Page 39 of Courting the Wrong Duke

The faintest smile touched Augusta's lips. “That is generally the case.”

Silence settled between them again before Augusta spoke once more. “Have the magistrates uncovered anything new regarding your father?”

Rosalind's shoulders tensed. “Nothing of consequence.”

“No witnesses?”

She shook her head.

“No letters? No disagreements? No explanation at all?”

“None.”

Rosalind found herself studying the duchess more closely. The questions were sensible. The sort anyone acquainted with the family might ask. Yet there was an attentiveness about them that made her wonder whether Augusta was merely making conversation or quietly trying to understand the mystery herself.

Augusta was quiet for a moment. “I cannot imagine what that uncertainty must be like.”

Rosalind had not expected sympathy from her.

Until that moment, she had imagined the duchess reserved simply because reserve came naturally to her. Instead, there was a gentleness beneath the composure that Rosalind had entirely failed to anticipate.

“It is difficult,” she admitted. “Every morning I hope someone will arrive with news. Every evening I wonder whether we have overlooked something obvious.”

“And all the while,” Augusta said gently, “society insists upon making its own conclusions.”

Rosalind looked at her. “You have noticed.”

“My dear,” Augusta said, almost sadly, “society notices everything.”

Rosalind almost laughed.

There was something strangely comforting about hearing another woman acknowledge what everyone else pretended did not exist.

They reached the cloakroom corridor, where the bustle of the exhibition became little more than a distant murmur.

“I imagine your mother has advised you to continue accepting invitations.”

“She has.”

“She is right.”

Rosalind sighed. “I know.”

“The whispers will not cease simply because you hide from them. If anything, they will only grow louder.”

She paused before continuing.

“And if I may offer the advice of a woman who has spent rather longer navigating society than yourself...”

Rosalind waited.

“Listen to your mother.”

Augusta's tone remained calm, almost conversational.

“Attend the dinners. Attend the musicales. Attend every gathering to which you are invited.”

Rosalind smiled faintly. “That sounds exhausting.”