Chapter 8 #2
“My mother believes otherwise.”
“She is frightened.”
“She wishes me to stop searching and begin thinking about finding a husband.”
A knowing smile touched the dowager's lips. “That sounds very much like a mother.”
Rosalind laughed quietly despite herself. “You have not tried reasoning with mine.”
“Oh, I have no intention of competing with Lady Eastmere.”
That earned another small smile.
The dowager gave Rosalind's hand the gentlest squeeze. “Give her time. She is grieving every bit as much as you are.”
Rosalind sighed. “I fear it is impossible to reason with her.”
“Perhaps.” The older woman offered her a small smile. “Or perhaps it is simply too soon.”
She smoothed her skirts before looking down at Rosalind with quiet affection.
“You are more like your father than you realize.”
Rosalind felt her eyes sting once more. “I hope that is true.”
“I assure you,” the dowager said softly, “it is.”
With a final, reassuring smile, she turned and made her way back along the gallery toward the ballroom.
Rosalind watched the dowager slow halfway down the gallery.
A familiar figure stood waiting several paces away.
William.
Their eyes met briefly. No words passed between mother and son, only the smallest inclination of the dowager's head before she continued on, disappearing into the glow and music spilling from the ballroom.
William remained where he was for another moment, his gaze following his mother until she had gone.
Then he crossed the remaining distance and came to stand beside Rosalind at the window, one hand resting lightly upon the stone balustrade.
For the first time since she had known him, he looked genuinely unsettled.
Heat crept into her cheeks. “How much did you hear?”
His gaze drifted briefly in the direction his mother had gone.
“Enough.” He was quiet for a long moment before speaking again. “She never told me.”
Rosalind frowned. “About my father.”
He rested both hands upon the stone balustrade, his eyes fixed on the moonlit gardens below.
“I knew Lord Eastmere spent time with Algernon. We all did. Father used to joke that he saw more of Algernon than he did some weeks.”
A faint, humorless smile touched his mouth before disappearing.
“And I knew they could spend hours discussing Byron. I simply never realized there was a reason for it.” He shook his head slowly. “I thought Algernon enjoyed his company. That he found it easier to speak with your father than he did most people. I never understood that there was more to it.”
Rosalind watched him in silence.
His expression had taken on a distant quality, as though he were looking back across years he suddenly realized he had never truly understood.
“Nor did I know my father had spoken to him that way.”
The admission came so quietly she almost missed it.
“Children seldom recognize the lives unfolding around them,” she said gently.
William gave a slight nod. “No.”
He fell silent again.
“I wonder,” he murmured, almost to himself, “whether Algernon remembers it at all.”
Rosalind could not answer.
The music drifted faintly up from the ballroom, carried through the open windows on the warm evening air.
At length, William turned toward her. “Did something happen?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You stepped outside only moments before the dance began.” His voice remained quiet, careful. “Then you came back looking…” He hesitated, as though searching for the proper words. “Upset.”
Heat crept into her cheeks. “I tried not to make it obvious.”
“You didn't.”
She let out a soft, humorless laugh.
For a few moments, she watched the lanterns swaying gently in the gardens below, wondering whether she ought to tell him.
Perhaps it made no difference.
The gentlemen behind the hedge had already spoken the words aloud.
“There were several gentlemen in the gardens,” she said at last. “They were standing behind one of the hedges. They did not know I was nearby.”
William remained silent.
“They were speaking about my father.” She swallowed. “And about me.”
A knot formed in her throat, but she forced herself onward.
“One of them remarked that Lady Rosalind Carlisle was the last young lady in London anyone would willingly court this Season.”
She gave another quiet laugh that held no amusement whatsoever.
“The others agreed.”
Silence settled between them.
“The Institution believed much the same thing when they withdrew my invitation to the exhibition,” Rosalind continued. “Now the gentlemen have reached the same conclusion.”
She looked toward him.
“It would seem society has made up its mind.”
William's jaw tightened. “They are wrong.”
“Are they?”
“Yes.”
She smiled sadly. “I do not think they are.”
He studied her for a long moment. “You believe what they said.”
“I believe they were honest.” She drew a slow breath. “My father's disappearance has become a scandal. Whether he abandoned us or met with some terrible fate matters very little to society now. They only see disgrace.”
Her fingers tightened around one another.
“And scandal has a habit of spreading.”
Understanding dawned slowly across William's face. “You are telling me to stay away from you.”
“You should.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “You are still thinking of everyone except yourself.”
“I am trying to be practical.”
“I have discovered practicality is rarely your greatest strength.”
Despite herself, the corner of her mouth twitched.
Then she looked away once more. “I am serious.”
“So am I.” The warmth vanished from his expression. “You are still accusing me of having some part in your father's disappearance.”
“I am.”
“And yet your first concern is whether I might suffer by helping you.”
She looked at him steadily. “I do not wish to ruin anyone else's future.”
William was quiet for several moments.
When he finally spoke, his voice had softened. “Then allow me to make my own decisions.”
She searched his face.
“I know I have given you little reason to trust me,” he continued. “Perhaps none at all.”
He rested both hands upon the stone balustrade.
“But I am asking you to let me prove myself.” He met her eyes. “I loved your father too.”
The simple honesty of the words caught her off guard.
“He was my friend long before either of us became adults.” A shadow crossed William's features. “I give you my word that I had no part in your father's disappearance.”
He paused only a moment.
“And if there is one thing of which I am equally certain, it is this: neither did Algernon.”
“Why are you so certain?”
William's expression softened. “Because I have known my brother my entire life.”
He glanced toward the ballroom where his mother had disappeared.
“And tonight I have learned he owed your father more than I ever realized.”
Rosalind studied him carefully.
Either William Sinclair possessed an extraordinary talent for deception, or every word he spoke was true.
Only yesterday, she would have known precisely which explanation to believe.
Now, for the first time, she was no longer certain.
“I do not know where to begin anymore,” she admitted quietly.
A thoughtful smile touched his face. “I believe I do.”
She looked at him questioningly.
“My mother has spent the better part of three Seasons attempting to marry me off.”
Despite everything, Rosalind found herself smiling. “That does not surprise me.”