Page 68 of Courting the Wrong Duke

“Yes.”

“And?”

“He is bringing Lady Rosalind a watercolor as a gift to celebrate our courtship.”

For perhaps the first time that morning, Gabriel appeared genuinely speechless. “The duke?”

“The very same.”

“Well…” Gabriel lowered his foil, shaking his head. “I confess I did not expect that.”

“Nor did I.” William turned aside another attack before continuing. “I think it's an excellent idea.”

Gabriel studied him for a moment. “You hope it will improve matters between them.”

William shrugged. “I hope Lady Rosalind comes to believe that neither Algernon nor I had anything to do with her father's disappearance. The sooner she trusts us, the sooner we may all devote ourselves to discovering what truly became of Lord Eastmere.”

Gabriel's smile returned. “You almost sound as though you care what she thinks of your brother.”

William opened his mouth. Then quietly closed it again.

Gabriel laughed. “I thought as much.”

Rather than dignify the observation with a reply, William launched a particularly vigorous attack that drove Gabriel backward several paces.

“That,” Gabriel protested through a laugh, “was entirely unnecessary.”

“And yet entirely satisfying.”

Their bout continued for several more minutes before both men finally lowered their foils.

Gabriel wiped the back of one gloved hand across his brow before sighing dramatically. “Speaking of impossible situations…”

William glanced at him and immediately understood.

Gabriel had not yet said a word to him about Miss Hartwell, but then, he had hardly needed to. William had seen the way his friend watched her at the ball, how readily his attention found her whenever she entered a room, and how unusually interested he had become in the young lady's painting lessons. Gabriel had never possessed much talent for concealing his admiration.

“Miss Hartwell?”

Gabriel stopped twirling his foil. “Is it that obvious?”

“To me? Painfully.”

Gabriel sighed. “Miss Hartwell.”

William smiled, rather pleased with himself. “I thought as much.”

Gabriel began pacing the length of the practice floor while absentmindedly twirling his foil once more. “I've made a few discreet inquiries.”

“And?”

“She has absolutely no intention of marrying.”

William looked up. “None?”

“None.” Gabriel sighed again. “Since Lady Hartwell died, Baron Hartwell has indulged every one of Isabella's ambitions. She intends to study properly. Travel. Learn from artists. Make something of herself instead of becoming someone's wife.”

William smiled faintly. “That sounds very much like Miss Hartwell.”