Chapter 12 #2
She had intended to make her way to the ladies' retiring room.
Instead, she found her mother standing alone beside one of the open French doors, one gloved hand resting lightly against the stone balustrade as she gazed out across the moonlit terrace.
Even from several paces away, Rosalind could see the weariness in her face. “Mama?”
Her mother turned, managing a gentle smile that failed to hide her exhaustion. “There you are.”
“You do not look well.”
“I believe we have both discovered that crowded ballrooms lose their charm after a while.”
Rosalind smiled faintly. “I was beginning to think it was only me.”
Her mother laughed under her breath. “I suspect half the ladies inside are wishing for an excuse to escape.”
“Then let us be wiser than the rest.”
Without waiting for an answer, Rosalind slipped her arm through her mother's and gently guided her through the open doors onto the terrace.
The evening breeze met them at once, cool against cheeks still warmed by the ballroom.
Somewhere below, a fountain trickled steadily among the gardens, while the perfume of climbing roses drifted lazily upward.
Behind them, the orchestra continued to play, though distance softened the music until it blended naturally with the sounds of the summer evening.
For a little while neither of them spoke.
The silence felt comforting rather than awkward.
Rosalind rested both hands upon the cool stone railing and closed her eyes briefly, grateful for the fresh air.
“It truly is cooler out here,” she murmured.
“It is.”
Her mother watched her for a thoughtful moment before asking quietly, “And how do you find Lord William?”
The question caught Rosalind more off guard than she cared to admit. Heat that had nothing whatsoever to do with the ballroom crept into her cheeks.
She reminded herself that servants passed occasionally through the terrace doors, and that even here it was wise to choose her words carefully.
“I like him very much.”
It was exactly the sort of answer one expected from a young lady being courted. The unsettling part was that she no longer considered it entirely an act.
A knowing smile touched her mother's lips. “I thought perhaps you did.”
Rosalind lowered her gaze to the gardens below. “Mama...”
“Yes, my dear?”
“How does one know?”
Her mother regarded her curiously. “Know what?”
“How does one know whom to marry?”
The older woman was quiet for a long moment, as though searching not for the proper answer, but for the truest one. “At least for me,” she said at last, “it was surprisingly simple.”
Rosalind looked back at her.
“You marry the person who feels like your dearest friend.”
She smiled softly, though sadness lingered behind it.
“The one whose company you seek without thinking. The one beside whom silence is never uncomfortable because you never feel the need to fill it. The one whose joys become your own, and whose sorrows you cannot help but carry beside them.”
Her eyes drifted toward the moonlit gardens. “That is what your father was to me.”
Rosalind felt her throat tighten.
“He was my husband, certainly. But before that...” Her mother smiled through gathering tears. “He was my very best friend.”
The words seemed to break something inside her. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks.
“Oh, Mama...” Rosalind drew her gently into an embrace, holding her as the quiet sobs came.
“I miss him,” her mother whispered. “Every morning I wake expecting to hear his voice.”
“So do I.”
“I tell myself not to hope.”
Rosalind held her a little tighter. “I have not stopped.”
Her mother pulled back just enough to search her face. “You are still looking.”
“We all are,” Rosalind said softly. “Lord William is helping. His brother is helping. There are others making inquiries as well. We have not given up.”
She said nothing of the duchess's whispered rumor.
Not yet.
Until she knew it was true, she would not burden her mother with another fragile hope that might shatter by morning.
Her mother dabbed carefully at her eyes before reaching up to smooth an errant curl from Rosalind's forehead. “I am fortunate to have you.”
Rosalind smiled. “I believe I'm the fortunate one.”
A gentle sigh escaped her mother. “Come. I think we have both had enough excitement for one evening.”
Rosalind nodded. “I think so too.”
Together they turned back toward the house, climbing the broad stone steps leading to the terrace doors.
Rosalind paused only for a heartbeat.
Something had caught her eye.
Down in the gardens, beyond the last sweep of lantern light, a gentleman moved quickly between the clipped hedges. She saw little more than the outline of a broad-shouldered figure, but as he crossed a shaft of moonlight, the profile looked startlingly familiar.
The duke.
Her breath caught.
She took an instinctive step toward the balustrade, straining to see more, but the figure disappeared almost immediately behind a stand of yew trees.
“Mama?” she said, her attention still fixed upon the darkness below. “Would you wait here just a moment? I should like to bid Lord William goodnight before we leave.”
Her mother smiled knowingly. “Of course.”
Rosalind hurried back into the ballroom, the warmth and music enveloping her once again.
Couples continued to glide effortlessly across the polished floor while conversations ebbed and flowed around the edges of the room.
Her eyes searched the crowd until they found William near one of the marble columns.
Relief came first.
Then hesitation.
Lady Sophronia stood beside him, smiling brightly as she spoke, one gloved hand resting lightly upon his sleeve while he listened with the patient courtesy expected of any well-bred gentleman.
Rosalind slowed without meaning to.
It was perfectly harmless. Of course it was.
Lady Sophronia was merely conversing with him, and William was doing exactly what any gentleman ought.
Even so, something inside her tightened.
She disliked it.
Whether it was Lady Sophronia herself, with her carefully practiced smiles and unfortunate habit of disguising malice as kindness, or merely the sight of another woman monopolizing William's attention, Rosalind could not have said.
She had no intention of considering the question any further.
After all, Lord William was perfectly free to dance with whomever he pleased.
Reminding herself of that, she crossed the remaining distance.
“Lord William?”
He turned almost immediately.
The moment he saw her, his attention shifted so completely that Lady Sophronia's cheerful account of some amusing incident came to an abrupt halt.
“If you would excuse us for only a moment,” William said politely.
Lady Sophronia's smile faltered almost imperceptibly before returning. “Certainly.”
Rosalind stepped nearer, lowering her voice. “My mother wishes to return home.”
“I hope you are feeling better.”
“I am.” She glanced briefly toward the terrace doors. “But I think I saw your brother in the gardens.”
William's brows knit together. “My brother?”
She nodded. “I cannot be certain. He disappeared before I could see him clearly, but I thought you should know.”
For the briefest instant, genuine surprise crossed his face.
He opened his mouth to answer.
Before he could, the orchestra struck the opening notes of the next dance.
Lady Sophronia looked toward them with a pleasant smile. “Lord William,” she reminded him sweetly, “I believe you promised me this waltz.”
Rosalind stepped back before either of them could protest. “I only wished to tell you. Goodnight.”
“Lady Rosalind—”
She merely smiled, curtsied, and turned away before he could say anything further.
Her mother was waiting near the ballroom doors, and Rosalind crossed toward her, resisting the entirely unreasonable urge to glance back. She had nearly reached the doorway when the opening strains of the waltz swelled behind her and curiosity finally won.
She looked over her shoulder.
William and Lady Sophronia had already joined the other couples upon the dance floor. Sophronia was speaking animatedly as they moved, her face bright with laughter and her attention fixed entirely upon her partner.
William, however, was not looking at her.
He was looking across the ballroom at Rosalind.
Their eyes met through the shifting dancers, and for one suspended moment, the noise and movement around her seemed to recede. There was something in his expression she could not quite decipher, something that made the strange tightness in her chest return with renewed force.
Then another couple swept between them, breaking the connection.
Rosalind turned and followed her mother from the ballroom.
She could not decide what unsettled her more: the possibility that she had truly seen the duke in the gardens when he was supposedly away on business, the fear that William might know more about his brother's movements than he admitted, or the sight of Lady Sophronia smiling so warmly at the gentleman who was supposed to be courting her.
The last possibility was ridiculous. Their courtship was only pretend. William was free to dance with Lady Sophronia, just as Rosalind had been free to dance with Sir Bennet.
Yet that was not what followed her from the ballroom.
It was the memory of William dancing with another woman while his eyes remained fixed upon Rosalind.
Lady Sophronia had possessed his hand, his dance, and every right to his attention.
Yet somehow, Rosalind had been the one who held it.