“Then I daresay you’re acquainted with the wrong women.”
His lips thinned. “You are a maddening young woman.”
“Thank you.”
“That was not meant as a compliment.”
“I chose to take it as one.”
He exhaled through his nose, exasperated. She took a step forward, narrowing the space between them to mere inches.
“You never answered my question,” she said.
“Because it is none of your concern.”
She arched a brow and placed a hand on her hip. “I thought you intended to make an effort to be civil.”
“I did. Then you opened your mouth.”
“I could say the same of you.”
His eyes narrowed. He stepped close enough that she could see the faint crease between his brows and the turmoil flickering in his gaze. “The difference is that I am a marquess.”
Her brow arched higher. “Is your title supposed to impress me? Because I assure you, it does not.”
For a moment, he simply stared at her, as if trying to decipher a language he didn’t speak. “No one has ever spoken to me so plainly,” he murmured. “It is… oddly refreshing. Most women hide behind coy smiles and flutter their lashes.”
“I’ve never fluttered my lashes a day in my life.”
That drew the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I believe you.”
Her hand dropped from her hip. “We are not friends, I know. But you did look… well, sad.”
He let out a frustrated growl. “Miss Theodosia…”
“Why is it,” she asked, unbothered, “that whenever you say my name, it sounds like a curse?”
A chuckle escaped his lips. “Perhaps because I intend it as one.”
She tilted her head, her voice softening. “What troubles you, my lord?”
He turned away, shoulders drawn taut. She saw the flicker of indecision on his face before he looked back at her. “I miss my father,” he admitted.
The quiet admission stole her breath. “I understand that sentiment more than you know,” she responded.
His expression twisted. “I wasn’t ready to take on his title. He died too young and left behind a legacy I can’t possibly match.”
“Why do you say that?”
His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “He was revered. In the House of Lords. Among our tenants. Even the servants adored him. And I—” His voice cracked with frustration. “I can’t even pass a single bill. I feel like I’m failing him… and myself.”
Moved by the raw honesty in his voice, Theodosia felt anurge to comfort him, though she dared not reach for him. Instead, she offered what little she could.
“You must give it time,” she encouraged.
“I don’t think that will make a difference,” Lord Wilton responded. “And I feel like I am drowning in the accounts.”
“I could look over the accounts for you.”
