Theodora

by Christina McKnight

  “Dear,” the woman said by way of greeting, her mouth remaining in a grim line. “It has been many years since we met.” Mrs. Gladstone’s eyes traveled from Theo’s messily tied locks to her sturdy boots. “You were a precocious child, and I can see boarding school has only added to your uninhibited nature.”

  Theo had never been called uninhibited before, and she quite liked the term—especially in reference to herself; however, the icy stare Mrs. Gladstone gave her said she’d meant it as anything but a compliment.

  She turned to Gladstone before continuing, “Do make note that Miss Emmeline’s School of Education and Decorum for Ladies of Outstanding Quality is not the place for future Gladstone females. This one will need a firm hand, Ollie.”

  Theo stifled a gasp at the woman’s cut, aimed directly at her upbringing. And Ollie? Did the woman mean it as an endearing pet name? Because the name only brought to mind a floppy-eared, flea-ridden mongrel.

  “Mrs. Gladstone. Eugenia,” Dowager Lady Cartwright called, entering the foyer. “So lovely of you to call. I must say I was thrilled to receive your request for an audience. The season has yet to start.”

  It was an odd greeting for two matrons who never left town, the beginning and ending of the season meant nothing to their visiting schedules.

  The pair turned to her mother as she sashayed to Theo’s side, a welcoming smile on her face, causing a sense of apprehension in Theo. Her mother rarely smiled, and never moved faster than her normal sedated, elegant pace. She infused each step with the poise and grace befitting her social status. A grace Theo had never mastered, much to her mother’s purported derision. Her mother’s leisurely steps often extended their shopping excursions by hours—dreadfully inconvenient for Theo.

  “Lady Cartwright,” Mrs. Gladstone said, nodding. “I have not seen you at Chrissely’s House in nearly a fortnight. Did you forget your charitable deeds are much needed?”

  A blush swam across her mother’s face and crept down her neck as if she were ten and receiving a scolding from her school teacher. Her mother had never been so soundly rebuffed, which begged the question of why the dowager sought the companionship of such a severe, disagreeable woman.

  Anastasia Montgomery straightened her shoulders, a measure of pride returning—normally never one to cower before another. “Theodora is newly returned from Canterbury, and I have been busily preparing for her coming out. There have been so many engagements with the dressmaker, the stationery shop, the cobbler…and do not get me started on the hat maker. It is all so overwhelming.” Lady Cartwright rambled on, something Theo was not accustomed to her formidable mother doing. Maybe Anastasia had changed during her extended absences from London.

  Was this the type of submissive behavior that would be expected of her if their mothers settled on a match between her and Gladstone? No one would label Theo as outspoken or opinionated, but to be relegated to a position of no consequence was not a fate she would ever accept. Nor would Cart expect her to agree to a future as the forgotten, subservient wife of Mr. Oliver Gladstone—Ollie.

  Her stomach turned at the thought. Nothing like the wings that fluttered when her mind touched on Alistair.

  She looked between her mother and Mr. Gladstone and his mother, attempting to keep the dumbfounded expression from overtaking her face. The mother and son stood far too closely. Theo half expected Gladstone to rest his head in his mother’s shoulder.

  “Do go on, Ollie.” Mrs. Gladstone set her hand at the base of her son’s back and pushed him forward. “Give Lady Theodora her gift.”

  He almost tripped over his own feet with the abrupt force behind his mother’s shove, but he righted himself and held the wilting flowers out to Theo—buds of blue and orange mixed with leafy, green stems. The combination of colors was no more harmonious than she and Mr. Gladstone would be as a pair. The flowers clashed with one another, fighting for control but none succeeding.

  “I handpicked these flowers for you.” He held the offending arrangement out for her to take.

  She wanted to ask when, exactly, he’d picked the flowers, as they all appeared well past their prime, but no matter her feelings, she’d been raised to be gracious, and so, she took the flowers with an unsteady smile. “Thank you, Mr. Gladstone.”

  “Let us find a suitable vase for your generous gift, Oliver,” the Dowager Lady Cartwright said, taking the bouquet. A footman appeared at her side and whisked the offending buds from the room. “Come, we can retire to my drawing room for our visit.”

  Theo hadn’t the time to spare for a social call, but her mother nodded down the hall. With one last longing look at the front door—and her means of escape—she acquiesced.

  The dowager ushered them into her private room, immediately offering Gladstone the chair Mr. Price had occupied several days prior. Alistair’s weight was almost enough to cause the Queen Anne to crumble beneath him. Theo shuddered to think what Gladstone’s added girth would do to the chair; however, except for a groan of protest—which may have come from Gladstone and not the piece of furniture—the man settled, his grin returning.

  The women each took a seat on a long chaise lounge, leaving only a small settee for Theo to perch on, a low table separating the group.

  Theo glanced at the clock behind Gladstone, noting the time to depart for the tourney was almost upon her. Georgie and Josie would arrive at any moment, and it was likely her mother would forbid her from leaving until after Gladstone and his mother had satisfied their reason for calling.

  Theo assessed the trio as they exchanged eye contact, not saying a word. She had the impression she was the only one in attendance who was unaware of the purpose of their visit. Gladstone would not have spoken of her unchaperoned excursion to the tourney in Greenwich Park. It would cast an unfavorable light on her, which would be all that was needed for his mother to turn her sights elsewhere for a bride for him—not to mention, her mother would have punished her severely if she knew of Theo’s escapades about London.

  If that were what it took to dissuade Gladstone’s pursuit of her, then maybe Theo would benefit from tattling on herself. Banished to her room meant no further contact with Ollie.

  Mrs. Gladstone cleared her throat, making the silence that had descended on the room all the more prominent and unavoidable.

  Instead of speaking, Gladstone rushed to his feet, the front button of his jacket straining at the movement. Theo kept her eye on the rounded knob, prepared to shield her face if the thing burst free from its thread and shot across the room. An injured eye was certain to hinder her aim with a bow.

  She couldn’t help but think if this were what awaited her during the upcoming season—day after day of endless, mundane social visits with people she had nothing in common with—she may very well throw herself at Cart’s feet and beg to depart London.

  “Mr. Gladstone?” Theo asked as the man stood before her, his protruding belly only inches from her face, the button straining to be free almost in her eye.

  “Do not say a word, Lady Theodora—Theo,” he gushed, glancing over his shoulder to their mothers. The women nodded, giving Oliver the confidence he seemed to be lacking all of a sudden. “Will you stand, please?”

  Theo pushed to her feet, Gladstone not moving an inch to allow her room, his face now as close as his belly had been a moment before. The image of him gripping her arm and pulling her away from her friends at the tourney sent a cold shiver through her.

  Something brushed the side of her skirt, and it took her a moment to realize that Gladstone was searching for her hand, which she kept safely hidden in the folds of her gown behind her back.

  “Mr. Gladstone, what is the meaning of this?” She stepped to the side, putting distance between them, but he moved with her. “Do allow me room to breathe, sir.”

  “Shhhh, Theodora,” the dowager hissed. “Mr. Gladstone is trying to speak.”

  He reached behind her and clasped his clammy fingers about her wrist, drawing her hand between them. He ran hi
s calloused fingers over her palm. “As I was saying,” he started again with a sigh, as if she’d purposely interrupted him. “Lady Theodora, we have not been acquainted long, but I find my heart seeks your presence at every moment of every day.”

  “What?” The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and her stomach rolled. Theo leaned back, her senses inundated with the smell of his hair oil, making her nauseous.

  “Be quiet, Theodora!” her mother insisted.

  “Manners, they are certainly lacking in today’s young women,” Mrs. Gladstone huffed. “A man cannot even offer a marriage proposal without being waylaid.”

  “Marriage proposal?” Theo squeaked, pulling her hand from his grasp. “No…I…no…does Cart know of this?”

  “Anastasia,” Mrs. Gladstone said. “Let us leave the happy couple to speak privately while we call for tea to celebrate the coming union of our families, shall we?”

  “No.” Theo stepped around Gladstone toward her mother. “We do not need—“

  “Theodora,” her mother scolded. “Mr. Gladstone is not finished speaking. We will return shortly, dear.”

  Theo watched helplessly as the two women stood, exchanged a knowing look, and departed the room, solidly closing the door in their wake.

  The room spun around her, and Theo feared she’d be sick all over her mother’s favorite rug. It was all the dowager deserved for tricking her in such a cruel manner.

  She was uncertain how long she stared at the closed door, waiting for the room to still around her, but the silence seemed to span into eternity, or mayhap it was her mind blocking everything out, refusing to hear Gladstone’s words.

  Everything was completely still and silent around her, but her mind was screaming in warning. It pushed her to leave, run as far and as fast as she could…find Jude or Cart, they would make this right.

  “Lady Theodora?” he asked. She flinched, pulling her arm away when he set his hand on her. He pulled back, showing Theo the first hint of uncertainty she’d ever witnessed in him—except where his mother was concerned. Theo turned back to him, a blank expression on her face. “As I was saying—“

  “Please, stop, Mr. Gladstone.” Theo despised the desperation in her voice, hated the way her arm shook when he’d touched her, and knew without a doubt the man saw it as her weakness. “I have much to do today—“

  “Continue in the Grand Archers’ Competition?” he inquired with a sneer, his hand snapping forward to clasp her arm. “You will not be going. It is exceedingly unfitting for a lady of your station—the future Mrs. Gladstone.”

  Theo pushed the unease away with a soft chuckle at the lunacy of his comment. Her trembling halted, and she turned an icy stare on Gladstone. “Thankfully, my movements are of no concern to you.” She refused to address his insinuation that they would ever be wed.

  “Oh, but they are.” At her puzzled looked, he continued. “Our mothers have settled on our match. At this very moment, they expect I am in here, reciting the loveliest of proposals, and you, dear Theodora, are accepting my offer graciously. Possibly even thanking me with a kiss.”

  Theo shook her head, her hair falling free from its ribbon.

  “But I am not going to hassle with all those pretty, fanciful notions by proclaiming my never-dying love for you, how I can’t see my life without you…how I see you raising our children in the future, and the importance and pride I will feel with you by my side.” He paused with a huff. “Oh, no. We both know that your false propriety and unladylike activities eliminated the need for a proper proposal, but you shall accept our betrothal nonetheless.”

  “I will not, I do not—“ She struggled to draw breath. “No…”

  His hand fell away from her arm, and he laughed, a deep, malevolent chuckle without any hint of decency. “You have no other option, Lady Theodora.”

  “That is not true.” Theo tilted her chin in defiance. Gladstone was intimidating her into accepting his proposal, but she would not. She could not. “I must speak with my brother.”

  “Oh, the good Lord Cartwright, is it?” he asked. “Yes, we have not had occasion to meet, but I am certain he will find joy in our union.”

  “He will find no happiness in a marriage I am not agreeable to.” Theo took a step toward the door, ready to find Cart and end this travesty for good. “I will send for him now.”

  “But you are agreeable to the union, Lady Theodora. In fact, you are so overjoyed and blissfully excited to be my wife, the newest Mrs. Gladstone, that we’ve decided to dispel with the reading of the banns and gain a special license from the Archbishop to wed immediately. I will handle the details of this, do not fret.” The cold finality in his words and stance frightened Theo, as if he knew something she wasn’t privy to.

  “Why would you ever think I would agree to any match that includes a man such as you?”

  “And what type of man do you see me as?” he asked.

  “A scoundrel…a coward…a debauched reprobate.” Her head swam with a hundred more words to express her dislike of Gladstone. His furious glare sent a chill through her, halting her momentarily. “A man not worthy of any lady’s hand,” Theo whispered.

  “Then allow me to persuade you.” Gladstone resumed his seat while Theo stood, her instincts telling her to flee while she could, but it was likely her mother and Mrs. Gladstone stood outside, their ears pressed to the door. “If you do not agree to wed me, I will go to The Post with your identity as Lady Archer in both the Whitechapel—“

  Theo sucked in a deep breath, averting her stare from his.

  “Oh, you were unaware that I knew of it?” His brow rose. “I make it my duty to be informed of everything and everyone whose movements affect me. Let us return to my point. I will go to The Post with information about the Lady Archer from Whitechapel and the Grand Archers’ Competition. Your name and portrait will be everywhere before the season starts.”

  His haughty smile said he assumed he’d hit the right angle to push her to accept his offer.

  “Your chances of securing a favorable match—or any match at all—would be very slim, you must agree, Lady Theodora.”

  “Your threat only shows how little you know me, Mr. Gladstone,” she replied, sending one last glance at the closed door. Her best course was to sit down and outline all the reasons she’d make a terrible wife for a charitable man such as he. “I am unconcerned with making a match this season—or in the next several seasons, for that matter.”

  She sat primly on the lounge her mother had vacated, awaiting his next move. A man such as Mr. Gladstone would not be so foolish as to think his first argument would completely persuade his target. Ruining her name was not his only tactic, certainly.

  “Do you feel Lady Georgina Seaton, Miss Adeline Price, and Lady Josephine—what is her family name?” he asked, tapping his chin with his forefinger. “Oh, it does not matter at the moment. Hopefully, it shan’t come to all that. Do you think your dear friends are hoping to secure husbands this season?”

  Theo felt lightheaded as the color drained from her face, her fingers instantly freezing.

  “Not only will I inform The Post of your identity, but I’ll also share that of your friends. Possibly even news of your morning outings to Regent’s Park.” He sat back in his chair, confident he’d said the final thing required to secure her agreement. “But…I can be persuaded to keep your secret. Mayhap give The Post a completely different announcement to share with all of England.”

  He’d threatened the one thing that would ensure her cooperation with his scheme. Remaining silent, she sent daggers his way. If her look of disgust could wound, he’d be dead where he sat.

  “Do not look so shocked at my cunning, Lady Theodora. A man such as myself,” he mimicked her, “is not always given his share of what he deserves. It is quite common for men of my status to find other methods of receiving their due.”

  “You’ve been following me…and my friends?” Theo asked.

  “Heavens, no.” Gladstone set
his hand across his chest, affronted at her accusation. “I would never muddy my own hands with such a task.”

  “You are despicable, and you will not get what you seek from me—or anyone else.”

  “Mayhap the ruin of your friends, at your hands, is not enough.” Gladstone folded his hands, attempting to set them on his lap; unfortunately, his rounded belly left no room, and he was forced to lay them across his protruding midsection. “And your brother, the poor man, has known his share of scandals. How will the article in The Post affect his position at the museum?”

  …or her hopes of working with the Cassini family?

  Theo couldn’t ponder any of it. She wouldn’t be the one to bring disgrace upon her family, not after Cart and Jude had worked tirelessly to restore the Cartwright title and estate to a fraction of what it had once been. And her friends, her dear friends, they did not deserve this either.

  This would be Josie’s only chance at a season. Her family had little in the way of funds or standing in society. She’d be lucky to make a match with a second or third son, but sweet, shy Josie would be more than happy to accept any match that would help her family.

  Lady Georgina’s family was financially secure and the only one of them that would escape the news with little scandal. The daughter of a duke was sought-after, no matter the rust that clung to her silver exterior. But what would become of her if the new duchess delivered her first child? It did not bode well for Georgie and her future. Her only hope was to marry well and escape her family home. She would make a decent match regardless, though if her father sought a happy union for her was yet to be seen.

  That only left Adeline, and likely the woman in the most crucial of positions. All Theo had learned from Alistair pointed to financial instability far exceeding what she’d feared with the probability that Adeline would be removed from London if any hint of shame surrounded her name. The woman was by far the most graceful and poised of their group. Her classic, white-blonde hair and clear blue eyes, with a complexion as pure as freshly fallen snow, would draw much notice with gentlemen seeking a prim and proper English rose.