Page 28 of Courting the Wrong Duke

The fitting room beyond the showroom stood separated only by heavy velvet curtains.

Voices drifted easily through the fabric.

“…never expected Lord Eastmere of all gentlemen…”

“…ran away, they say…”

“…left his wife and daughter to endure the humiliation…”

Rosalind stood very still as Isabella glanced toward the curtain.

“…poor Lady Rosalind…”

A second voice answered with unmistakable satisfaction.

“Poor?” Sophronia Marsh’s laugh was light, almost musical. “I hardly think so. She has merely discovered that breeding cannot improve bad blood.”

Rosalind felt Isabella stiffen beside her.

Another lady lowered her voice. “Surely you do not believe the earl simply abandoned them?”

“What else is there to believe?” Sophronia replied. “A gentleman does not vanish unless he has something—or someone—to escape.”

Soft laughter rippled through the showroom.

Rosalind kept her breath steady while the assistant returned with the gowns and Madame Fournier with a satisfied smile. The woman appeared blissfully unaware of the conversation unfolding beyond the curtain.

“Is there anything else you need?”

Rosalind shook her head.

She would not allow herself to cry. Not here. Not over the opinions of women who had never known her father.

Even so, every murmur beyond the curtain settled beneath her skin, each laugh pricking more sharply than the pins Madame Fournier used to expertly alter the gowns.

Mercifully, they were ready to depart.

Before they could, the cackling women pushed the velvet curtain aside and entered the showroom; the conversation ceased so abruptly that the silence itself became an accusation.

Sophronia Marsh noticed them first.

Surprise flashed across her face before disappearing beneath a smile polished enough to rival the mirrors lining the walls.

“Lady Rosalind,” she said warmly. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Rosalind met the greeting with equal composure. “Lady Sophronia.”

No one else spoke.

Sophronia's gaze drifted briefly to the gowns beside Rosalind before returning to her face. “I do hope we shall see you this evening.”

“You shall.”

“How wonderful.” She tilted her head with practiced sympathy. “I confess I had wondered whether your family might prefer a little privacy until... matters had settled.”

“My mother and I have nothing to hide.”

“No,” Sophronia agreed pleasantly. “I suppose not.”