Chapter 6 #2
For the first time that evening, she saw not the Duchess of Aldermere, but another woman who knew precisely how merciless society could be.
Augusta accepted her shawl from the attendant before turning back to Rosalind. “I hope we shall meet again under happier circumstances, Lady Rosalind.”
“As do I.”
The duchess inclined her head with effortless grace before disappearing back toward the exhibition, her pale skirts vanishing around the corner.
Rosalind watched her go.
She still could not decide what to make of the woman.
There had been genuine kindness in Augusta's words. Rosalind was certain of that.
The duchess had spoken with neither condescension nor false pity, only the quiet practicality of a woman who understood exactly how quickly society could destroy a reputation. She had offered sensible advice. Honest advice.
And yet, Rosalind could not shake the memory of catching Augusta watching her across the gallery.
That fleeting expression. The strange feeling of having been measured without quite knowing why.
Perhaps she had imagined it.
Perhaps she had simply allowed too many days of uncertainty to make her suspicious of kindness itself.
She was still turning the thought over when a familiar voice broke into her reflections.
“My lady?”
Rosalind turned, relief softening her features almost at once. “Nelly.”
Her maid hurried toward her, looking as though she had been searching every gallery in the building.
“I have been wondering where you'd gone. Mrs. MacMillian said you were speaking with the Dowager Duchess.”
“I was.”
Nelly's gaze drifted down the corridor where Augusta had disappeared. “And the Duchess of Aldermere.”
Rosalind nodded. “She walked with me.”
Nelly's eyebrows climbed. “Well?”
The single word drew an unexpected laugh from Rosalind.
It felt good to laugh. She had almost forgotten what it sounded like.
“I confess,” she admitted as they began walking together, “I do not quite know what to think of her.”
“She seemed pleasant enough?”
“She did.”
That was precisely the difficulty.
Rosalind frowned as she searched for words that refused to arrange themselves sensibly.
“She was thoughtful. Kind, even. She spoke of my father with such compassion that I nearly believed I had mistaken her entirely.”
She hesitated.
“And yet I cannot rid myself of the feeling that there is something... hidden.”
Nelly glanced sideways at her. “Hidden?”
Rosalind nodded slowly. “She gives me the feeling of an abandoned house.”
Nelly blinked. “An abandoned house?”
Rosalind felt faintly absurd trying to explain it.
“Perfectly respectable from the outside. Beautiful, even. But you cannot shake the feeling that if you opened the wrong door, you would discover something no one intended you to find.”
She laughed softly under her breath.
“It makes no sense whatsoever.”
Nelly considered that for several moments.
“No,” she said at last. “It makes rather more sense than you realize.”
They emerged onto the small rear balcony, where only a handful of guests had ventured.
The evening air carried welcome relief from the warmth inside, and for the first time since arriving, Rosalind felt able to draw a full breath. The gardens below lay half in shadow, lit only by scattered lanterns bordering the paths.
Nelly rested her hands against the cool stone balustrade. “You did well tonight.”
Rosalind looked out over the gardens, watching lantern light flicker across the winding paths below. “I do not feel I did.”
“You came.”
Rosalind smiled without humor. “I nearly left twice.”
“But you did not.”
Rosalind thought of Sophronia's polished cruelty.
She thought of William's apology.
Of the dowager's reassurance. Of Augusta's impossible mixture of warmth and reserve.
Every conversation had left her feeling as though she had learned something important without understanding what it was.
“No,” she said quietly. “I suppose I didn't.”
A familiar voice interrupted them.
“I was beginning to think you had escaped without me.”
Rosalind turned to where William stood just inside the balcony doorway, one hand resting lightly against the frame. His gaze flickered briefly toward Nelly before returning to Rosalind.
“I hope I am not intruding.”
“Not at all.”
Nelly remained beside the balustrade, making no attempt to withdraw. William seemed almost relieved by her decision to stay.
“I wished to finish what I was trying to tell you before.”
At once Rosalind's attention sharpened. “It concerns my father?”
William inclined his head. “It does.”
He stepped nearer, lowering his voice so it would not carry beyond the balcony. “This afternoon I spoke with one of the auctioneer's clerks. He remembered your father very clearly.”
Hope stirred before Rosalind could stop it.
She had become so accustomed to disappointments that she scarcely trusted the feeling anymore.
“He confirmed your father did not merely place a bid on the stallion.”
William held her gaze.
“He paid the first installment the day before he disappeared.”
Rosalind forgot to breathe. “He... paid?”
“The clerk was quite certain.”
Her thoughts lurched in a dozen directions at once.
Father had intended to return.
No sensible man committed such a sum of money only to vanish by choice the following day.
Unless he had never been given the opportunity.
The possibility struck with such force that Rosalind reached instinctively for the stone balustrade beside her.
For weeks she had lived beneath the crushing weight of uncertainty, trying not to imagine the worst.
Now, for the first time, another explanation presented itself. “Thank you.”
The words escaped before she could temper them.
William's expression softened almost imperceptibly. “No thanks are necessary.”
“They are.” She looked at him steadily. “You have given me something I have not had in weeks.”
Hope.
The word echoed silently through her mind.
“But I must verify it.”
William nodded without hesitation, as though he had expected nothing less. “I thought you would.”
“Mr. Hargreaves will speak with the auction house himself.”
“I think that wise.”