“They are perfect,” Richard said, handing them over to Miss Theodosia. “Might I trouble you for a demonstration?”
She accepted the oranges and adjusted them in her gloved hands. “If you insist.”
“I do.”
Without another word, she tossed one orange into the air and caught it smoothly. Then the second followed. And finally, the third. Within moments, all three oranges danced between her hands in a swift, fluid rhythm that defied expectation. Her posture was effortless, and her movements were precise.
The surrounding patrons—many of whom had pretended not to notice their arrival—began to murmur and gawk openly.
After a few passes, she caught the oranges neatly andreturned them to her lap with a triumphant smirk. “Are you satisfied now, my lord?”
He stared at her, quite dumbfounded. “How did you come by such a skill?”
“My uncle taught me,” she said with a casual shrug. “Much to the mortification of my mother and father. It amused him to see how quickly I could master it, but my mother made me swear never to do it in public again. She was terrified of what the villagers would think.”
Miss Theodosia turned her head, taking in the widened eyes and scandalized expressions of Gunter’s patrons, and continued. “It would appear I’ve gone and attracted quite the audience.”
Olivia laughed, clearly delighted. “At least they’re staring at you now instead of me.”
“I don’t mind,” Miss Theodosia said. “You deserve kindness, Olivia. Not the judgment of people who are too proud to examine their own faults.”
The server returned with three glass bowls filled with lemon ice. “Will there be anything else?”
“No,” Richard said, handing the desserts to the ladies. “This will do nicely.”
As they began to eat, the atmosphere grew lighter, the ice a welcome reprieve from the warmth of the day.
Miss Theodosia dabbed her lips with a napkin. “Does anyone else have a hidden talent they’ve kept secret?”
“I can play the pianoforte,” Olivia offered, reaching for her spoon.
“That is hardly a shocking revelation,” Miss Theodosia remarked.
“No, but what most people don’t know is that I’m quite good at it,” Olivia replied. “I always play the simpler pieces in public. I don’t care to perform for an audience.”
Richard nodded. “She’s telling the truth. Olivia plays with remarkable skill when no one’s watching.”
“I never learned,” Miss Theodosia confessed. “The pianoforte never held my interest.”
Olivia’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Not at all?”
“I’m afraid not. My interests… wandered elsewhere,” she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
He shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. What a curious, infuriating, impossible woman. However, the image of her juggling oranges—utterly unrepentant and proud—refused to leave his mind.
Richard had just polished off the final spoonful of his lemon ice, savoring the lingering chill on his tongue, when he caught sight of a familiar figure weaving through the crowd. Mr. Addington, impeccably dressed as always, approached the carriage with a purposeful stride.
Lifting a hand in greeting, Richard called out, “Addington.”
His friend halted beside the carriage and offered a polite bow. “Good afternoon, Wilton.” His gaze shifted to the others. “Lady Olivia.” He bowed again, this time with greater courtesy.
“Mr. Addington,” Olivia returned with a cordial smile.
But Richard noted the brief, inquisitive pause in Addington’s gaze when it settled on Miss Theodosia.
Without hesitation, Richard gestured towards her. “Mr. Addington, allow me to introduce Miss Theodosia Smith—Olivia’s companion during her stay in Town.”
Addington tipped his head. “Miss Theodosia. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
