theodosia took another bite and chewed deliberately. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Penelope let out a dramatic gasp and pressed a hand to her chest. “You hadn’t noticed?” she echoed. “Have your eyes failed you, Dosia? He’s precisely what I imagined when I used to dream about tall, brooding lords riding up to the manor gates.”
With an indifferent shrug, Theodosia replied, “He is not unpleasant to look at, I suppose.”
Penelope narrowed her eyes. “That’s it?Not unpleasant? Honestly, I’m beginning to question our entire friendship. Who are you? Have you been replaced by a changeling?”
Theodosia smirked into her next bite. “Because I don’t swoon over Lord Wilton?”
“Exactly!” Penelope declared, throwing her hands up. “He’s got that dark hair, that chiseled jaw, and stormy eyes. Don’t you think he might’ve been a pirate in a former life?”
“A pirate?”
Penelope nodded, eyes sparkling. “Oh, yes. I can just see it now—him in a long coat, sword at his hip, rescuing innocent maidens from terrible fates.”
