“I can’t,” Richard said, shaking his head. “It’s too late. Theplan is already in motion. If I release her now, it will all be for nothing.”
Bedford furrowed his brow. “And what does Olivia say about this plan of yours?”
Richard winced. “She… disagrees.”
Alcott let out an exaggerated sigh. “At last, someone in your household still has their wits.”
Richard reached for his glass and took a long sip, the brandy burning his throat but doing nothing to soothe the ache in his chest. After a heavy pause, he asked, “Can we please talk about something else?”
The others exchanged glances, but no one replied immediately. The air was thick with unspoken words, the camaraderie between them strained beneath the weight of Richard’s decisions. Still, they were friends—loyal, exasperated, and perhaps the only ones who could still hope to sway him.
For now, he hoped they would let it rest.
Thankfully, Alcott broke the tension by saying, “If it’s any consolation, I am on the verge of losing my mind. Charlotte is determined to drag me to an early grave.”
“What has she done now?” Richard asked.
Exasperation etched every line in Alcott’s face. “She insists upon going out nearly every night. Last evening, she pestered me into escorting her to Vauxhall Gardens, and we didn’t return home until the sun had begun to rise.”
“That sounds positively wretched,” Westcott said, grimacing. “I can think of few things more exhausting than chaperoning a debutante through Vauxhall Gardens until dawn.”
Alcott rubbed a hand down his face. “At least when I was at war, I had a purpose. I was respected. I gave orders and people listened.Now, I have a younger sister who treats me like a glorified footman and refuses to be reasoned with.”
“We appreciate you,” Bedford offered.
Alcott gave him a withering look. “Yes, and it’s socomforting to be appreciated while dealing with a debutante obsessed with Almack’s and scandalous gossip.”
Richard chuckled despite himself, grateful for the shift in conversation.
“The real problem,” Alcott continued, his tone growing more serious, “is that my father all but ignored Charlotte after my mother passed. She was left to do as she pleased—spoiled by every indulgence, and never denied a thing.”
“And no one stepped in? No governess or aunt to curb her behavior?” Bedford asked.
Alcott waved a hand. “Oh, there were governesses. Dozens of them. But Charlotte ran them off one by one with a sort of ruthless charm I’ve never seen before in someone so small and fashionably dressed. By the time she was presented to Court, she was practically feral.”
“Feral?” Westcott repeated.
“Yes,” Alcott said with a solemn expression. “Feral. Utterly unmanageable, full of opinions, and with an uncanny ability to feign innocence.”
Bedford gave a low whistle. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”
“You have no idea,” Alcott replied grimly. “If I survive this Season with my sanity intact, I’ll consider it a miracle.”
Richard allowed a small smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. The chaos of Alcott’s domestic life, while unfortunate, was a welcome distraction from the moral mire he had dragged himself into. For now, at least, the conversation had turned away from Miss Theodosia and the consequences of his actions.
If only it could stay that way.
Theodosia scooped the last bit of lemon ice from her bowl and let it melt on her tongue, eyes fluttering shut in delight. The treat was cold and tart, with just enough sweetness to make her sigh in contentment. She scraped her spoon along the bottom of the glass bowl, hoping for one last taste. For a moment, she contemplated braving the long line again for a second serving but thought against it.
Across the dainty wrought iron table, Olivia watched her with an amused expression. “I told you that you would enjoy it,” she said with a knowing smile, tilting her parasol ever so slightly to shield her face from the afternoon sun.
“Enjoy is an understatement,” Theodosia replied, setting down her spoon with reluctant finality. “Do you think anyone would notice if I licked the bowl clean?”
Olivia laughed. “Yes, I do. And so would the rest of theton.”
With a dramatic sigh, Theodosia slid the empty dish away. “Then I suppose I must at least pretend to have some semblance of decorum.”
But even as they shared their lighthearted banter, Theodosia’s eyes caught the subtle movements around them—the way a pair of matrons whispered behind their fans, their gazes darting towards Olivia with ill-concealed curiosity.
