Page 59 of Courting the Wrong Duke

The admission came so quietly she almost missed it.

“Children seldom recognize the lives unfolding around them,” she said gently.

William gave a slight nod. “No.”

He fell silent again.

“I wonder,” he murmured, almost to himself, “whether Algernon remembers it at all.”

Rosalind could not answer.

The music drifted faintly up from the ballroom, carried through the open windows on the warm evening air.

At length, William turned toward her. “Did something happen?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You stepped outside only moments before the dance began.” His voice remained quiet, careful. “Then you came back looking…” He hesitated, as though searching for the proper words. “Upset.”

Heat crept into her cheeks. “I tried not to make it obvious.”

“You didn't.”

She let out a soft, humorless laugh.

For a few moments, she watched the lanterns swaying gently in the gardens below, wondering whether she ought to tell him.

Perhaps it made no difference.

The gentlemen behind the hedge had already spoken the words aloud.

“There were several gentlemen in the gardens,” she said at last. “They were standing behind one of the hedges. They did not know I was nearby.”

William remained silent.

“They were speaking about my father.” She swallowed. “And about me.”

A knot formed in her throat, but she forced herself onward.

“One of them remarked that Lady Rosalind Carlisle was the last young lady in London anyone would willingly court this Season.”

She gave another quiet laugh that held no amusement whatsoever.

“The others agreed.”

Silence settled between them.

“The Institution believed much the same thing when they withdrew my invitation to the exhibition,” Rosalind continued. “Now the gentlemen have reached the same conclusion.”

She looked toward him.

“It would seem society has made up its mind.”

William's jaw tightened. “They are wrong.”

“Are they?”

“Yes.”