Page 23 of Courting the Wrong Duke

Hyde Park had already begun to fill with riders, fashionable carriages, and ladies strolling the broad gravel paths beneath fresh green leaves still jeweled with droplets of water. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and early roses.

Rosalind noticed none of it.

Her attention remained fixed upon every approaching carriage.

Beside her, Isabella linked her arm through hers. “You are staring.”

“I am watching.”

“You have been watching the same corner of the park for nearly five minutes.”

Rosalind offered no reply.

She knew precisely when William arrived.

Not because she saw him first.

Because Gabriel Frost's laugh carried across the path a heartbeat before either gentleman came into view.

They could scarcely have been more different. William was tall and athletic, with fair hair that never seemed inclined to remain orderly. Even now, a breeze had coaxed a single lock across his forehead, lending him a boyishness entirely at odds with the gravity of why they had come. His bright blue eyes settled on her almost immediately.

Rosalind looked away before he could mistake the moment for welcome.

Beside him, Gabriel wore his dark hair with meticulous care, his handsome features perpetually touched by the look of a man on the verge of sharing an excellent joke.

William drew people in with effortless sincerity.

Gabriel did so by making them wonder what amused him.

Both gentlemen bowed.

“Lady Rosalind.”

“Miss Hartwell.”

Rosalind inclined her head. “Lord William. Mr. Frost.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

William was the first to break the silence. “I received something yesterday evening that I believe you ought to see.”

He withdrew a folded letter from inside his coat and held it out to her.

Rosalind accepted it with growing apprehension. It bore the seal of Harding & Sons Auctioneers.

As she read, a knot formed in her stomach.

The letter confirmed her father's appointment at Tattersall's in three days' time to inspect a bay stallion he had expressed considerable interest in. At his request, the horse had been held pending their meeting.

She lowered the page, only to lift it again a moment later.

Her father had spoken of little else for nearly a fortnight. She could still hear him praising the stallion's bloodlines one moment and grumbling the next that no horse dealer had ever entered a negotiation intending to ask a fair price.

Her grip tightened around the page. “He could have changed his mind. Or simply decided not to go.”

William inclined his head, conceding the point. “He could have.”

Rosalind searched his face. “Yet you do not believe he did.”