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Cordelia chewed her lip. “Can’t you make him… change his mind?”
“And how would I do that?”
“Idon’t know. Flirt, I suppose. Bat your eyelashes. Maybe you could pretend to faint and have him catch you.”
Rosaline snorted. “I am fairly sure that if I fainted, Lord Benedict would just let me fall.”
“Lord who?”
“Lord… the Duke of Keswick.”
“Benedict? Did he tell you to call him that?”
Rosaline flushed. “Yes. In private.”
Cordelia fingered the silky material of the next gown, not seeming to absorb any of its details. “If he truly doesn’t intend to marry you, Rosaline, be careful not to get too carried away. Don’t break your heart over a man like that.”
Rosaline couldn’t help but be taken aback at her friend’s serious tone. She laughed, trying to pass the moment off as something light-hearted.
“Goodness, Delia, there’s no danger of that.”
“Why, don’t you like him?”
“Well, he’s interesting, certainly. He’s handsome, if you like that sort of thing. Which Idon’t, by the way. He is generous, I suppose, and he makes me feel… safe.”
The last word took Rosaline aback. She hadn’t meant to say that, and it sounded – well, it sounded too vulnerable. Too honest. Too much as if Lord Benedict was starting to mean something to her, which he absolutely was not.
“Anyway, Delia, you’re worrying too much about this.” Rosaline said briskly. “Shouldn’t you be looking for a match of your own?”
Cordelia raised her eyebrows. “With you on the market, I think I’ll struggle.”
“I’m the Duke’s intended, remember? I’m unavailable.”
“Yes, but not for long.”
Lord Benedict had arranged to go for a walk in the park later that evening. Rosaline found herself thinking over what Cordelia said long after her friend had left. She got ready absently, nearly reaching for one of her worn old dressing out of habit. Then she remembered her fine new ones. Benedict would probably want to see her in one of them. After all, he’d just paid a small fortune for her new wardrobe.
She chose a burgundy watered-silk dress, with a slightly raised hem for walking. She wore her old boots rather than her new ones, just in case the park was muddy. She chose a simple straw bonnet with a burgundy ribbon to match her dress, not quite able to convince herself to wear the flowers-and-feathers monstrosity. Over it all she wore a fitted coat in plain black, as the weather was somewhat nippy.
Rosaline paused to look at herself in the mirror. She hardly recognized the well-dressed, poised young woman who greeted her. It was impressive how much clothes could change a person. Then she heard a sharp tap at the door downstairs. He was here, and Rosaline didn’t dare be late. She hurried downstairs, and Lord Benedict did a double take when he saw her.
His eyes widened, his jaw slackened, and his gaze roved over her form in a way that made her shiver.
“Very nice.” Lord Benedict said, his voice ever so slightly hoarse. “You suit red, by the way. Shall we go? Is your maid accompanying us?”
“Of course.” Rosaline said, trying not to remember the last time she’d walked in the park with Lord Benedict and a maid. Margaret was much quicker and sharper than poor old Helen, and Rosaline was sure that Lord Benedict wouldn’t be able to shake her off as easily. There’d be no secret, scandalous kisses in the shrubbery this time.
She wasn’t sure whether that was a relief or a disappointment.
Lord Benedict offered her his arm, and they walked briskly towards the park.
“You ought to know,” he said, steering her towards the quieter walking areas, “That I told Lady Everett about our courtship.”
“Oh?”
“She’s a terrible gossip. I daresay most of London knows already.”
“Isee.” Rosaline answered. Her heart was thumping for some reason. Why was she so nervous? She’d known that being revealed as the Duke’s lover was always their plan, so why did she suddenly feel sick and sweaty?
