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CHAPTER SEVEN
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ DAY AND NIGHT
THEODOSIA WAS AN EXPERT IN CHARACTER-MAKING. Diana Smith and her series of unfortunate events were proof of that. Because when you're a young, bored aristocrat with no financial literacy, what else could you use to appease yourself than imagination? A plan had quickly formed in her mind, one that they were rather proud of— Enola would disguise herself as a young widow, a girl of her creation, who Theodosia Fairfax had recently befriended.
May Beatrice Posy was her name, a young widow.
Death was a topic people tended to dance around, and people were often to anxious escape it, so Theodosia assumed no one would say anything past the cordial 'I'm sorry for your loss'. She bought Enola an extravagant black dress, one that aged her with a sort of maturity that came with wise widows. She looked...nice. Very nice. Spectacular, even.
May Beatrice Posy married quite young, to a soldier who had unfortunately passed due to an unidentified illness. May, an intelligent girl suddenly needing an income, became Sherlock Holmes' assistant, and he sent her to help out with the case of the missing Marquess.
Theodosia would be the one to bring her to the estate, claiming she assumed they would need all the help they could get, and that she was simply devastated their betrothed was missing. The Tewkesbury family wouldn't be in the know about the sudden disappearance of Theodosia, because the Fairfaxes certainly knew how to cover up a scandal.
Enola was happy to play the role, lucky for them, and Theodosia coached her on how to act, "Tewkesbury's family aren't the most...empathetic bunch, so don't pull an 'oh woe is me' because they will kick you out. Trust me, I know how to trick that bloody family."
"How do you trick them? Where did you get the experience?"
Theodosia shrugged, "I suppose I have to pretend that I love Tewksbury. We both agreed to act like we wanted to marry each other when they were around. They have their arrangement, we have ours."
The brunette nodded, "Of course. Are we to go in a carriage?"
"Obviously, Enola. Who do you think I am?"
•. ° . * .·. . ✧:. ·.
THEODOSIA REALISED, as they sat across from Enola in the carriage they hired, that Enola Holmes had quite a pleasant face. Everything about her seemed as though it was meticulously sculpted by a god of some sort. It was rather embarrassing, really, how Theodosia was swept up in the girl's intrigue, by her beauty, and most of all her intelligence. Somebody making her feel as lightheaded as Enola did, or someone who stared at her as though she could see through her as Enola did was a strange, exhilarating thrill. A joyride, even, one that wouldn't last long. Perhaps their dreams entailed Enola, but real life assured Tewkesbury.
