Page 24 of Courting the Wrong Duke

“No,” he replied quietly. “I do not.”

His expression held nothing of triumph, only quiet conviction. Irritatingly, it made him even more difficult to doubt.

She lowered her eyes to the letter once more. She wanted to dismiss it, to convince herself it was nothing more than an ordinary piece of correspondence that had survived by chance. Yet the words refused to lose their weight. Her father had not only spoken of purchasing the horse. He had arranged to inspect it, asked that it be held for him, and every indication suggested he fully expected to be there.

Slowly, she folded the letter along its original crease before handing it back. “I still intend to continue my own inquiries.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

“And I do not intend to sit quietly while everyone decides he abandoned us.”

“You shouldn't.”

She hesitated before asking the question that had lingered in her mind since yesterday. “You mean to continue looking as well?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

His answer came without the slightest hesitation. “Because your father deserves to be found.”

Something eased inside her. It was not quite trust, nor anything so substantial, but perhaps the smallest beginning of it. She no longer felt as though she carried the burden alone. Lord William Sinclair had chosen to shoulder it beside her, and whatever his reasons, she found herself quietly grateful.

“Then I shall inform you if I discover anything.”

“As shall I.”

The understanding settled between them more naturally than either of them seemed to expect.

After a moment, Rosalind turned her gaze toward the Serpentine, watching a pair of swans drift silently across the water. “It may not matter,” she said at last.

William looked at her. “What may not?”

“Finding the truth.” She drew a slow breath. “Society has already reached its conclusion.”

She told him about the British Institution. About the withdrawn invitation, and the carefully worded note that had managed to wound far more deeply than an outright insult ever could.

William listened without interrupting, his expression growing steadily more thoughtful as she spoke.

When she finished, William reached into his coat once more. “I had hoped you might say that.”

He withdrew a second envelope and offered it to her.

Rosalind accepted it with a puzzled frown. The seal belonged to the British Institution.

She broke it open.

Inside lay an engraved invitation to that evening’s private viewing.

Her eyes widened as she looked back at William. “This...”

“One of my brother’s guests invitations,” he explained. “As one of the Institution’s principal patrons, he receives several each Season.”

She looked down at the card once more. “But our names…”

“Will be waiting for you at the entrance,” William assured her. “My brother will see to it himself.”

Rosalind stared at the invitation for another moment before looking back at him. “The invitation has been restored.”