Chapter 16 #2
William rose the instant she entered.
The change from that morning was striking. He was still tired, the shadows beneath his eyes betraying a night without sleep, but some of his usual brightness had returned.
“Lady Rosalind.”
“Lord William.”
His smile warmed. “You came.”
Rosalind nearly laughed. “Your invitation would have been rather wasted otherwise.”
“There she is.”
The familiar teasing eased something inside her.
The Dowager Duchess welcomed her with considerably less restraint. “My dear, come and sit beside me. William has told me almost nothing useful about you.”
William looked wounded. “I have told you a great deal.”
“You told me she is intelligent, amusing, stubborn, and entirely unimpressed by you.”
Rosalind glanced at him, surprised by the warmth that stirred beneath her ribs. She had expected him to mention their walks or perhaps say that they enjoyed one another’s company.
She had not expected to discover that he had been describing her.
William cleared his throat beneath her scrutiny. “I may have said something to that effect.”
“Then your mother has already formed a remarkably accurate impression.”
His eyes met hers. “You object to none of it?”
“I might dispute stubborn.”
“Naturally.”
“That sounded suspiciously sarcastic.”
“I would not dream of it.”
The dowager laughed and patted the place beside her, rescuing Rosalind from the uncomfortable realization that she rather liked knowing how William described her when she was not there to hear it.
Tea arrived soon afterward, accompanied by enough cakes and sandwiches to feed considerably more than three people.
The dowager wanted to know what Rosalind read, whether she preferred London or the country, how she occupied herself when no one was dragging her to another ball, and whether she enjoyed riding.
The questions might easily have felt intrusive, yet her interest was so genuine that Rosalind found herself answering freely.
William contributed little. He simply listened.
And watched her.
Every time Rosalind glanced toward him, she found his attention already there. At first she told herself it was necessary. A gentleman supposedly courting a lady ought to appear interested in what she said.
The explanation became less convincing after the fourth time their eyes met.
“You must be very careful whom you choose,” the dowager said eventually. “People speak endlessly of advantageous marriages, but an advantage is poor consolation when one must wake beside the wrong person every morning.”
“Mother,” William murmured.
“What? I am giving excellent advice.”
Rosalind smiled. “I think you are.”
“Thank you. Love matters more than society likes to admit. Titles are useful and money certainly makes life comfortable, but neither will make an unhappy marriage bearable.”
Her expression softened.
“The person you marry sees more of you than anyone else ever will. They see you frightened and unreasonable and ill-tempered. They see all the pieces you would rather hide from the rest of the world. Choose someone who will be kind to those pieces.”
The words carried Rosalind back to the balcony and her mother’s quiet certainty.
You marry the person who feels like your dearest friend.
Two mothers offering much the same advice in different words.
Before Rosalind could stop herself, she looked at William.
He was already watching her.
After his mother’s words, it was considerably harder to dismiss his attention as part of their performance. She thought of that morning, of everything he had trusted her enough to reveal and the way he had allowed her to hold his hands while he struggled to make sense of it.
He had shown her precisely the sort of hidden pieces his mother was speaking of.
Warmth crept into Rosalind’s cheeks.
This is pretend she reminded herself as she lowered her gaze to her tea.
The reminder was becoming increasingly unhelpful.
Their courtship existed because her father was missing. Because William had agreed to help her search without destroying her reputation in the process. Because pretending an attachment gave them freedom neither of them would otherwise possess.
It did not explain why his smile pleased her. Nor why she had spent part of the carriage ride wondering whether he would look better than he had that morning.
He did.
That was unfortunate.
“Rosalind?”
She looked up to discover the dowager watching her expectantly while William appeared to be making a valiant effort not to smile.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I asked whether you would like to see the house.”
“Yes, of course. I would be delighted.”
William began to rise, but his mother waved him back into his chair. “You may survive without Lady Rosalind for twenty minutes.”
“I was not aware my survival was in question.”
“I have raised you. It frequently is.”
Rosalind laughed as the dowager slipped an arm through hers and led her away.
The tour proved considerably less formal than she expected.
Rather than reciting dates or the history of every painting they passed, the dowager supplied stories about the family who had lived there: the window William had broken with a cricket ball, the sitting room Algernon had once attempted to forbid his younger brother from entering, and the alcove where both boys had hidden from an especially tiresome tutor.
It was strangely intimate, being shown the memories contained within the house rather than merely the house itself.
Eventually they reached the portrait gallery, where the late duke’s likeness brought Rosalind to a halt.
She had seen it before, though never with the knowledge she carried now.
William had inherited something of his father’s eyes and expression, while Algernon bore the stronger resemblance.
Looking at him, Rosalind found it difficult to reconcile the cruel father Algernon remembered with the gentler man William had loved.
“My husband was a difficult man,” the dowager said quietly.
Rosalind did not offer an easy reassurance. After what William had confided, one would have felt inadequate.
“There were good years. Good moments too. I would not wish to pretend otherwise simply because there were painful ones.” The dowager studied the portrait. “Marriage teaches one that people are rarely only one thing.”
It seemed to Rosalind that William had come to much the same realization only hours ago. The father he had loved and the father Algernon had feared were not separate men, however difficult that truth might be to accept. Neither version erased the other.
Before Rosalind could answer, the butler approached.
“Your Grace, Lady Whitcombe has arrived.”
The dowager blinked. “Lady Whitcombe?”
“For your game this afternoon.”
“Oh, heavens. I had entirely forgotten.” She pressed Rosalind’s hand apologetically. “We play cards every Wednesday, and she will never forgive me if I leave her sitting alone.”
“Please do not concern yourself.”
“Go through the conservatory and into the gardens. I shall join you as soon as I can escape.”
Rosalind assured her there was no need to hurry and continued alone.
She had nearly reached the conservatory when the faint sound of someone crying drew her attention to a half-open door farther along the corridor.
Augusta sat beside the window, a handkerchief pressed to her eyes.
Rosalind meant to retreat without intruding, but Augusta looked up before she could.
“Forgive me. I did not mean to disturb you.”
“You needn't apologize. You were only passing.”
Seeing her brought their conversation at the ball back to Rosalind. “I did want to thank you for telling me what you had heard about my father.”
Augusta’s fingers tightened around the handkerchief.
“We've made further inquiries, but no one seems to have heard the same story. I confess I was nearly prepared to organize a search of half of London.”
“I told you only what I had heard.” Augusta’s reply came more sharply than Rosalind expected. “I was trying to help.”
“Of course. I did not mean otherwise.”
Augusta looked away. “Then I am sorry it led nowhere. Lately, I fear I have been under rather more strain than usual.”
The admission softened Rosalind. “William explained some of what has been happening with Algernon. Not everything, but enough that I understand how difficult things have been.”
Augusta gave a faint, humorless smile. “Difficult is certainly one word for it.”
Something in her tone put Rosalind on alert.
“You are fortunate, Lady Rosalind.”
Rosalind frowned. “Fortunate?”
“You are getting the less complicated brother.”
The remark might have passed for a joke if not for the bitterness beneath it.
Rosalind felt the uneasiness she had carried home that morning stir once more.
Augusta knew something.
The question was whether it had anything to do with what Algernon was hiding.