Olivia bobbed her head. “Trust me. It is.”
Before Theodosia could reply, a voice echoed from below. “The dinner bell has rung. Shall we adjourn to the dining room?”
They looked down the staircase to find Lady Wilton standing at the foot of the steps, one hand resting lightly on the banister. Beside her stood Lord Wilton, his gaze flicking upward. His expression bore the usual glint of restrained impatience—likely directed at her, Theodosia suspected.
“We’re coming,” Olivia called down.
Theodosia followed a few steps behind and eventually entered the dining room. The room was bathed in candlelight from a wrought iron chandelier overhead. Gilt-framed paintings adorned the dark paneled walls, and the long mahogany table gleamed beneath crystal decanters and sparkling silverware.Footmen stepped forward to pull out chairs as the ladies approached.
Theodosia murmured a quiet “thank you” as she sat down and unfolded her white linen napkin. The temptation to shrink into the upholstery was stronger than she cared to admit.
Lord Wilton and Lady Wilton took their seats at opposite ends of the table, and Olivia settled directly across from her.
Trying to fill the silence before it thickened, Theodosia said, a little louder than usual, “This is a beautiful table.”
Lady Wilton smiled. “Thank you, my dear. It was commissioned by my father when I was a child. I insisted we bring it here when David inherited the house. It holds memories,” she said, not looking up as the footmen began placing steaming bowls of creamy soup in front of each guest.
Theodosia reached for her spoon as the scent of leek and potato drifted upward. It was a familiar scent. Still, her appetite waned with nerves. Everything felt too rich, too grand—like slipping into a world she admired but didn’t quite belong to.
