Page 26 of Diamond of the Season (Heiress #1)

Chapter

Twenty-Six

R osalind could not believe what information Lord Kelter had bestowed on her this evening, nor that Nathaniel had kept such an important secret from her. Yet why that surprised her, she did not know. They were not friends anymore. In fact, he was beginning to resemble a man she did not recognize at all.

She paced her bedroom and rang for her maid, wanting to exchange her ballgown for something much more comfortable. Her maid arrived only minutes later—a welcome distraction from the relentless churn of her thoughts.

"Good evening, my lady. You called?" The maid dipped into a curtsy, before hanging two gowns into her armoire.

"Can you help me undress, please? This evening’s events are completed, and I wish to retire early tonight," Rosalind stated, her mind a whirl of who her stepsisters were and what they were like. Were they kind, or sharp tongued like Lady Smithe? Would they care to know who their family was? Was that even a possibility for them all, knowing they were illegitimate? What were the rules? Rosalind did not know when it came to such matters.

"Of course, my lady." Mary began to unclip her gown, slipping it down her body and, for the first time this evening, Rosalind felt as though she could breathe. She quickly untied her stays, tossing it onto a nearby chair.

"Is everything well, Lady Rosalind?" the maid inquired gently. “You are very quiet this evening.”

"I’m perfectly well, Mary, thank you," Rosalind lied, sitting on the edge of her bed to remove her stockings. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well…" The maid hesitated before coming over to take Rosalind's silk stockings and placing her slippers by her feet. "Lady Smithe returned from the ball an hour or so ago, and she was in quite a state. She went into the duke's library, and I have not seen her since. I thought that something may have gone astray."

Something certainly had gone astray. Did Lady Smithe’s return and countenance mean that the ton knew her father’s secret for certain now? She stared at the unlit hearth, before dread and something ugly and fearful crawled up Rosalind's spine that had nothing to do with her half sisters. She stood abruptly and went to her armoire and pulled out her pelisse, tying it quickly at her front.

"All is well, Mary. You may head to bed yourself if you like. I will not be needing you again this evening."

Her maid smiled, pleased by the early dismissal. "Very good, my lady. I wish you a good night and shall see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Mary."

Rosalind waited several minutes after her maid had left before she exited her room and headed downstairs. If the duke and Lady Smithe were talking about her illegitimate sisters, then that was a conversation she needed to be part of. Moreover, the fact that Lady Smithe had returned from the ball troubled suggested that perhaps the ton knew of her family's disgrace—thanks to Lord Kelter blurting such information out so publicly and with so many ears listening. Would that hurt her chances of making a good match?

She did not wish to think of any other possibilities as to why the duke and her companion were nestled in the library alone at this late hour. The thought did not bear thinking, and yet, she frowned, her stomach lurching at the horrible thought in conjured.

Determined to find out the truth, no matter what the situation was downstairs, Rosalind left her room and headed down to see what the duke and Lady Smithe were discussing before she retired for the night. There were no staff about at this late hour—the footman who guarded the front door nowhere to be seen.

Rosalind heard the muffled voices first—the duke and Lady Smithe speaking—but she could not make out their words. She approached the library door that was slightly ajar and listened. She shouldn't of course, it was bad form and extremely rude, but the sound of Lady Smithe's words rooted her to the spot. It was not the usual forthright and confident tone of her ladyship. Oh no, it was a seductive, soft, cajoling tenor she’d never heard before.

Her stomach knotted, and she pushed the door open needing to see the truth of the situation for herself. Her possible ruination in the eyes of the ton due to Lord Kelter’s admission thrown from her mind.

Standing before the hearth were the duke and Lady Smithe—Lady Smithe's hands resting on the lapels of His Grace’s coat, his hands fastened about her waist. Rosalind gaped, and a small squeal of alarm escaped her lips before she could stop it.

The duke was a rogue. She understood that most men of his ilk were, however after everything they had done together—the soft whispers in the night, the passionate kisses that had stolen her wits and her heart—she had believed it meant something. Clearly, from the sight before her, it meant nothing at all.

"Rosalind," the duke called as he moved toward her, all but throwing Lady Smithe to the side.

Rosalind raised her hand, halting his steps. "My apologies, Your Grace. I did not know… That is to say…" she faltered, unable to find the words to describe what she had witnessed. The lump in her throat hurt to speak through and she swallowed several times before she managed to get out her next words. “I’m sorry for interrupting you, excuse me if you will.”

"No, wait, Rosalind." The duke's footsteps rang loud in her ears, but she did not wait to see if he was indeed following her. Instead, she ran through the foyer, blindly out into the drawing room and onto the terrace and gardens beyond. She needed air—lovely, fresh, cooling air where she could think and possibly cry if her blurred vision were anything to go by.

Could this night become any worse than it was already?

She ran until she stood on the lawns, her slippers ruined by the grass, and looked up at the starlit sky. His Grace’s aversion to her over the past week made more sense now than it had an hour ago. He was courting Lady Smithe. Of course he was, and she had been a fool to think that a woman of her limited sensual knowledge would garner the interest of such a virile, handsome man. Although he wasn’t so kind if he could taunt her as he did and then move on to another woman without a by-your-leave.

The fiend.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and took a deep breath, anything to calm the panic that tumbled in her stomach. Her chest hurt and for a moment she thought she may faint.

"Rosalind, wait." He strode toward her purposefully across the yard and she hated that even now he appeared like a vision of everything she wanted in a husband. A strong, capable man who made her want things. Want everything.

She raised her chin, determined to be strong and not cry in front of him. She could do that later in her room. What she wasn’t prepared to note was the fear and regret tumbling about in his green gaze. The man was a fool if he thought she would believe anything he said to try to explain away what she saw.

"Wait for what, Your Grace?" she stated matter-of-factly, glad her voice did not wobble. "Wait for you to push me away again—to not even treat me as your friend, so you are free to do as you please with Lady Smithe?" She gestured toward the house, ignoring how the vision of the duke blurred with her unshed tears. "You need to leave and return indoors. There is nothing for you here. Not anymore."

"No, no, you have it all wrong. I'm not courting Lady Smithe. I have never seen her in a romantic light. She was upset about the rumor of your father's illegitimate family. It is now the latest scandal in London, and I'm sorry for that, but she cornered me in the study—she was crying. I comforted her, and at some point during that exchange, she thought there might be more between us. There is not. I have assured her of that, and she has retired for the night."

"I do not believe you." Rosalind pushed past him, and in two quick steps he was behind her, hauling her back to face him.

"Stop, damn it, and listen to me. I was not doing anything with Lady Smithe. I promise you."

"You lie—that is all I know. You lied about us being friends. We are not. Not anymore. You lied about my father having another family and keeping me in the dark. The ton may openly know now, though others must have suspected before tonight's ball, and I wonder how many laughed at me when my back was turned. And as for Lady Smithe—I know what I saw. Are you trying to say that I did not see you embracing? That you were not clutching her waist? "

Rosalind swallowed the bile that rose in her throat at the thought of what might have happened between them if she had not interrupted. The idea of Nathaniel being intimate with anyone sent dread through her every fiber, leaving her uncertain of what to do with herself. He confounded her, and she was not herself when she was around him. Did not know how to be strong and protect her heart.

"I did not tell you about your stepfamily because I did not want you to be hurt by your father any more than you already were. Miss Helena assured me she would not cause trouble for you, and I thought the matter was settled."

"Miss Helena?" she asked, her mind racing as to what else the duke had done behind her back. "You've spoken to my father's illegitimate daughters?"

The duke ran a hand through his hair, staring at her as if he did not know up from down. "Rosalind, I’m sorry, but I did speak to them. They have no income, no assets other than the house—nothing to keep it warm during winter, or to feed them most days. The younger two are but fourteen and so I offered them funds in return for their discretion and to keep them out of your way."

"You bribed them?" Though it pleased her that they would not be left destitute, Rosalind was appalled that Nathaniel had persuaded them to remain silent—a dirty little secret her father had kept for years and now the new duke wanting the same. How she loathed powerful men right at that moment.

"I did not see it that way, and I hope Miss Helena does not either. My intentions were only to keep you and your reputation safe. To ensure a suitable match for your hand."

"Yes," she spat, venom in her tone. "So I may marry some gentleman—a man who says all the right things to me during the many balls and parties we attend, who then proposes, luring me into a false sense of security, while all the while I do not know if he is sincere. Not really. I shall find out that truth when we marry. When I'm in his marriage bed and behind his grand walls, yes?"

She started for the house once more and managed to get inside the drawing room before Nathaniel stopped her yet again.

"Do not be angry with me, please,” the duke pleaded. “It is only you that I thought of."

She pushed his hand off her arm, stepping away from him. "That is little comfort right now. I need to go to my room to think—and hopefully to sleep."

"Rosalind, please. Know that I do not want Lady Smithe…"

Rosalind turned and left the room. Frustratingly a small part of her hoped he would confess to wanting her instead, that he’d made a mistake and did not wish to lose her, but he did not. Despair swamped her and she made her room before the tears began to fall unheeded. If tonight had proven anything, it was that there was no future here. Not with the Duke of Ravensmere. Perhaps not even within the ton .