His head snapped towards her, incredulous. “You?”
“I’m rather good with numbers,” she said. “I run a profitable estate. Modest, yes, but thriving.”
He scoffed. “No, thank you. I don’t need your help.”
“I didn’t say you did. But why won’t you accept it?”
“Because accepting help would be admitting I can’t manage. That I’m failing.”
She met his eyes without flinching. “It would mean you are wise enough to recognize when support is needed. That takes more strength than struggling alone.”
He shook his head, raking a hand through his hair, leaving it terribly disheveled. “You can’t imagine the pressure I’m under. Everyone watching. Expecting me to be him.”
“I do imagine it,” she retorted. “I’m a young woman managing an estate. And everyone in my village is waiting for me to fail.”
He looked at her then, as if he noticed her for the first time. “Perhaps,” he said, “you understand more than I gave you credit for.”
Theodosia smiled. “Was that a rare compliment from you, my lord?”
The corners of Lord Wilton’s mouth lifted ever so slightly. “I suppose it was.”
His smile, genuine and unguarded, caught her off guard. As their eyes held, something shifted between them. A thread of understanding, perhaps, woven from shared burdens neither had intended to reveal. She saw in him not just the irritable, arrogant marquess but a man shaped by grief, duty, and silentexpectations. And he, in turn, saw her not merely as an impertinent nuisance, but as someone who might actually understand the weight of standing alone.
The moment fractured at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Good heavens,” Olivia said from the doorway, her tone light and teasing. “I do hope you two are plotting each other’s downfall. It would be the only logical explanation for this level of intensity.”
Lord Wilton broke their gaze first, stepping back with a faint clearing of his throat. “We’ve come to something of an understanding.”
“Did you?” Olivia narrowed her eyes, her voice laced with mock suspicion.
Theodosia turned towards her. “It’s true. Your brother even offered me a compliment.”
Olivia gasped theatrically. “Is he bottle-weary? Should I summon the physician?”
“I haven’t touched a drop this evening,” he said with a long-suffering sigh.
Before the banter could continue, Lady Wilton entered the room and asked, “Shall we adjourn to the dining room?”
“Yes,” her son muttered under his breath, already turning towards the door.
As they filed out of the drawing room, Theodosia found herself walking beside Lord Wilton once more. The air between them felt curiously lighter, less fraught than it had just moments ago. She glanced sideways at him and, before she could think better of it, said, “I had lemon ice today.”
The words left her mouth and immediately struck her as absurd. Of all things to say…
He turned his head just slightly towards her. “Did you enjoy it?”
“I did,” she said. “I can now understand why Gunter’s Tea Shop is all the rage.”
“Next time, you should try the lavender ice. It’s rather underrated.”
“Lavender?”
He nodded. “It is oddly satisfying.”
“If I had my way, I’d go to Gunter’s every day,” she mused aloud, not entirely joking.
His lips quirked. “There is nothing stopping you.”
