Page 29 of Courting the Wrong Duke

Sophronia stepped nearer, lowering her voice just enough that everyone in the room instinctively leaned closer. “Do not concern yourself overmuch about this evening,” she said with practiced kindness. “With so many eligible ladies in attendance, I imagine you shall pass quite unnoticed.”

Her smile never faltered.

“Perhaps that will prove a mercy.”

The words were spoken so gently that anyone overhearing them might have mistaken them for sympathy.

Rosalind heard only the insult.

Sophronia inclined her head and swept toward the door, leaving a silence behind her that felt somehow louder than the gossip had been.

The bell chimed brightly overhead as she departed, and only then did the ladies around her begin speaking again, their voices little more than cautious murmurs.

Rosalind remained where she was.

She had expected whispers. She had not expected to hear them spoken to her face.

Beside her, Isabella quietly slipped her arm through hers.

“Come,” she said softly.

Rosalind drew a slow breath before allowing herself to be led toward the waiting carriage.

Hyde Park had given her hope.

Madame Fournier's had reminded her what she was up against.

If society had already condemned Lord Eastmere, then tonight would not simply be an exhibition.

It would be a battlefield.

Chapter 5

The carriage rolled steadily through the crowded London streets, its wheels muffled by the lingering damp left behind by yesterday's rain.

Opposite William, his mother adjusted one of her gloves before fixing him with the familiar expression that invariably preceded an unwelcome conversation.

“I have been patient.”

William looked up from the passing view beyond the carriage window. “That is seldom an encouraging beginning.”

“It should encourage you to answer before I lose that patience entirely.”

A reluctant smile threatened at the corner of his mouth. “I suspect this conversation is unlikely to end in my favor.”

“A wise observation.”

She settled back against the squabs.

“I have spoken to Lady Ashcombe. Lady Harcourt. Lady Ellington.” She counted each upon her gloved fingers. “All have daughters of excellent character, agreeable disposition, and entirely respectable fortunes.”

William had the distinct impression he was being presented with a catalogue. “I recall the list.”

“And yet,” his mother continued, “you have expressed an interest in precisely none of them.”

“I have been occupied.”

“With what?”