Lord Wilton made a dismissive sound. “I have no interest in your sister. I came seeking your brother.”
She sighed, exasperated. “And I keep telling you that I haven’t one. Honestly, my lord, speaking to you is like shouting into the wind.”
She returned her attention to the open ledger before her, as if that might prompt him to leave, and continued. “If you would be so kind as to remove yourself, I have accounts to balance, and your presence is most unhelpful.”
He opened his mouth, clearly intent on launching another round of accusations, but his companion intervened before he could.
“Thank you for your time, Miss,” the man said, offering her a short, respectful bow.
She dipped her head in return. “Good day to you, sir.”
But Lord Wilton did not leave immediately. Instead, he stepped closer to her desk, his voice dropping to a low growl. “This is not over.”
Their eyes locked briefly before he turned on his heel and stalked from the room. With a look that blended apology and faint amusement, the second man gave her one last glance before following after him.
Theodosia exhaled slowly as the door clicked shut and silence blanketed the room once more. Dear heavens, but Lord Wilton was the most arrogant man she had ever had the misfortune of meeting. She had heard whispers of him, of course—who in London hadn’t? A marquess, wealthy, powerful, and, according to the Society pages, among the Season’s most eligible bachelors. But none of that mattered to her.
She was the daughter of a baronet and had no desire to mingle with theton. They would only judge her for her rustic upbringing and dismiss her as provincial. Let them. She was perfectly content with her life here in the village. And with her father gone, she had the estate to oversee, a duty she took most seriously.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her dearest friend’s familiar, cheerful voice. “Did I just see two very handsome gentlemen leaving your front steps?”
Theodosia looked up to see Miss Penelope Worthing sweeping into the room, her golden curls bouncing beneath a wide-brimmed bonnet. “You did,” she confirmed, folding her hands atop the ledger she had been reviewing.
Penelope’s eyes sparkled as she sat, not bothering to concealher curiosity. “They had the look of important men. Particularly the tall one.”
“That,” Theodosia said, “was Lord Wilton.”
Penelope’s brows shot up. “The Marquess of Wilton?”
“The very same.”
Penelope leaned forward, eyes wide with disbelief. “And you let him leave without securing a proposal? Dosia, you must marry him!”
Theodosia gave an inelegant snort and shook her head. “I would sooner throw myself into the lake behind the stables. He was intolerable. He burst in here, demanded to see my brother, and would not take no for an answer.”
“But… you haven’t a brother,” Penelope said, bewildered.
“Precisely,” Theodosia responded. “Yet he insisted he had seen a gentleman leaving the manor earlier this morning.”
Penelope frowned, her expression turning thoughtful. “Could it have been Lucinda with a caller?”
Theodosia shook her head, her voice tight. “No, because she left last night,” she replied. “I hardly see her these days. She comes and goes as she pleases.”
“That must grieve you,” Penelope said. “Your father would have been saddened to see such distance between his daughters.”
“It is what it is,” Theodosia replied, her voice carefully composed, though her chest ached. “When Papa passed, Lucinda made it clear she had no intention of staying. She wanted more than this inconsequential village could offer.”
“And left you to manage the estate alone.”
Theodosia gestured towards the ledgers with a flick of her hand. “I don’t mind. I rather enjoy it. There’s a comfort in order, in knowing each task matters.”
“Or perhaps you enjoy having something to fill the silence.”
Theodosia didn’t answer. Her friend wasn’t wrong. She did feel rather lonely.
After a moment, Penelope said, “You could always marry Mr. Pritchett.”
A shudder passed through Theodosia. “I think not. He deserves someone who can return his affections. And I… cannot.”
