Chapter 18 #2
Another serve. Another ridiculous argument over a point. William grinning at her from across the lawn as though he had already decided precisely how to make her miss the next shot.
For the first time in longer than Rosalind could remember, she did not have to convince herself to be happy.
She simply was.
They continued until the afternoon heat finally drove Rosalind toward the shade. By then her cheeks were flushed, several strands of hair had escaped near her temples, and she could feel the warmth of the sun lingering beneath the collar of her dress.
She surrendered her battledore to Lady Whitcombe and crossed toward the refreshment table beneath the trees, where she poured herself a glass of lemonade and took a grateful sip.
She had barely lowered it when Nelly appeared beside her.
“My lady.”
The gravity in her maid’s voice stripped away the pleasant haze of the afternoon almost at once.
She looked toward the lawn. William was still with his mother, listening while the dowager apparently explained precisely where he had violated one of her newly invented rules.
Rosalind moved farther beneath the shade. “What is it?”
Nelly followed, keeping her voice low. “I found the carriage.”
Rosalind stopped with the glass halfway to her lips. “What?”
“The one your father left White’s in.”
For a moment, Rosalind could only stare at her. “Nelly, how could you possibly have found it?”
“I was belowstairs speaking with one of the maids when another servant mentioned the carriages. I asked whether I might step outside for some air, and there is another carriage kept with the others.” Nelly glanced uneasily toward the house. “One I had not seen when we came.”
Rosalind lowered the glass. “What does that have to do with Papa?”
“It matches the description.”
The sounds of the garden seemed to recede.
Rosalind heard the distant laughter of the dowager and Lady Whitcombe, the faint tap of a battledore striking the shuttlecock, the rustle of leaves overhead, but all of it seemed suddenly very far away.
“What description?”
“The one the servants gave me. Dark bodywork. Gilt along the doors. The lamps, the wheels, even the unusual brass fittings one of the footmen remembered.” Nelly swallowed. “I asked whose it was.”
Rosalind already knew the answer. She knew before Nelly said it.
“It belongs to this household.”
The glass trembled in Rosalind’s hand.
No.
She looked toward Aldermere House.
The elegant windows gleamed in the afternoon sun. Only minutes ago, the house had seemed warm and welcoming, filled with stories of William as a boy and a mother who had taken Rosalind by the arm and spoken to her of love and marriage.
Now it looked entirely different.
“Are you certain?” Rosalind asked.
“I asked twice,” Nelly said. “One of the grooms confirmed it belongs to His Grace.”
The glass trembled in Rosalind’s hand.
Algernon’s carriage.
Her father had climbed willingly into Algernon’s carriage on the night he disappeared, likely without a moment’s suspicion. Why would he have suspected anything? Edmund had known the duke since childhood.
He had protected him, counseled him, helped him overcome his stutter and even intervened when his own father treated him cruelly. If Algernon had sent for him, Papa would have gone without question.
And then he had vanished.
Suddenly, everything Rosalind had been struggling to reconcile no longer seemed separate. Algernon had claimed to leave London, yet she had seen him in the gardens that very night.
Augusta had offered a rumor about another woman that no servant, maid, or coachman appeared to have heard. The auction clerk had disappeared before they could question him.
And now the carriage that had taken her father away belonged to the duke.
Rosalind set down her lemonade before her unsteady fingers lost their grip on it. “Could there be another carriage matching the description?”
“It is possible,” Nelly admitted, “but the details were quite particular. The dark bodywork, the gilt upon the doors, the brass fittings. It all matches.”
Rosalind gripped the edge of the table.
“He knows.”
Nelly frowned. “My lady?”
“Algernon knows what happened to Papa.” The conclusion came so swiftly now that Rosalind could scarcely separate one thought from the next. “Perhaps he was the one who sent the carriage. He could have arranged everything.”
“We don’t know that he harmed your father.”
“No, but we know he lied.”
And once Rosalind allowed herself to think the word, she could not stop seeing the lies everywhere.
Algernon had lied to William about leaving London. Augusta had given Rosalind a story no one could confirm. Only a short while ago, she had sat weeping in this very house and warned Rosalind that she was fortunate to be getting the less complicated brother.
At the time, Rosalind had wondered what she meant.
Now she was no longer certain she wanted to know.
Movement across the lawn caught her attention. William was coming toward them.
Rosalind’s first instinct was relief. Her second was fear. It struck so quickly that she stepped backward, and Nelly immediately reached for her arm.
“My lady?”
“We need to leave.”
Nelly followed her gaze. “Now?”
“Yes. Please. Get our things.”
“But Lord William—”
“I do not know what he knows.”
The admission hurt almost as much as it frightened her.
Less than an hour ago, William had stood in the gallery holding her hand and apologizing because he believed he had failed her. He had searched beside her for weeks and trusted her that morning with truths that had shaken everything he believed about his own family.
She wanted to trust him. She did trust him.
Or she had…
Rosalind no longer knew the difference.
All she knew was that his brother’s carriage had taken her father away, his sister-in-law had tried to send Rosalind searching in another direction, and William belonged to the family at the center of it all.
“Go,” she whispered.
Nelly hurried toward the house.
By then William was close enough for Rosalind to see the concern replace the smile on his face.
He quickened his pace, and she forced herself to think of something plausible to say.
The heat. A headache. Her mother expecting her home.
Anything that would allow her to leave without revealing what she knew.
“Rosalind?”
She opened her mouth, but the words would not come.
The garden shifted beneath her feet.
She blinked against the sudden brightness, trying to focus on William as he hurried toward her, but his face blurred at the edges.
“Rosalind?”
There was alarm in his voice now. She reached for the table and missed as William lunged toward her.
She heard him call her name once more, felt the world tilt beneath her, and then everything went black before her body struck the soft grass.