He glanced at the building and shrugged. “It serves its purpose. But I’d prefer not to remain standing out here like a man preparing to be judged. Come along.”
He offered his arm, and she hesitated.
“Is it wise for me to walk in on your arm?” she asked in a hushed voice. “I am meant to be a companion—at least, I hope to be. I do not believe I ought to enter the home of a marquess in such a fashion.”
“I am offering you my arm as a gentleman,” he replied, his brow lifting. “And you, Miss Theodosia, are overthinking it.”
“I always do,” she said with a rueful smile, accepting the gesture. Her hand settled lightly on his forearm.
He leaned closer. “But surely you must admit—it’s much more fun to break a rule or two now and then.”
“I tend to abide by them.”
“A pity,” he muttered.
The main door opened just then, revealing a dark-haired man in his middle years, dressed in the somber attire of a senior household servant. He bowed deeply.
“Good evening, my lord,” he said before stepping aside to allow them entry.
Lord Wilton dropped her arm as they crossed the threshold. “Sterling, allow me to introduce Miss Theodosia Smith. She will serve as Lady Olivia’s companion for the foreseeable future.”
If Sterling was surprised by this pronouncement, his expression revealed nothing. “Very good, my lord. I shall see that the necessary arrangements are made.”
“Excellent. Where is my sister?”
“In the drawing room with her ladyship.”
Lord Wilton turned to Theodosia. “Are you prepared?”
She drew in a breath and lifted her chin. “As ready as I shall ever be.”
Something flickered in his gaze—hesitation, perhaps, or doubt—but he blinked, and it vanished behind his usual impassive expression. He gestured towards a set of doors just off the entry hall. “Let us get this over with.”
“You make it sound so inviting,” she muttered, following him.
He pushed open the door, and Theodosia stepped into a tastefully appointed drawing room. A blonde-haired woman lounged on a settee near the window, idly twisting a strand ofhair between her fingers. Beside her sat an older woman with distinguished white-streaked hair, bent over her embroidery frame with quiet focus.
Lord Wilton cleared his throat. “Olivia. Mother.”
The younger woman’s head snapped around. “Brother, you’re finally—” She broke off, her eyes landing on Theodosia. “Who is this?”
“This is Miss Theodosia Smith,” he replied.
Olivia’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Is she?—”
“She is to be your companion,” he said firmly, cutting her off.
Olivia blinked. “Surely you are not serious.”
“I am.”
“I don’t need a companion,” she objected.
“Well, you now have one,” Lord Wilton asserted. He turned to his mother. “I also promised Miss Theodosia a new wardrobe. Could you see to it that the dressmaker is summoned?”
Lady Wilton stood and approached with a kind smile. “Of course. I am Lady Wilton—Richard’s mother.”
Theodosia dipped into a curtsy. “It is an honor to meet you, my lady.”
