Page 114 of Courting the Wrong Duke

Rosalind accepted the palette with an innocent smile. “Perhaps you should keep an open mind.”

“I am not interested in Gabriel Frost.”

“Of course not.”

“Not remotely.”

“Then we shall never speak of him again.”

“Good.”

They began the lesson, and Rosalind managed nearly half a minute before curiosity defeated her.

“What particular shade of dark brown?”

Isabella’s brush stopped in midair. “Paint, Rosalind.”

“I am painting.”

“Then kindly continue doing so.”

Rosalind lowered her gaze before Isabella could see her smile.

Usually, painting quieted her mind. Isabella had taught her to notice the smaller details of a subject rather than becoming overwhelmed by the whole: the shape of a shadow, the shift of light across a surface, the subtle difference between one shade and the next.

Today, the lesson proved rather too appropriate.

Her thoughts returned to everything she had learned that morning.

She could picture her father sitting patiently with a frightened Algernon, giving him time to speak without embarrassment and returning again and again until the boy began to find his confidence. It was painfully easy to imagine because it was precisely the sort of thing Papa would have done.

Which made Algernon’s behavior all the more difficult to understand.

If he owed her father so much, surely he would want him found.

Yet Rosalind could not forget the figure disappearing into the gardens.

He is hiding something.

She pressed the charcoal too hard, and the tip snapped.

Isabella glanced over. “You have murdered it.”

Rosalind stared at the broken piece between her fingers. “So I have.”

“You have not been thinking about that drawing for at least a quarter of an hour.”

“No.”

“Would you like to tell me what you have been thinking about?”

For one tempting moment, Rosalind nearly did. Then she remembered William that morning, exhausted and vulnerable as he entrusted her with wounds that belonged not only to him, but to his brother.

“Nothing I can properly explain yet.”

Isabella studied her but, thankfully, did not press.

By the time the lesson ended, Rosalind had produced a thoroughly mediocre study and reached only one useful conclusion.