Theodosia paused before admitting, “I do. I know some might think that naïve or even reckless. But I would rather be alone than marry without affection.”
Olivia reached out and laid a hand over Theodosia’s sleeve. “I think that’s brave of you.”
“Brave?”
“Yes. So many women accept what is offered to them—security, position, a name. But love? That is rarely promised. And even more rarely insisted upon.”
There was something in Olivia’s tone—wistful and shaded with regret—that gave Theodosia pause. “Were you in love with Mr. Smith?” she asked.
A laugh escaped Olivia, short and bitter. She gave a firm shake of her head. “Heavens, no. Whatever I felt for Luke, it was most certainly not love.”
“But you have loved before, haven’t you?” Theodosia pressed.
Olivia’s posture stiffened slightly, and she turned her face away. “Yes. I loved someone once. And for a little while, I thought he loved me in return.”
Theodosia said nothing, sensing this was a confession long kept buried.
“He made me believe there was a future for us,” Olivia continued. “He gave me every reason to hope… and then he married someone else.”
Silence fell between them for a long moment. The only sound was the faint rustle of pages turning somewhere across the room.
“I’m sorry,” Theodosia murmured, unsure of what else she could say.
Olivia gave a small shrug, but her eyes shimmered. “It was a long time ago. And I’ve made my peace with it.” She forced a faint smile. “But it does leave you wondering whether love is worth the ache.”
Theodosia reached for Olivia’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I think it is.”
“That is why I so foolishly ran off to Gretna Green withLuke,” Olivia said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t thinking clearly, and I just wanted the pain to go away. But all I’ve done is make everything worse. I’ve only deepened the ache I was trying to escape.”
Theodosia gave her a sympathetic look. “There’s no simple remedy for a broken heart. I watched my father wrestle with his grief after my mother died. He went about his days as if nothing had changed, kept up appearances for my sake, but the sadness in his eyes never truly faded.”
Olivia reached into the delicate reticule hanging from her wrist and pulled out a lace-trimmed handkerchief. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “My brother doesn’t understand. How could he? I sometimes think his heart is partially made from stone.”
“Have you tried talking to him about all this?” Theodosia asked.
Olivia looked horrified at the mere suggestion. “Good heavens, no. Richard values duty above all else. He would never understand why I acted the way I did. I know he resents me for dragging our family’s name through the mud.”
“Has he said as much to you?”
“No. But I see it in his eyes when he looks at me. That particular look of silent judgment.”
Theodosia’s lips twitched. “Would you describe it as something between profound disappointment and barely restrained annoyance?”
Olivia’s brows lifted slightly. “That is… oddly precise.”
“Well, then I wouldn’t take it too personally,” Theodosia said. “Because that is exactly how he looks at me most of the time.”
Olivia laughed softly. “My brother plays the brooding lord role far too convincingly.”
“It is rather fun to tease him,” Theodosia admitted. “It is almost like poking a bear just to see its reaction.”
Olivia tucked her handkerchief away. “I won’t tell him you said that.”
“Thank you,” Theodosia replied, reaching for the stack of books she had earlier collected. “Now, where does one go to check these out?”
“Allow me,” Olivia said, taking half the stack from Theodosia’s arms. “This way.”
They made their way across the circulating library, weaving between tall shelves and small clusters of women deep in conversation. In the center of the room, behind a wide wooden counter, stood a thin man with silver spectacles perched precariously on his nose. A large leather-bound ledger lay open in front of him, his quill poised in hand as if caught mid-thought.
