As if summoned by the mere utterance of his name, the drawing room door creaked open, and a maid stepped inside. “Miss, Mr. Pritchett requests a moment of your time.”
Penelope stifled a laugh. “Speak of the devil. He is nothing if not persistent.”
“That he is,” Theodosia agreed wearily before nodding to the maid. “You may show him in.”
Penelope rose. “And that is my cue to leave.”
“Must you?” Theodosia asked, only half-teasing.
Grinning, Penelope swept towards the door. “I wouldn’t dream of interrupting a most intriguing social call.” Her laughter echoed down the corridor as she departed.
Moments later, Mr. Pritchett was shown into the room by a maid. He was tall and lanky, with an earnest expression. His long face, narrow shoulders, and thinning hair were offset by an eagerness she had always found… tolerable, if nothing else.
“Mr. Pritchett,” she greeted, rising.
He bowed low. “Miss Theodosia. Thank you for receiving me.”
She dropped into a curtsy. “Of course.”
He removed his hat and immediately began wringing it in his hands, the brim twisting beneath his fingers. “I won’t waste your time with unnecessary pleasantries,” he said abruptly. Then, before she could so much as blink, he dropped to one knee. “I’ve come to ask for your hand in marriage.”
Theodosia’s breath caught.No, no, no… this cannot be happening.
He pressed forward. “I’ve given this matter considerable thought. A union between us would be both logical and beneficial.Together, we would control the largest acreage in the county.”
“Mr. Pritchett—” she began.
But he lifted a hand, stopping her. “Please, allow me to finish. I have admired you for years. I believe I could make you happy, if given the chance.”
She opened her mouth to respond again, but he barreled on. “You’ve done an admirable job managing your father’s estate, but I believe it would be best if I took over the responsibilities of both households. You could then devote yourself to more womanly pursuits—needlework, social visits… things of that nature.”
Her lips parted in astonishment. She had endured many things in her life—loss, loneliness, even Lord Wilton’s arrogant disdain—but this? This was beyond the pale. Not only had Mr. Pritchett proposed with hardly a word of affection, but he had somehow managed to insult her competence, erase her independence, and relegate her existence to embroidery hoops and tepid tea visits in the space of a single conversation.
Her voice, when it finally emerged, was calm and measured—far calmer than she felt. “Mr. Pritchett?—”
“Adam,” he interjected, as if that slight familiarity might sway her.
She gave him a weak smile. “Mr. Pritchett,” she repeated, “I appreciate the offer… truly. But I must decline.”
He blinked, confusion flashing across his face. Then again, more slowly. “I beg your pardon?”
“You and I have always maintained a cordial relationship,” she said, carefully choosing each word, “and I value that. I do. But I do not believe marriage would suit either of us.”
There was an awkward moment of silence.
“You are rejecting me?” he asked, still on one knee, as if the very idea was too foreign to be real.
“I propose,” she continued with deliberate delicacy, “that weput this unfortunate moment behind us and continue on as friends. As we always have.”
He did not rise immediately. Instead, his brow furrowed, and he stared up at her as if she had spoken in a foreign tongue. “But… it makes perfect sense,” he said at last. “Our lands adjoin. We’ve known each other for years. And—” he hesitated, then pressed on, “you have no other prospects.”
“That may be true, Mr. Pritchett. But even so, I must decline.”
He huffed. “My mother said you were desperate to marry. That you were only waiting to be asked.”
Theodosia stiffened, her smile now gone. “Did she?”
“I mean no insult,” he said quickly, climbing to his feet at last, brushing off his knee with a stiff motion. “It’s just that you are two and twenty years old. And alone. It is not unreasonable to assume…”
