Page 74 of Courting the Wrong Duke

“I knew there was something between you.”

“There is not.”

“There must be.”

Rosalind laughed despite herself. “We have only just begun courting.”

“Precisely.”

“And I scarcely know him.”

Her mother smiled over the rim of her teacup. “My dear, you've known William since you were children.”

“That hardly qualifies.”

“It qualifies better than many marriages I have witnessed.” Her smile softened. “Besides, I always thought the two of you suited one another rather well.”

Rosalind shook her head, unable to suppress another smile. “You have gone from worrying no gentleman would come near me to planning my wedding in less than a day.”

“I have done no such thing.”

Rosalind raised an eyebrow.

“Very well,” her mother admitted. “Not yet.”

Rosalind opened her mouth to object.

A footman appeared in the doorway before she could manage it. “Your ladyship... His Grace and Her Grace, the Duke and Duchess of Aldermere.”

Rosalind and her mother exchanged identical looks of surprise.

A moment later, the Duke and Duchess of Aldermere entered the room. The duke carried a flat parcel wrapped carefully in brown paper beneath one arm.

Her mother rose immediately. “Your Grace. Your Grace. What an unexpected pleasure.”

The duke bowed. “I hope you will forgive the intrusion.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

His gaze settled briefly upon Rosalind. “I wished to offer my congratulations.”

Rosalind inclined her head politely. “Thank you.”

Stepping forward, he offered her the parcel. “A small gift.”

She accepted it almost automatically, surprised by its weight.

“A watercolor,” he explained. “I thought it might suitably mark the beginning of your courtship.”

Her mother looked genuinely touched. “That is extraordinarily thoughtful of you.”

Rosalind managed a smile. “It is very kind.”

She meant the words. At least she believed she did. The gesture was thoughtful, almost disarmingly so.

Yet it remained strangely difficult to reconcile such consideration with the man she still could not persuade herself to trust. Every encounter left her feeling as though she had taken one step toward believing him only to remember why she had begun doubting him in the first place.

Once everyone had taken their seats, conversation drifted naturally enough toward the previous evening's ball before, almost inevitably, turning to her father.