The crowd applauded and another young lady went up to play. Rosalyn wondered distantly if one of her sisters would play, but they sat resolutely still as one young lady after another went up to perform. Rosalyn watched them, seeing debutantes and ladies going up to perform. Her heart twisted. It felt as though they were part of a parade, each performance a reminder of her own weaknesses, her own inadequacies.You are not one of us, it seemed to scream.You are not one of us.
“Thank you for being so attentive, ladies and gentlemen!” the duchess announced, making Rosalyn blink. “I invite you all to join us for a brief interval. Please feel welcome to partake of refreshments.” She gestured to the tables on the other side of the room.
The murmur of conversation began, growing louder as people stood up, pushed back their chairs and moved towards the refreshments table. Rosalyn blinked. The room was whirling, and she felt sick and dizzy. She tried to stand up and stumbled backwards.
“Rosalyn!” Georgina cried out.
“Are you quite well, sister?” Isabel demanded, sounding concerned.
“I am well,” Rosalyn managed to say. She was about to cry. She could feel it and she did not want anyone to see. Not theduchess, not the ladies who had performed, and not her sisters—although for a different reason. “I just need some air.” She looked away, trying to hide her expression.
“We shall come with you,” Georgina said at once.
“I think Rosalyn might wish to go by herself?” Isabel asked, looking at Rosalyn. Rosalyn nodded.
“Thank you, sisters,” she said softly. “I would like to go alone. I am just feeling a little unwell. I shall only be a moment—just a moment,” she reassured them.
She walked as briskly as she could through the milling guests, heading to the terrace. A footman opened the doors, and she strode out, fleeing to the railing. She leaned against it, her shoulders shaking. Tears ran down her face, soaking it. She could not stop crying. It was cruel pain, as cruel as a knife, as the winter cold.
She sobbed again, unable to hold it back a second longer. She had tried so hard to contain herself. The pain had solidified, the confusion lifting and the impact of it hitting her full in the stomach. She sobbed and sobbed and gasped and sobbed again.
“Miss Rothwell?” A voice spoke behind her. It was quiet, middle-register, one she recognised, and it was not the duke. She spun round.
“Lord Winbrook?” she said, disbelief making her voice shrill. She hastily lifted a hand, batting away her tears. The last person she wished to see at that moment was someone who already made her feel weak and afraid.
“Miss Rothwell,” he said softly. “Why! My dear lady! Whatever is the matter?”
“I am quite well,” Rosalyn replied, hastily pulling a handkerchief from her purse and wiping her face. “Just feeling indisposed. That is all.”
“Oh, my poor dear lady,” Lord Winbrook said softly. He stepped close and, to her horror, his arms wrapped around her, drawing her close. “Allow me to offer you comfort.”
She went stiff. Horror rooted her to the spot. His closeness was so unwanted, so nauseating, so unexpected, that it froze her to the spot. She could not move or breathe or think, shock robbing her of words or action.
“I would like to help,” he breathed.
Rosalyn drew in a breath, trying to find words, desperate to think of a way of pushing him away. She did not know what to say, but as she tried to find the words, the door to the ballroom burst open.
“Oh! Your Grace!” Lady Philippa’s voice cried out in alarm.
Rosalyn whipped around in horror to see Callum and Lady Philippa staring at her.
Chapter 24
Callum stopped breathing. His eyes were riveted on the scene before him. Rosalyn was enveloped in James’s arms, her body pressed to his. She saw Callum and her eyes widened, staring into his.
“No,” Callum whispered. He felt as though he had run into a wall, the breath knocked from him. He had thought that Rosalyn cherished him, that she cared for him. But here, right under his nose, a different truth was revealed. And, much as he disliked her, Philippa had been the one to guess. Philippa had come to find him, wringing her hands. She had told him she was worried, that James and Rosalyn had disappeared onto the terrace together for quite some time. And this was clearly why.
“I have been a fool,” Callum said bitterly. Rosalyn’s eyes widened, and she pushed James away, though he had already stepped aside.
Callum rounded on him, and his anger must have shown in his eyes because James said nothing. Philippa stood where she was in the doorway, gaping at them.
“Callum?” Rosalyn whispered.
“I have been a fool,” Callum repeated, gazing bitterly at her. “I have trusted you, when I should have known that nothing so good could be true. I should have seen it. All the while. You and him. He was staring at you, walking with you, talking to you. I was a fool! I ignored it. I should not have. Now, what can I do? I cannot trust you.” He was close to tears and he stopped, looking away. The last thing he wanted was for her to see his tears. She had clearly thought him a halfwit for months. He had thought she cared for him.
“Callum, it is not...” Rosalyn began.
“Enough,” Callum interrupted. “I can see with my own eyes. I should have seen it weeks ago. I have been stupid. My mother said that I should never have invited you into my circle. Do you have to make it clear that she was right? That I cannot make good decisions?” His throat ached. “There is nothing left for me to do, then. I should have done as she wished all along.”
