Jane looked at her with weary eyes. “Don’t I?” she whispered.
Theodosia, who had been silently watching the exchange, picked up a ribbon of deep emerald green and studied it, though her attention was on the pain threaded through Jane’s voice. Something about her tone—about the way she avoided eye contact—made Theodosia wonder what cruelty, subtle or otherwise, Jane had endured behind the walls of her family’s home.
Olivia dropped her hand to her side. “It’s illegal to force someone into marriage.”
Jane looked down at the floor, her expression bleak. “Legalities mean little when your choices are taken from you,” she murmured.
The door opened behind them, and two finely dressed women entered, engaged in conversation. Jane’s posture straightened instantly, and her voice returned to polite brightness.
“Well, I should be off before my brother comes looking for me,” she said. “It was lovely to meet you, Miss Theodosia.”
“And you, my lady,” Theodosia replied.
With a final smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, Jane slipped through the door and disappeared into the crowd beyond.
Olivia watched the door for a long moment, her expression somber. “I feel awful for her,” she said. “Her father and brother are so overbearing. She’s never had a chance to live for herself.”
“Is there anything we can do to help her?”
Olivia shook her head. “Even speaking to me today was a risk. Her father loathes scandal and controls everything—his house, his name, and sadly, his daughter.”
Theodosia gave a sad smile. “At the expense of her happiness.”
“It’s always been that way,” Olivia said. “Even when we were girls.”
Just then, a stout, matronly woman approached in a crispwhite apron, her hands folded in front of her. “May I help you find something, my lady?”
Olivia lifted a spool of pale blue and held it up. “I’d like to purchase these, please.”
“Of course, it would be my pleasure to assist you,” the woman said, taking the ribbons from her with a practiced smile. “I’ll place them on your account.”
As the woman bustled away, Theodosia looked again to the front window, her thoughts still with Jane. She wondered how many other young women were trapped in gilded cages, their futures dictated by duty and pride.
And how many would ever escape?
As they waited for the ribbon to be boxed up, Theodosia couldn’t help but reflect on how fortunate she was. Unlike so many young women of her station, she possessed something rare: independence. The modest estate her late father had left her was not only profitable but also a source of quiet pride. She genuinely enjoyed managing it. It gave her purpose and, more importantly, choices. Choices that women like Jane could only dream of.
The shop assistant returned with a neat parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with a ribbon. “Here is your ribbon, my lady. All boxed up and ready to go.”
Olivia accepted the bundle. “Thank you.”
They stepped outside onto the pavement, and a footman appeared by their side, having maintained a discreet distance throughout their outing. Olivia handed off the parcel without breaking stride.
As they made their way down the pavement towards the waiting coach, Olivia asked, “What shall we do now?”
A mischievous smile came to Theodosia’s lips. “We could return home and read one of those scandalous French romance novels you were telling me about.”
Olivia’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she picked up her pace. “Now that is a truly brilliant idea.”
Feeling bold, Theodosia added, “And with any luck, your brother won’t be home to scowl disapprovingly from the doorway.”
Olivia laughed loudly. “I must say, your disdain for Richard is one of my favorite things.”
“Trust me, the feeling is entirely mutual,” Theodosia said dryly.
“That,” Olivia replied, casting her a sidelong grin, “only makes it more entertaining for me.”
An image of Lord Wilton came to her mind as she climbed into the coach across from Olivia, and she quickly banished it. Why did it matter if he disapproved of what she read? His opinion had no bearing on her life. He was merely a vexing marquess with an overdeveloped sense of propriety and a talent for provoking her at every turn.
Still, the memory of his piercing blue eyes lingered longer than she liked, unsettling her more than she cared to admit. She straightened her spine, forcing herself to focus on the present.He doesn’t matter.You don’t answer to him, she reminded herself firmly.
So why did a small, traitorous part of her long to see him truly smile at her?
