Page 139 of Courting the Wrong Duke

Then her mother asked, with maddening delicacy, “Are you near your monthly time?”

For one stunned moment, Rosalind could only look at her.

Then every frustration she had swallowed for weeks seemed to rise at once.

“Why must every decision I make be explained away by the fact that I am a woman?”

“Rosalind—”

“No. I am angry, so I must be overwrought. I am certain, so I must have misunderstood. I decide I no longer wish to court a man, and apparently even that cannot be trusted because perhaps I am menstruating.”

“I only meant—”

“I know what you meant.” Rosalind heard her voice rising and fought to lower it. “Everyone has been telling me what to believe since Papa disappeared. That he ran away. That he left willingly. That he was seen with another woman. That I did not see what I know I saw.”

Her mother’s expression softened. “Darling—”

“I am tired of trusting everyone else’s certainty more than my own.”

That was the truth of it. And perhaps the reason William’s part in all of this hurt so much.

Rosalind drew a steadying breath. “I know what I am doing, Mama. And I know what Lord William told me.”

“What did he tell you?”

Rosalind swallowed. “That he has no intention of marrying.”

Her mother stilled.

“He made a vow some time ago that he would never marry. His mother has been pressing him to reconsider, and courting me gave him a convenient way to quiet those expectations.”

It was not entirely the truth. Yet it was close enough to the arrangement William had originally proposed that saying it made Rosalind feel vaguely ill.

Her mother slowly sank back into her chair. “He was using you?”

The hurt in her voice immediately punctured Rosalind’s anger.

“Mama, he never promised me anything.”

“But I thought he cared for you.”

Rosalind’s throat tightened. That was precisely the problem.

Her mother shook her head. “The dances. The calls. The way he looks at you—”

“It was a ruse,” Rosalind interrupted, because she could not bear to hear the rest. “Nothing more.”

The words sounded painfully hollow even to her.

Movement near the doorway caught her attention.

Isabella stood there, staring between them.

She still wore the clothes she had chosen for her fencing lesson, her gloves clutched in one hand, while Nelly hovered several steps behind her.

Isabella’s expression had gone from confusion to alarm.

Rosalind had never been so grateful to see anyone. “Forgive me, Mama.”