“Good,” Harriet said in a small voice.
Callum squeezed her fingers reassuringly. “Thank you, sister, for talking to me,” he said sincerely when she was a little calmer. “I value it a great deal.”
“Thank you for talking to me, brother,” she said with a grin. Callum smiled to see her happiness returning. He was angry with his mother for making Harriet witness their argument. She knew how distressing Harriet found such things.
“I am certain that she shall be talking again by dinnertime,” Callum said with a grin.
Harriet giggled. “Mayhap she shall,” she agreed.
“Now, I need to go and choose a tailcoat. I have not yet decided what to wear.”
Harriet laughed. Callum’s heart lifted to hear her happy giggle, and he exited the room, hurrying upstairs to go and find something to wear to dinner that evening. He wanted to look his best, and he also did not want to offend their mother—he had offended her enough as it was, and he hoped that she would forgive him soon. He hoped that he was right in what he had said and that she would accept him and his decision.
Chapter 23
Rosalyn sat on the end of her bed. Her stomach hurt, and her head ached. She was dressed in her red gown, prepared to attend the duchess’ planned music evening, but the thought of attending made her feel sick and Philippa’s insinuation that all the guests were watching her had not helped. She had always disliked having to perform in public—playing an instrument was not something she enjoyed, and she did not like to sing in front of people. While there was no pressure placed on any of the guests to perform, the young ladies would almost certainly be expected to, and it was one area in which she felt lacking. She did not want to perform in front of the judgmental, critical duchess.
She frowned as someone knocked at the door.
“Betty?” she called, thinking it was her maid. Instead, Georgina and Isabel answered her through the door.
“Sister? Sister! May we come in?”
“Of course,” Rosalyn said. She stood and opened the door.
“Sister!” Isabel called out. Rosalyn frowned. While her sisters usually came into her chamber to complete their outfits—seeking advice about their hairstyles or borrowing fans or shawls—they were always high-spirited. This time, though, their eyes were wide, faces pale and tense.
“Isabel? Georgina? Whatever is the matter?” Rosalyn’s heart thudded. Was one of them also feeling sick? Had something happened? Was their father unwell? A hundred thoughts raced through her mind.
Isabel looked at Georgina.
“Shall we...?”
“I don’t know...” Georgina said unsteadily in answer.
Rosalyn stared at them. “Sisters?” she asked, heart racing. “Please. Whatever it is, tell me. I want to know. I must.” Theirfather was ill, she knew it. Sebastian. Something had happened to Sebastian. Her hands clenched into fists, fear stiffening her entire body.
“We were walking in the hallway,” Isabel began. “And we heard...”
“He said it. He said he was going to marry someone else.” Georgina concluded in a rush.
“Who?” Rosalyn said carefully. “Who said what?” Her head pounded, the headache pressing in on her forehead like an iron fist.
“The duke,” Georgina blurted. “I am so sorry.” She was crying.
“We didn’t believe it,” Isabel said. “But his mother was there. It was her!” Isabel said angrily. “It is all her fault. She’s rude. She hates us. All of us.”
“I know,” Rosalyn said. Her voice was a whisper. None of it made sense. She could not believe it. She swayed, losing her balance. Georgina rushed forward, grabbing her, hauling her upright.
“Rosalyn! Don’t fall. Forget about him,” she said angrily, her voice rising. “He’s just horrible. And what sort of man listens to his mother when he’s...he’s...old,” she completed her sentence.
“He’s not that old,” Isabel protested.
Rosalyn shook her head. Part of her wanted to find their comments amusing and part of her even did. Yet the overwhelming majority of her felt as if she were trapped in a snowstorm of confusion and shock. What could have happened? Surely, her sisters were mistaken?
She hates us, Rosalyn thought, her heart twisting.
That was undeniable. The duchess had been rude and hurtful from the first moment that her family had met her. She had not once attempted to be friendly or caring—even being welcoming had seemed too much for her. She hadaccommodated them and made sure that they were taken care of, but she had never even spoken to Rosalyn, and she had made it clear that she found the company of other people more appealing than she did that of Rosalyn and her family.
