Chapter 2 #2
“They say he abandoned Mama. That he found another woman.” She shook her head fiercely. “They did not know him. He would never leave us without a word.”
The certainty settled deep inside her.
She had spent twenty-three years watching her father greet every stable hand by name, listening to him speak kindly even to those who disagreed with him, finding him waiting outside the music room simply to ask what piece she had been practicing.
A man like that did not simply disappear.
Nor did he abandon the family he loved.
The remainder of the journey passed in thoughtful silence. Isabella never released her hand, and by the time the carriage rolled to a stop before the Carlisle townhouse, Rosalind had gathered enough composure to lift her chin.
The footman opened the door.
Together, she and Isabella climbed the front steps and entered the familiar warmth of the house.
Lady Eastmere met them before they had crossed half the entrance hall.
“Where have you been?”
Relief flashed across her mother's face so quickly that Rosalind almost missed it.
It lasted only a heartbeat before irritation swallowed it whole.
“I have had callers all afternoon asking after your father, while my daughter has been confronting gentlemen outside a gentlemen’s club.”
Isabella sensed the brewing storm immediately.
“If you'll excuse me, Lady Eastmere,” she said gently. “I believe I will go upstairs and give you both a moment.”
She managed a distracted nod. “Of course, Miss Hartwell.”
Isabella gave Rosalind's hand the briefest squeeze as she passed before quietly making her way toward the staircase.
Rosalind watched her disappear for only a moment before turning back to her mother.
“I was making enquiries.”
“You were confronting Lord William Sinclair.”
Rosalind stopped. “You already know?”
“Half of London will know by dinner.”
Heat climbed into Rosalind's cheeks. She had known people would see her outside the club. She had not imagined the gossip would outrun her carriage home.
Her mother pressed trembling fingers against her temple. “Do you have any notion what people will say?”
“I care very little what people say.”
“You should care very much.”
“They are saying Papa abandoned us.”
Her mother's face crumpled.
The sight struck her harder than she'd expected. Since Papa disappeared, her mother seemed to age a little each day. There were shadows beneath her eyes that no amount of powder could disguise.
“They are saying he ran away with another woman.”
Her mother turned away. “Enough.”
“No.” Rosalind's own temper finally broke through the grief. “It is not enough. He did not leave us.”
“We do not know that.”
“Yes, we do.” Her voice echoed against the marble floor. “I know him.”
“And I knew my husband.”
The quiet certainty in her mother's voice stole the breath from Rosalind's lungs.
She had expected anger. She had not expected doubt.
She looked back at her daughter, tears shining in her eyes. “But every day he stays gone…”
She couldn't finish the sentence. Neither of them could.
The silence between mother and daughter felt wider than the entrance hall itself.
Somewhere deeper in the house, a door closed softly. The familiar sound only made the silence between them feel larger.
Finally her mother drew a slow, unsteady breath. “You are twenty-three. The Season is nearly over.”
“Mama…”
“If this scandal continues, no respectable gentleman will come near you.”
“I do not care.”
“You must.”
“I care about finding Papa.”
“And I care about preserving what remains of this family.”
For one terrible moment, Rosalind wondered whether those had become two different things.
Her mother turned away first. “I cannot do this again.”
“Mama—”
“No.” She lifted one trembling hand. “I have spent every waking moment these last ten days answering questions, receiving callers, pretending to believe that everything will be well.”
She laughed softly, though there was no amusement in the sound.
“I scarcely know whether I am trying to convince them or myself.”
Rosalind's anger faltered.
She had never seen her mother look so diminished. She had watched her mother weather disappointing Seasons, illness, and family funerals with quiet dignity.
None of them had changed her like this. The woman standing before her no longer looked like the composed Countess of Eastmere. She looked like a wife slowly being hollowed out by waiting.
It frightened Rosalind almost as much as her father's disappearance.
Then, with visible effort, her mother straightened her shoulders. “You cannot continue this.”
“I confronted the last man to see Papa.”
“You confronted the younger brother of a duke.”
“I don't care who his brother is.”
“I know you do not.” She sighed. “That is precisely the problem.”
Her mother crossed the entrance hall and rested one hand against the banister, suddenly looking older than Rosalind had ever remembered.
The polished mahogany had always seemed too grand for everyday life. Today her mother looked as though she needed it simply to remain standing.
“You are no longer only Edmund's daughter.” The words settled heavily between them. “You are Lady Rosalind Carlisle.”
Rosalind swallowed.
“You carry this family's future now as much as I do.”
“My future can wait.”
“Society will not.” Her mother looked at her with quiet desperation. “Every day this scandal grows, another door closes.”
“I am not looking for doors.”
“But I am.” The admission came almost in a whisper. “I am trying to preserve what little remains before we lose everything.”
Rosalind felt something painful twist beneath her ribs. She understood what her mother was saying. She simply could not accept it.
“You speak as though Papa is already gone.”
“I speak as a woman who has not heard from her husband in ten days.”
Rosalind looked at her mother.
For the first time, she noticed the wedding ring turning loosely around her mother’s finger, as though she had been twisting it over and over without realizing it.
Ten days. Ten days of waiting. Ten days of listening for footsteps that never came.
Neither of them spoke.
The ticking of the longcase clock filled the entrance hall.
At last her mother drew a careful breath. “I loved your father.”
The words settled somewhere deep inside her.
She had never questioned her mother's love. Only her faith.
“I know.”
“No.” Tears gathered in her eyes once more. “I do not think you do.”
She looked toward the drawing room as though expecting Edmund to walk through the door at any moment.
“I cannot survive believing something dreadful has happened to him.”
Rosalind's heart broke a little. “So instead you choose to believe he left?”
Her mother closed her eyes. “I choose to believe whatever allows me to wake up each morning.”
The words robbed Rosalind of every reply she had prepared.
For the first time since her father's disappearance, she understood that grief had not divided their family because they loved him differently.
It had divided them because they were surviving him differently.
She opened her eyes once more. “You will not meet Lord William again.”
Rosalind met her mother's gaze. “Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You are behaving recklessly.”
“I am behaving like Papa's daughter.”
Lady Eastmere stared at her for a long moment. Then, without another word, she turned and quietly left the hall.
Rosalind watched her disappear until the sound of her footsteps faded up the staircase.
The house felt impossibly quiet.
It had always been her father who filled it with conversation. A remark to a passing footman. A cheerful greeting for the housemaids. A story carried from breakfast into luncheon because he had forgotten to finish it the first time.
She had not realized how much silence one man could leave behind.
Only then did she become aware of the ache in her hands.
She had been clenching her fists so tightly that crescent-shaped marks pressed into her palms.
“Your ladyship?”
Rosalind turned.
Nelly, her young lady's maid, lingered uncertainly in the doorway leading toward the servants' passage, twisting the corner of her apron between her fingers. She had attended Rosalind for three years now and possessed the rare gift of knowing exactly when to speak and when silence was kinder.
“I did not mean to overhear.”
Rosalind managed a tired smile. “I imagine half the household already has.”