Chapter 6
For one fleeting moment, she thought William might refuse.
Instead, he offered her an apologetic glance before following Sophronia into the neighboring gallery.
Whatever he had intended to tell her about her father would have to wait.
She remained before the painting for another moment, though she no longer saw it. The quiet freedom she had imagined within its lonely hills had vanished the instant Sophronia arrived, replaced once more by the familiar weight pressing against her chest.
This had been a mistake.
She should have remained at home.
No clues had appeared. No miraculous revelation had presented itself. Instead she had endured whispered speculation, polished insults, and yet another reminder that society already regarded her family as something to pity... or avoid.
Drawing a slow breath, Rosalind turned from the painting and wandered into the adjoining gallery.
A refreshment table had been arranged beneath one of the tall windows overlooking Pall Mall. Footmen moved discreetly among the guests, replenishing glasses of lemonade and wine while conversations rose and fell around them.
The Dowager Duchess stood nearby with the Duchess of Aldermere.
The dowager noticed her almost immediately. “Lady Rosalind.”
The warmth in her voice was enough to loosen something unexpectedly tight inside Rosalind.
“Your Grace.”
“My dear, will you join us?”
Rosalind accepted the offered glass more for something to occupy her hands than from any real thirst.
“I hope you are finding the exhibition agreeable.”
“It is beautiful,” Rosalind answered honestly.
The dowager studied her for a moment, her experienced eyes seeing rather more than Rosalind wished them to. “You need not pretend with me.”
Rosalind looked down at the untouched lemonade. “I confess it has not been the easiest of evenings.”
“No,” the dowager said gently. “I imagine it has not.”
For a moment, neither woman spoke.
“I admired your father greatly,” the Dowager Duchess said at last. “He was an honorable gentleman. Steady. Dependable. Never one to seek unnecessary attention.”
Rosalind looked up.
“I find it impossible to believe he simply abandoned his family.”
The words caught Rosalind by surprise. “You truly think so?”
“I do.”
Hope stirred, fragile enough that she scarcely dared acknowledge it.
“But,” she continued, “belief alone is not enough to quiet society.”
Rosalind's shoulders sank slightly. “No.”
“Your mother is wise to concern herself with appearances.” Her voice remained kind, though practical. “Scandal has a habit of filling every silence with its own explanation. If respectable people do not continue to see you, they will begin deciding for themselves why.”
Rosalind thought of Sophronia.
Of the ladies at Madame Fournier's. Of every conversation that stopped when she entered a room.
“I know.”
“The cruelest rumors often flourish in absence.”
Rosalind managed a faint smile. “Then I suppose I ought to continue presenting myself for inspection.”
A flicker of amusement crossed the dowager's face. “I fear that is one way of describing it.”
Rosalind hesitated before speaking again. “I wished to thank you.”
“For what, my dear?”
“For restoring our invitation.”
The dowager waved the gratitude aside almost immediately. “It should never have been withdrawn.”
“Perhaps not.” Rosalind lowered her eyes briefly. “But everyone knows it was restored. I think... I think it has softened matters, if only a little.”
“It was only what was right.”
Rosalind believed her.
She also knew that many others would not have bothered to do what was right if it meant risking criticism themselves.
“I am grateful all the same.”
The dowager reached out and gave her hand the gentlest squeeze. “You are your father's daughter, Lady Rosalind.”
Rosalind felt her throat tighten. “I hope we shall all have the opportunity to prove that very soon.”
Beside the Dowager Duchess, Augusta remained perfectly composed, her attention apparently fixed upon the gallery beyond.
She had spoken scarcely a word.
Yet as Rosalind glanced toward her, she found the duchess already watching her.
Their eyes met.
For the briefest instant, something unreadable passed across Augusta's face before the familiar, faultless smile returned.
It was gone so quickly Rosalind almost convinced herself she had imagined it.
Still, she was left with the uncomfortable sense that the duchess had measured her in those few silent seconds and reached some private conclusion.
Rosalind watched the ladies circulating through the gallery for another few moments before the noise became too much.
“If you will excuse me,” she said quietly. “I believe I should like a little fresh air. I ought to collect my shawl.”
“Of course, my dear,” the dowager replied warmly.
Rosalind had scarcely taken two steps before another voice stopped her.
“If you do not object,” Augusta said, “I find I could use a quieter corridor myself.”
Rosalind blinked. “Certainly… Your Grace.”
She had expected polite indifference from the Duchess of Aldermere, not company. The offer caught her so thoroughly off guard that she accepted before considering whether she ought to.
They left the crowded gallery together, the sounds of conversation fading as they passed into one of the Institution's broader hallways. A servant carrying a tray bowed and stepped aside to allow them passage.
For several moments neither woman spoke.
“I hope you will forgive my husband's reserve,” Augusta said at last.
Rosalind looked at her in surprise.
“His Grace has always been a man of few words.”
Rosalind had not expected the apology either. It was a curious thing for a wife to offer on her husband's behalf, particularly when no offense had truly been given.
“I had not taken offense.”
“No?” Augusta glanced toward her. “Most people do.”
There was something almost curious in the question.
Rosalind considered her answer carefully. “I thought perhaps he had much on his mind.”
The faintest smile touched Augusta's lips. “That is generally the case.”
Silence settled between them again before Augusta spoke once more. “Have the magistrates uncovered anything new regarding your father?”
Rosalind's shoulders tensed. “Nothing of consequence.”
“No witnesses?”
She shook her head.
“No letters? No disagreements? No explanation at all?”
“None.”
Rosalind found herself studying the duchess more closely.
The questions were sensible. The sort anyone acquainted with the family might ask.
Yet there was an attentiveness about them that made her wonder whether Augusta was merely making conversation or quietly trying to understand the mystery herself.
Augusta was quiet for a moment. “I cannot imagine what that uncertainty must be like.”
Rosalind had not expected sympathy from her.
Until that moment, she had imagined the duchess reserved simply because reserve came naturally to her. Instead, there was a gentleness beneath the composure that Rosalind had entirely failed to anticipate.
“It is difficult,” she admitted. “Every morning I hope someone will arrive with news. Every evening I wonder whether we have overlooked something obvious.”
“And all the while,” Augusta said gently, “society insists upon making its own conclusions.”
Rosalind looked at her. “You have noticed.”
“My dear,” Augusta said, almost sadly, “society notices everything.”
Rosalind almost laughed.
There was something strangely comforting about hearing another woman acknowledge what everyone else pretended did not exist.
They reached the cloakroom corridor, where the bustle of the exhibition became little more than a distant murmur.
“I imagine your mother has advised you to continue accepting invitations.”
“She has.”
“She is right.”
Rosalind sighed. “I know.”
“The whispers will not cease simply because you hide from them. If anything, they will only grow louder.”
She paused before continuing.
“And if I may offer the advice of a woman who has spent rather longer navigating society than yourself...”
Rosalind waited.
“Listen to your mother.”
Augusta's tone remained calm, almost conversational.
“Attend the dinners. Attend the musicales. Attend every gathering to which you are invited.”
Rosalind smiled faintly. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.” For the first time, something almost resembling humor softened Augusta's expression. “But it is necessary.”
Her gaze drifted toward the window overlooking Pall Mall.
“The Season moves quickly. Reputations can change just as quickly.”
Rosalind understood what she was truly saying. “You think I should marry.”
“I think,” Augusta replied carefully, “that uncertainty rarely improves with time. If your father's absence continues, gentlemen who might overlook today's gossip may become reluctant tomorrow.”
Rosalind knew she was right.
She simply wished the right course did not feel so terribly unfair.
“And you?” Rosalind asked before she could stop herself. “Surely no one concerns themselves with Your Grace's affairs.”
A quiet laugh escaped Augusta. “My dear, they concern themselves with little else.”
Rosalind frowned. “I find that difficult to believe.”
“You should not.”
Augusta's smile held no amusement now. “My marriage has produced no heir.”
The words were spoken matter-of-factly, yet Rosalind sensed the weight beneath them.
“For nearly four years, that has been society's preferred subject whenever I leave a room.”
Rosalind looked at the duchess differently.
Until now she had seen only the immaculate gowns, the effortless composure, the title that commanded every room she entered.
She had not considered what it might cost to maintain such composure beneath the relentless scrutiny of society.
The realization left her unexpectedly ashamed of her first impression.
“I... I had no idea.”
“Of course you did not.” Augusta adjusted one of her gloves with practiced precision. “People rarely gossip to one's face.”
She looked toward Rosalind again.
“They simply ensure the whispers are loud enough to be overheard.”
Rosalind understood that all too well.