“I believe it is most appropriate, don’t you?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Theodosia admitted. “I have never served as a companion before.”
“Then we shall figure it out together. But first, you should rest. I’ll have a maid sent up to help you dress.”
“That won’t be necessary. I can manage on my own.”
“I’ve no doubt,” Lady Wilton replied. “But this is London, my dear. Appearances matter. We all have our parts to play.”
Theodosia glanced down at her traveling habit. “In that case, I should tell you that my gowns are quite plain. They will look terribly out of place in your dining hall.”
Lady Wilton waved a dismissive hand. “Then you shall borrow one of Olivia’s for tonight. You’re about the same size.”
“Would Lady Olivia mind?”
“I won’t give her the chance,” she said with a wink. “Now, is there anything else?”
Theodosia had a dozen reasons to refuse the offer, to protest the formality, to remind them all that she was only meant to serve—but Lady Wilton’s warmth and determination were not easily refused.
“No, my lady,” she said. “Thank you for your kindness.”
Lady Wilton reached for the door but paused with her hand resting lightly on the handle. She turned back to Theodosiawith a thoughtful expression. “If you would like, I can have a maid escort you to the dining room this evening. The layout of this townhouse can be rather bewildering until one grows accustomed to it.”
“I would be most grateful,” Theodosia replied, relief evident in her voice. “I fear I might end up in the kitchens or someone’s bedchamber if left to my own devices.”
A soft laugh escaped Lady Wilton’s lips. “An understandable concern. Some of the corridors lead in peculiar directions and my late husband always swore the architect must have been drunk when he drew up the plans.”
Theodosia smiled faintly, her nerves soothed somewhat by the older woman’s humor.
“You are very welcome here,” Lady Wilton said. “Do not give a second thought to Olivia’s reaction. She has never taken kindly to surprises, especially those involving change.”
“I hope I haven’t caused her too much distress.”
Lady Wilton’s eyes softened. “You’ve done no such thing. Olivia has a flair for dramatics, but she is not unkind at heart. Give her a little time.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
“Now,” Lady Wilton continued gently, “rest while you can. A tray will be brought up shortly, and I expect you to eat every bite of it. You’ve a long evening ahead.”
With that, she slipped from the room, the quiet click of the door closing behind her.
Left alone, Theodosia drifted towards the tall windows. She pulled back the drape and gazed out at the expansive gardens. The scene was breathtaking—carefully trimmed hedges shaped into spirals, gravel paths meandering like rivers through patches of color, and rose bushes heavy with bloom. She spotted a marble fountain tucked beneath a linden tree.
It was a world so far removed from her modest home in Sussex that she could scarcely believe she now stood within it.
Her eyes followed a movement along the path—Lady Olivia. She was pacing briskly, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her expression stormy even at a distance. Theodosia’s heart pinched. It was not her wish to unsettle anyone, least of all the woman she had been brought here to befriend and assist. If only there were a way to soothe her, to explain that she came not as a threat, but in good faith.
But for now, Olivia looked as if she would not welcome conversation.
A sudden yawn broke through her thoughts, catching her by surprise. The long hours of travel had finally taken their toll. Perhaps Lady Wilton was right. What she needed now more than anything was rest. A nap, even a brief one, might help her face the evening ahead with greater composure.
She turned from the window, crossed the room to the grand four-poster bed, and lay back against the cool silk coverlet. As her eyes fluttered closed, she could still see the image of Olivia pacing the gardens’ path etched in her mind.
She hoped—desperately—that this arrangement might yet become something more than a strained obligation.
Something like belonging.
