Page 117 of Courting the Wrong Duke

His eyes met hers. “You object to none of it?”

“I might dispute stubborn.”

“Naturally.”

“That sounded suspiciously sarcastic.”

“I would not dream of it.”

The dowager laughed and patted the place beside her, rescuing Rosalind from the uncomfortable realization that she rather liked knowing how William described her when she was not there to hear it.

Tea arrived soon afterward, accompanied by enough cakes and sandwiches to feed considerably more than three people. The dowager wanted to know what Rosalind read, whether she preferred London or the country, how she occupied herself when no one was dragging her to another ball, and whether she enjoyed riding.

The questions might easily have felt intrusive, yet her interest was so genuine that Rosalind found herself answering freely.

William contributed little. He simply listened.

And watched her.

Every time Rosalind glanced toward him, she found his attention already there. At first she told herself it was necessary. A gentleman supposedly courting a lady ought to appear interested in what she said.

The explanation became less convincing after the fourth time their eyes met.

“You must be very careful whom you choose,” the dowager said eventually. “People speak endlessly of advantageous marriages, but an advantage is poor consolation when one must wake beside the wrong person every morning.”

“Mother,” William murmured.

“What? I am giving excellent advice.”

Rosalind smiled. “I think you are.”

“Thank you. Love matters more than society likes to admit. Titles are useful and money certainly makes life comfortable, but neither will make an unhappy marriage bearable.”

Her expression softened.

“The person you marry sees more of you than anyone else ever will. They see you frightened and unreasonable and ill-tempered. They see all the pieces you would rather hide from the rest of the world. Choose someone who will be kind to those pieces.”

The words carried Rosalind back to the balcony and her mother’s quiet certainty.

You marry the person who feels like your dearest friend.

Two mothers offering much the same advice in different words.

Before Rosalind could stop herself, she looked at William.

He was already watching her.

After his mother’s words, it was considerably harder to dismiss his attention as part of their performance. She thought of that morning, of everything he had trusted her enough to reveal and the way he had allowed her to hold his hands while he struggled to make sense of it.

He had shown her precisely the sort of hidden pieces his mother was speaking of.

Warmth crept into Rosalind’s cheeks.

This is pretend she reminded herself as she lowered her gaze to her tea.

The reminder was becoming increasingly unhelpful.

Their courtship existed because her father was missing. Because William had agreed to help her search without destroying her reputation in the process. Because pretending an attachment gave them freedom neither of them would otherwise possess.