“Only as long as one doesn’t embarrass themselves,” Rose replied primly. “Or their family.”
Felix leaned back against the window frame, studying her with a look that felt uncomfortably thorough. “That depends entirely on how easily a person is embarrassed. Some of us find the spectacle rather invigorating.”
“I am well aware of your love for spectacle,” she murmured.
“You proved that last night,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “I’ve never seen a woman turn so many shades ofcrimson in a single evening. You were practically vibrating with mortification.”
Rose felt the heat rise to her cheeks again, the memory of the wedding breakfast—and Lady Rutledge—stinging like a fresh slap.
“It doesn’t matter now,” she said, turning her attention back to the baby.
“Doesn’t it? You seemed quite affected.”
“We are breaking our rule, Felix,” she said, her voice tight. “We agreed to keep our distance. Analyzing my state of mind is hardly keeping a distance.”
Felix fell silent, but he didn’t move. He watched the way she cradled Lizzie, his eyes following the gentle, practiced rhythm of her rocking.
“I truly cannot understand you,” he said quietly. “You are so incredibly kind to her. You look at that child as if she were your own soul.” He paused, his gaze intensifying. “Why wouldn’t you want a child of your own, Rose?”
Rose kept her eyes fixed on Lizzie’s sleeping face, her heart hammering against her ribs.
“That was not part of our arrangement, Your Grace.”
“I’m not asking the duchess,” he pressed. “I’m asking the woman.”
Rose finally looked up, her gaze meeting his with a defensive flicker. “Have you already changed your mind, Duke?”
“No, Duchess,” he replied, his mouth curving into that maddening, elegant smirk. “That was mere curiosity.”
“I don’t remember being curious about one another being part of our deal,” she said, her voice regaining its crisp edge.
Felix’s smirk deepened. “Interesting.”
He stood up then, the movement fluid and sudden. He buttoned his coat, the air in the room shifting as the Duke of Carden reclaimed the space.
“We leave for London tomorrow,” he announced. “It’s time we began the work. We will introduce Lizzie to society slowly and carefully. By the time she is of age, the ton will have accepted her as ours.”
Rose nodded, her throat tight. “I agree. It’s for the best.”
He stood over her for a long moment, the silence between them suddenly thick with a tension she could not name. His shadow fell across her and the baby like a dark, protective canopy.
For a second, she thought he might reach out—to touch her, or perhaps the child—but his hands remained at his sides.
“Tomorrow, then,” he said.
Without another word, he turned and strode toward the door. The click of the latch echoed in the quiet room, leaving Rose alone with the silence and the heavy, lingering scent of his sandalwood cologne.
“Are you certain I must?” Rose adjusted the brim of her hat, trying to anchor it against the insistent wind.
Her mother’s answer came, clipped and final. “Yes, you must. A duchess is a public creature, and it would not do for you to hide after your own wedding. Hyde Park is society’s best theater. Better to face the gawkers than let them believe you’re afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” Rose said, though her heart thudded a protest. “I merely dislike being on display.”
Lady Whiteridge shot her a look that had cowed every one of her daughters since the nursery. “You will grow used to it.”
Rose doubted it. But she nodded and allowed the footman to hand her down onto the pavement. The air smelled of horseflesh, violets, and a faint, unpleasant trace of river mud.Already, the promenade was filling with families, couples, and single women pacing with the ferocity of caged wolves.
Lizzie was at home with Mrs. Durham. Rose’s arms felt oddly empty, her hands unanchored and restless at her sides.
