Page 75 of Courting the Wrong Duke

“Have there been any further developments?” the duke asked.

Rosalind hesitated. “Very few.”

“No new letters?”

She shook her head.

“No witnesses?”

“None that have proven reliable.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I had hoped something might have come to light.”

The words themselves were unremarkable. So why did they leave her so uneasy?

She became acutely aware of every answer she gave, choosing each word with greater care than the last. His manner remained courteous, his voice calm, yet she could not shake the uncomfortable sensation that she was being weighed. Judged.

Or perhaps questioned. Was he simply expressing concern? Or trying to discover precisely how much she had learned?

She hated that she could no longer tell the difference.

Across the room, the duchess remained almost unnaturally silent. She contributed little to the conversation, her cool blue eyes wandering lazily about the drawing room before returning, every so often, to Rosalind.

There was nothing openly unfriendly in her expression, yet the scrutiny prickled against Rosalind's skin. It felt oddly like standing beneath a painter's gaze, as though the duchess were quietly studying every reaction without ever asking a question of her own.

By the time the conversation turned elsewhere, Rosalind realized she had scarcely touched the tea that had been poured for her. Her fingers had remained wrapped around the warm porcelain cup the entire time, drawing comfort from its heat without ever taking a sip.

The duke rose. “I shall not keep Lady Rosalind from her engagement.”

Her mother smiled warmly. “How thoughtful.”

Rosalind accompanied their guests into the entrance hall. As the butler stepped forward to open the front door, the duchess slowed and turned toward her.

“Lady Rosalind.”

Rosalind stopped.

The duchess smiled pleasantly enough, though nothing about the expression reached her eyes. “I am pleased you took my advice.”

“My lady?”

“To concern yourself with finding a husband.”

The remark was delivered with just enough sweetness to make it impossible to challenge.

Before Rosalind could answer, the duchess leaned a fraction closer.

“One more thing.” Her voice dropped. “A lady in my embroidery circle mentioned yesterday that her maid heard from another servant that your father had been seen several days before his disappearance.”

Rosalind felt her breath catch. “With whom?”

“A woman.” The duchess gave the slightest shrug. “They were traveling along one of the less respectable roads beyond London.”

Rosalind frowned. “Did she know who the woman was?”

“No.”

“Or which road?”