Chapter 10
The soft rap upon her bedchamber door barely stirred Rosalind from sleep.
“My lady?”
She blinked slowly, sunlight filtering through the curtains in warm golden bands. For one blissful moment, she simply lay there, disoriented by the unfamiliar sensation of having slept so deeply.
Nelly slipped quietly into the room carrying a tray with chocolate, toast, and a small vase holding a single late-summer rose.
“I do hope you'll forgive me,” she said as she drew back the curtains. “It is nearly noon.”
Rosalind pushed herself upright, surprised. “Noon?”
“You were quite exhausted when you retired.” Nelly offered an apologetic smile. “I thought you might appreciate the rest.”
Rosalind considered protesting before deciding the maid was probably right. The previous evening had left her mind far too full for restful sleep.
“I believe you're right,” she admitted.
Nelly's smile brightened. “I've also a note for you, my lady.”
Rosalind accepted the cream-colored envelope at once.
She recognized the handwriting before she broke the seal.
Lady Rosalind,
If it would suit you, I should be delighted to meet you for tea and cake at Gunter’s this afternoon.
Yours,
William Sinclair
She caught herself smiling.
It was a perfectly ordinary note.
Nothing romantic or improper. Merely an invitation from the gentleman who was pretending to court her.
“How inconvenient,” she murmured.
Nelly looked up from arranging the breakfast tray. “My lady?”
“I was hoping to spend the afternoon behaving sensibly.”
Nelly's lips twitched. “I fear Lord William has spoiled those plans.”
Rosalind laughed softly before folding the letter. “Please send word that I shall be delighted to accept.”
“Very good, my lady.”
Only after Nelly disappeared did Rosalind become aware of the dull ache lingering behind her eyes.
It was hardly surprising.
Between the ball, the conversation with William, and lying awake afterward replaying every word of their decidedly unconventional agreement, she was still exhausted after hours in bed.
Still, the headache seemed a remarkably small price to pay.
An hour later, Rosalind stood before her dressing table while Nelly fastened the final buttons of her pale blue walking dress.
The maid stepped back to examine her handiwork. “I think the blue suits you particularly well.”
Rosalind regarded her own reflection. “I suppose it must.”
“It certainly does.”
Nelly reached for a small porcelain pot. “Perhaps just a touch of rouge?”
Rosalind hesitated. “A little.”
Nelly smiled knowingly. “A very little?”
“A respectable little.”
The maid laughed softly as she brushed the faintest hint of color across Rosalind's cheeks.
Rosalind studied the result critically. “Do you think it is too much?”
“No.”
“Too little?”
“I don't believe Lord William is likely to bring a measuring stick.”
Rosalind couldn't help laughing. “I must appear at least somewhat interested in him.”
Nelly's hands paused. “My lady?”
“For the ruse,” Rosalind clarified quickly. “If society is to believe he is courting me, they must also believe I encourage it.”
“I imagine smiling at him now and then would accomplish a great deal.”
Rosalind tilted her head thoughtfully. “Perhaps.”
“And looking pleased whenever he enters a room.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It may become easier with practice.”
Rosalind was still deciding whether to be offended by the observation when another knock sounded at the door.
“Come in.”
Isabella appeared almost immediately, already dressed for venturing into town. She wore a simple lavender walking dress with a sketchbook tucked beneath one arm and a pair of well-used gloves in the other.
She stopped upon seeing Rosalind before the mirror.
“Well,” she declared. “I leave you alone for one evening, and somehow Lord William Sinclair has begun courting you.”
Rosalind glanced at her reflection. “He is not.”
Isabella's brows rose. “That is rather unfortunate, because half of London appears to believe otherwise.”
“Half of London is supposed to believe otherwise.”
Isabella stared at her.
Rosalind sighed. “It is a pretend courtship.”
“A pretend courtship?”
“Yes.”
Isabella wandered farther into the room, her expression shifting from amusement to unmistakable interest. “I believe you had better explain.”
Rosalind turned from the mirror. “It is entirely practical.”
“Those are invariably the words spoken immediately before something becomes terribly impractical.”
“Isabella.”
“I'm listening.”
Rosalind explained the arrangement. Allowing society to believe William had begun paying his addresses to her would quiet some of her mother's fears and give London something more interesting to discuss than her father's disappearance.
More importantly, it provided a perfectly respectable reason for Rosalind and William to spend considerably more time together while continuing their investigation.
When she finished, Isabella regarded her thoughtfully. “I see.”
“Do you?”
“Perfectly.” A smile slowly returned to her face. “You have acquired a handsome suitor who is not truly your suitor.”
Rosalind rolled her eyes. “That is what you have taken from everything I just told you?”
“At present, yes.”
“But?”
“But I suspect London will enjoy the romance considerably more than either of you intends.”
Rosalind laughed. “There is no romance.”
“Of course not.”
“None whatsoever.”
“I stand thoroughly corrected.”
Rosalind narrowed her eyes. “You are impossible.”
“So Father tells me.”
She stepped closer, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from Rosalind's sleeve before smiling with quiet affection. “For whatever it may be worth, I think you look lovely.”
Rosalind smiled back. “Thank you.”
“And now I must leave before my instructor decides punctuality is another artistic virtue I've yet to master.” She lifted her sketchbook. “My painting lesson awaits.”
Rosalind accompanied her to the door. “Enjoy yourself.”
“I fully intend to.”
Isabella paused on the threshold, glancing back with unmistakable mischief dancing in her eyes. “And do try not to fall in love before tea is finished.”
Before Rosalind could produce a suitably indignant reply, Isabella disappeared into the corridor, laughing softly to herself.
Rosalind shook her head. “She is quite impossible.”
Nelly smiled as she adjusted the brim of Rosalind's bonnet. “Perhaps.”
She stepped back one final time, clearly satisfied. “But you do look very pretty, my lady.”
Rosalind looked once more into the mirror.
For someone preparing to participate in a completely false courtship, she thought she looked rather more pleased than she ought.
By the time Rosalind reached the morning room, luncheon had already concluded.
Her mother lingered over a cup of tea near the window while the footmen quietly removed the last of the dishes.
A newspaper rested forgotten beside her, unopened despite having occupied her attention for the better part of ten minutes.
She looked up the moment Rosalind entered.
“My dear, you look positively radiant.”
Rosalind laughed. “I have simply slept rather longer than intended.”
“So I see.” Her mother's gaze lingered upon her walking dress before a knowing smile spread across her face. “You are going somewhere.”
Before her mother could begin asking questions, Rosalind decided honesty would prove the safer course.
“I am meeting Lord William for tea and cake this afternoon.”
Her mother blinked.
Then her entire face brightened with unmistakable delight. “You are?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, how wonderful.”
Rosalind had anticipated surprise. She had not anticipated quite so much enthusiasm. “Mama...”
“I knew there was something between you.”
“There is not.”
“There must be.”
Rosalind laughed despite herself. “We have only just begun courting.”
“Precisely.”
“And I scarcely know him.”
Her mother smiled over the rim of her teacup. “My dear, you've known William since you were children.”
“That hardly qualifies.”
“It qualifies better than many marriages I have witnessed.” Her smile softened. “Besides, I always thought the two of you suited one another rather well.”
Rosalind shook her head, unable to suppress another smile. “You have gone from worrying no gentleman would come near me to planning my wedding in less than a day.”
“I have done no such thing.”
Rosalind raised an eyebrow.
“Very well,” her mother admitted. “Not yet.”
Rosalind opened her mouth to object.
A footman appeared in the doorway before she could manage it. “Your ladyship... His Grace and Her Grace, the Duke and Duchess of Aldermere.”
Rosalind and her mother exchanged identical looks of surprise.
A moment later, the Duke and Duchess of Aldermere entered the room. The duke carried a flat parcel wrapped carefully in brown paper beneath one arm.
Her mother rose immediately. “Your Grace. Your Grace. What an unexpected pleasure.”
The duke bowed. “I hope you will forgive the intrusion.”
“There is nothing to forgive.”
His gaze settled briefly upon Rosalind. “I wished to offer my congratulations.”
Rosalind inclined her head politely. “Thank you.”
Stepping forward, he offered her the parcel. “A small gift.”
She accepted it almost automatically, surprised by its weight.
“A watercolor,” he explained. “I thought it might suitably mark the beginning of your courtship.”
Her mother looked genuinely touched. “That is extraordinarily thoughtful of you.”
Rosalind managed a smile. “It is very kind.”
She meant the words. At least she believed she did. The gesture was thoughtful, almost disarmingly so.
Yet it remained strangely difficult to reconcile such consideration with the man she still could not persuade herself to trust. Every encounter left her feeling as though she had taken one step toward believing him only to remember why she had begun doubting him in the first place.
Once everyone had taken their seats, conversation drifted naturally enough toward the previous evening's ball before, almost inevitably, turning to her father.
“Have there been any further developments?” the duke asked.
Rosalind hesitated. “Very few.”
“No new letters?”
She shook her head.
“No witnesses?”