We are already a story. But I have not even lived mine.
Fifteen
“If you’ve come to scold me for outliving all my peers, Theodore, you’re dreadfully late. I already received three such complaints this week.” Eugenia smiled and waved him in from her chair by the fire as Theo entered the drawing room.
“Who would dare complain about that?” he asked, pausing mid-stride.
“Lady Stanmore, naturally—she was convinced I’d drop off two years ago. The Countess of Hargrave muttered something about gooseberry tarts at our last tea though I suspect she meant me. And dear old Lady Pellam simply patted my hand and asked if I had my will in order.”
“They’re jealous. And you still have many years ahead of you, Aunt.”
Theo nearly winced as he reached her. She looked thinner than the last time he’d visited. Her wrists, always delicate, seemed almost frail now against the porcelain teacup.
Still, she smiled like a woman ten years younger and twice as dangerous. “Of course, I do. I might even marry again.”
He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you adore me,” she said with a wink. “Sit down before you start pacing. You wear holes in rugs faster than I can replace them.”
“Ah, yes, and I’ve missed you more than I’d admit aloud in any other company.”
Eugenia patted his hand, her expression softening further. “Oh, Theodore. You always were the best of them. Even when you sulk like a boy left out in the rain.”
“I do not sulk.”
“You sulk with dignity,” she allowed. “But sulk you do.”
He gave a short breath that could have been mistaken for a laugh and settled deeper into the chair across from her.
“You look tired,” she added, watching him more closely now. “Not just from lack of sleep. From something else.”
“I’ve had… too many thoughts lately. None of them orderly.”
“That is unlike you. Which tells me something has quite scrambled your inner wits.”
Theodore pretended she hadn’t spoken and instead looked her over before asking, “How are you feeling today?”
“A touch thinner than intended, and the pug bit a footman again. Nothing fatal. But let us not pretend you came here for small talk. What have you been up to—and what is this I read in the gossip sheets about you promenading and debating some sharp-tongued bluestocking in Hyde Park?”
Theo stiffened. “What are you talking about?”
She reached for a folded paper on the side table and handed it to him with relish.
A young lady of noble birth was observed yesterday promenading in Hyde Park with a most stone-faced duke. The two were engaged, sources say, in a debate of considerable intensity—perhaps passionate in nature.
He frowned. “This could refer to anyone.”
Eugenia arched a brow. “There is only one stone-faced duke in all of London, and I daresay you wear the title to perfection.”
He folded the paper with a snap and set it aside. “Lady April is not a bluestocking. And even if she were, I fail to see how it warrants commentary in a gossip column.”
“No, but it makes for splendid reading with tea.”
He looked at her, expression flat. “She accepted my invitation. She’ll join us for tea this afternoon.”
Eugenia’s eyes lit. “Now that is interesting.”
“I will ask only once, Aunt—do try to behave.”
