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“Theo. Have we not agreed that you are to call me ‘Theo’? Theodosia is such a mouthful of a name, is it not? And Miss Stapleton makes me sound far too much like a maidenly aunt that I’m afraid I can never subscribe to such a thing—and not just because my dear sister has yet to produce any progeny.”
“Well, yes.” Becky’s broken smile quickly faded. “But I do not like to hear of my uncle as being some kind of hero. He is not.”
“I’m afraid nearly all of England would disagree with you, my dear,” Theo said gently. “I’m assured by my grandfather that his actions were such that he saved hundreds of lives.”
“Perhaps he did. But my father could never stand him. Did you ever meet him when he visited when I was a little girl?”
“I do not believe that I did.”
“He and Father had the most awful row. Father said he was a bully, someone who insisted on getting his own way, and would not let a man take care of his own family.”
Theo nodded but kept her lips fastened. From the way Becky talked, he seemed a fearsome monster indeed. But unlike one bound by cords of filial affection, she could imagine the former owner of Mannering would take exception to his own bullying tactics being brought to task. As for the irony of Francis Mannering declaring his interest in family responsibility …
“Oh, Miss Stapleton—I mean, Theo—please don’t make me go and stay with him. I could not bear it.”
“To be frank, I do not think it would quite suit him at this time. You are alittleyoung, perhaps, to be forced to follow the drum.”
Another sniffly giggle. “But when he writes, he might insist I leave, and I could not bear to leave you.”
“One day you will have to.” Theo drew her own handkerchief from her sleeve and offered it to Becky, who accepted it with alacrity. “Take heart, my dear. One’s memories of a person are rarely borne out as true. You will likely find your uncle much more personable than you recall.”
“I doubt it.”
“Regardless, until your uncle writes, you may rest assured that you are safe and protected here.”
But Theo’s chest tensed, as if protesting her words. It had been weeks now, and still he had not written, which lent weight to Becky’s doubts about the true honor of the supposed hero.
Theo’s grandfather had assured her that enough time had passed for her letter to arrive and an answer to be penned and returned. So where was his reply? What had he to say?
She stifled her worries, reminding herself that God was in control. They would find out soon, she was sure.
Her smile faltered. Well, she hoped.
The next week saw the arrival of a letter. The scrawl was very blunt:
Mr. Stapleton,
Thank you for your care and concern for my sister and niece. I intend to send my man of business to visit shortly, as soon as duties permit. Such future plans will be discussed then.
Yours etc.,
D. Balfour
Theo frowned over the opening appellation. Had she been so careless in her previous letter thatTheodosiacould appear asTheodore? Mama had always decried her penmanship, as if she blamed that for Theo’s unwedded state. Not that it mattered. What mattered was that she had the implied consent of Becky’s remaining relative to care for her until such matters may be otherwise arranged.
A sound at the morning room’s door drew her head up, and she offered Becky a greeting.
Becky glanced at the paper. “Mr. Siddons said the post had come.”
“Indeed it has. And there’s something that affects you.”
“Is that from my uncle at last?”
“Yes.”
“May I see it?”
“Of course.” Theo handed over the short missive.
