“She has a bright spirit. You would like her—everyone does.”
“Then it is a shame I did not meet her.”
Miss Theodosia fingered the edges of the blanket on her lap. “She was the one who urged me to take this trip. She said it would be an adventure.”
Richard allowed himself a chuckle. “On that count, I believe she was right.”
“I have known Penelope my entire life,” Theodosia shared. “She’s more than a friend. She is the one person who’s always been there when I’ve needed someone most.”
“That sounds like the mark of a true friend.”
“She is.” The corners of Theodosia’s mouth lifted in a faint smile, but it faltered as she looked down at her folded hands. “When my father died…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. Her voice caught, and her breath hitched. The silence that followed was heavy with unsaid words.
Richard didn’t press her. He remained quiet, sensing that to interrupt would be to intrude on something sacred. If she wanted to continue, she would.
She blinked rapidly, but the tears welled anyway. “I doapologize,” she murmured, her voice tight with emotion. “Even now, it sometimes takes me by surprise just how easily the tears come when I think of him.”
Wordlessly, Richard reached into the inner pocket of his coat, retrieving a thoroughly damp handkerchief. It was creased and damp from the rain, but he held it out to her. “It’s wet, I’m afraid,” he said, offering a sheepish smile. “But it’s the best I can do under the circumstances.”
Her smile trembled at the edges as she accepted it. “Thank you, my lord. It’s kinder than most would think to offer.”
“If it offers you any comfort,” Richard said, leaning back in his seat, “my own eyes still sting when I think of my father. You're not alone in that.”
Theodosia dabbed delicately at her cheeks. “It does help. Truly.”
He studied her a moment longer, thoughtful. “Your father must have been a remarkable man, for you to grieve him so deeply.”
She bobbed her head. “He was the very best of men. He taught me how to think and how to ask questions. He never spoke down to me, not once. Even near the end… as the cancer ravaged his body, his only concern was for me and my sister. Not for himself. Never himself.”
“That must bring you some measure of comfort.”
“It does.” She lowered her gaze, her fingers still gripping the handkerchief. “Though I do wish he had stayed longer. He should have seen how far we’ve come. How hard we’ve worked.”
Then, as if suddenly aware of herself, she exhaled and pressed the handkerchief against her lips. “Dear heavens, I must apologize again. I hadn’t meant to fall apart in front of you.”
“Don’t think twice about it,” Richard said with sincerity. “You’ve nothing to apologize for.”
She looked up, her eyes rimmed in red but clear. “May I ask about your father?”
The question struck a chord he hadn’t expected. His body stiffened, his posture no longer relaxed. “What about him?”
“You must miss him terribly.”
The words were simple, yet they cut with unsettling precision.
Richard turned his gaze away, fixing it on the rivulets of rain running down the coach window. He didn’t want to speak of this. Not with her. Not with anyone. The wound was still too fresh, and his grief too private.
“I suppose I do,” he muttered, his tone clipped, hoping she would let it drop.
But he was not so lucky.
“May I ask how he died?” she asked.
His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “Illness,” he said flatly. “It took him before any of us were ready.”
“I’m sorry.”
