1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

L ady Rosalind's emerald eyes darted between her sisters; their father's announcement still hung in the air like a gathering storm cloud. Amelia, the eldest daughter of the house and ever the picture of grace and composure, sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, but Rosalind could see the tension in her fingers.

Isabella, on the other hand, seemed to shrink into herself, her delicate features etched with worry as she nibbled on her lower lip.

The silence in the drawing room was deafening, broken only by the ticking of the ornate clock on the mantelpiece. Rosalind's mind raced as she tried to make sense of her father's words.

A courtship with the Duke of Somerton? Rosalind thought incredulously. It was unthinkable. The man was a notorious rake, known for his scandalous affairs and cold demeanour.

Rosalind's admittedly fiery spirit bubbled to the surface, and she turned to face her father, her voice cutting through the heavy stillness. "Father, how can you possibly consider this? The Duke is hardly a suitable match for any of us. His reputation precedes him, and I cannot fathom why you would want to subject one of your daughters to such a fate."

Rosalind knew better as soon as she spoke: Lord Matthew Harrington, Baron of Highmore, was not a man given to jesting. Lord Harrington's eyes narrowed. With steel in his voice, he replied, "Rosalind, you will mind your tone. The Duke is a man of great influence and wealth, a Peer of the Realm; a match with him would secure our family's future. It is not your place to question my decisions."

Rosalind bit back a retort, her cheeks flushing with indignation. She glanced at Amelia, hoping to find an ally in her sister's calm reasoning, but Amelia's gaze was fixed on the floor, her expression unreadable. Lady Amelia Harrington had long ago mastered the art of looking serene in the face of conflict and trial. It was a skill that eluded Rosalind, who constantly found herself being chided for "making faces out loud."

Isabella's soft voice broke the tension, barely above a whisper. "Father, must one of us truly marry the Duke? Surely there must be another way..." Her gentle voice trailed off into silence.

Lord Matthew's features softened slightly as he regarded his youngest daughter. Though she was a young lady, she still held the position of baby of the family, and Lord Matthew was always a soft touch with her.

"Isabella, my dear, I understand your reservations, but this is a matter of great importance. The Duke has expressed his interest, and it is our duty to consider his proposal." He paused, an inscrutable look passing over his face. "Our family is in a precarious situation."

Rosalind's heart clenched as she watched Isabella's eyes fill with tears. She knew her sister's gentle spirit was ill-suited for the harsh realities of a loveless marriage, to say nothing of the pressures of marrying to save her sisters. Amelia, too, seemed to be struggling with the weight of their father's words; even her normally placid expression was troubled.

Rising from her seat, Rosalind took a deep breath and faced her father, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. "Father, I beg you to reconsider. We are not mere pawns to be traded for social standing. We deserve a chance at happiness, at a love that is true and pure." Despite her boldness, she was trembling within herself—it was against the natural order of her world to speak out so against one's father. Moreover, it was a radical idea she voiced, one completely out of sync with most of society.

Lord Harrington's gaze hardened, his voice taking on a sharp edge. "Rosalind, you forget yourself. It is not your place to dictate the future of this family. One of you will marry the Duke, and that is the end of it. I will hear no more of this rebellious talk," he said with finality.

Rosalind's heart sank as her father's words echoed in the drawing room. She watched as Lord Harrington paced before them, his voice and face unyielding.

"The Duke's intention to choose one of you as his bride is an opportunity that should not be missed," he declared, his eyes sweeping over his daughters. "This alliance could secure our family's future and elevate our standing in society." He paused again, and fixed Rosalind with his grey-blue eyes. "Would you really deny your sisters the chance at security?"

Rosalind exchanged a glance with Amelia, but her face was once again carefully blank. If Rosalind didn't know better, she would think that Amelia had placidly accepted her father's directive. Isabella, seated beside them, seemed to shrink further into herself, her delicate hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Lord Harrington began to pace before the fireplace, his tone growing more insistent. "I am well aware of the rumours that have been circulating about the Duke's morals, but I assure you, they are nothing more than false and unfair accusations. His decision to find a duchess is a clear attempt to prove society wrong and demonstrate his commitment to his title and responsibilities."

Rosalind felt a flicker of anger at her father's dismissal of the rumours. How could he be so willing to overlook the Duke's questionable reputation for the sake of social advancement? she wondered. Something about her father's insistence prickled in her brain, but she could not articulate why.

"Our family has had a long-standing alliance with the Duke's," Lord Matthew reminded them, lowering his voice slightly. "I have known him since he was a boy, and I trust in his character. He is a man of honour and integrity, despite what some may say. It's nothing more than petty jealousy–the usual sickness of the ton."

Rosalind wanted to protest, to argue that if the Duke's past actions spoke louder than any assurances of his character, then where did the speculation about him come from? She bit her words back, knowing that her father would not take kindly to further opposition. She clamped her teeth together tightly to keep herself from arguing.

Lord Harrington's gaze swept over his daughters once more, his expression growing stern. "I must admonish you girls for your romantic notions. The idea of love and fairytale scenarios has no place in the reality of our world. You should feel honoured by the Duke's interest, and recognise the opportunity that has been presented to you."

Rosalind's heart clenched at her father's words. She knew well enough that one of the watchwords for a young lady was supposed to be "duty", but that particular lesson paled for Rosalind in the face of notions of love and friendship.

"I expect you all to put aside your childish fantasies and approach this matter with the gravity it deserves," Lord Harrington concluded, his tone leaving no room for argument. Rosalind's mind raced, considering the implications of the Duke's impending arrival and the potential impact on her life and future.

"Father, surely you cannot expect us to make such a life-altering decision so quickly. How much time do we have to...prepare ourselves?" she asked carefully.

Lord Harrington sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. "There is no time for deliberation, Rosalind. The Duke of Somerton, Alexander Fitzwilliam, is paying us the compliment of a visit this afternoon. You and your sisters must be prepared to receive him and make a favourable impression."

The room fell silent again; Lord Harrington may as well have dropped a mortar shell in their midst for all the impact his words had. Rosalind exchanged glances with her sisters, seeing the disbelief and apprehension etched on their faces. The urgency of the situation heightened the tension, and Rosalind felt her heart pounding in her chest.

"This afternoon, Father?" Amelia repeated, her tone a little disbelieving. "That's hardly enough warning to prepare a proper reception! Have the servants been warned? And we must have time to ready ourselves as well, we've not had a hairdresser call on us for weeks, and..." She continued in this manner, fretting about the duties of a hostess.

Rosalind's own worries drowned out her older sister's concerns. Her mind raced, considering the implications of the Duke's impending arrival.

What kind of man is he, truly? Could the rumours of his scandalous behaviour be trusted, or were they merely the product of idle gossip? What sort of life could one hope to build with such a man, should the rumours prove true? Angry, but refusing to provoke her father further, she turned her head away sharply, her gaze fixing on the front windows of the parlour they were gathered in. The cheery yellow walls seemed a cruelly ironic contrast to their dark moods.