11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

R osalind watched Isabella closely. She could almost see the thoughts as they grappled around in Isabella's head. To her immense pleasure and pride, Isabella spoke up, her voice clear and her eyes raised directly to Lord Tyrrell.

"I should be very glad if you might consent to viewing some of my work," she said. "I believe it has merit, but would value your opinion."

"As you come with the highest recommendations, I should be pleased to do so. Very pleased!" Lord Tyrrell said with a happy nod. "Might I call upon you this afternoon?"

"Today?" Isabella asked, her eyes going wide with alarm. "I–that's so soon, I haven't prepared anything."

"Good," Lord Tyrrell said. "I would like to see your work as it is, as naturally as possible."

"Until this afternoon, then," Rosalind said, which settled the matter.

As they were leaving Lord Tyrrell's house, Isabella seized both Rosalind and the Duke by the hands. "Please tell me that you will both be there with me," she said, her eyes pleading. "I don't know if I can face this alone."

"Of course," Rosalind said, putting her arm about Isabella's shoulders.

As it happened, all of Isabella's fretting was for naught. Lord Tyrrell was immediately taken with Isabella's paintings, asking intently about her process. It wasn't long before they were lost in a world of their own, with Amelia trailing along behind to act as a chaperone. Seeking a moment of quiet amidst the bustling activity of the house, Rosalind slipped into the library.

She took a deep breath, glad of the familiar smells of the books and the relative quiet. The door cracked open again, and the Duke slipped in with the manner of someone attempting to sneak away. His eyes lighted on Rosalind, and a guilty smile flickered across his handsome face.

"I see that we were of a similar mind," he said. "I know that we were meant to be supportive, but those two are so alike that I couldn't get a word in if I tried."

"I'm pleased," Rosalind said. "What were they discussing when you left?"

"He was asking Isabella about her paint recipes–something about linseed oil, I didn't follow a word of it," Alex admitted. He cast an appreciative glance about the library, turning around to look at all of the shelves. "This is a magnificent library," he said with frank admiration. "I think it might be bigger than the one on my estate."

"Feel free to browse, Your Grace," Rosalind said.

As they browsed the shelves, their hands reached for the same book, brushing against each other in a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down Rosalind's spine. She glanced up at Alex, her breath catching in her throat as she met his gaze, a silent acknowledgement of the growing connection between them.

Lost in conversation, they settled into the comfortable chairs of the library. The world beyond the walls fading away as they discussed their hopes, dreams, and the challenges they faced in navigating the expectations of their world. Rosalind found herself opening up to Alex in a way she had never done before, sharing her deepest desires and fears. Her voice filled with a vulnerability that surprised even herself. They leaned closer toward each other as they spoke, gesturing emphatically as they spoke with feeling and enthusiasm.

The moment was shattered when the library door burst open, making both of them leap apart. "Rosalind!" Isabella cried, Amelia trailing in her wake. "You will never, ever believe it!" she said, flying straight for her sister.

Rosalind stood, catching her by the arms. "What? What is it? Has something happened?"

"It most certainly has!" Isabella said, her voice trembling. "Lord Tyrrell–he wants to exhibit some of my work! He thinks it would perfectly complement the paintings on display. He's gone now to arrange it, but he'll be back later to speak to Father. I can't believe it, can you?" Isabella said in a breathless rush.

"Of course I can," Rosalind said, breaking into a smile. "I never had a doubt that he would love your work."

"Oh Rosalind!" she said, throwing her arms about her neck. "I cannot thank you enough! And you, too, Your Grace!" she said, beaming at him as well. "Oh my heavens, which pieces will I select? I can't possibly choose, oh gracious me."

"Peace, Isabella," Amelia said, taking Isabella gently by the arm. "Let's go see what we can sort out. I will help you," she said. She paused by the library door, casting a strange look at Rosalind and the Duke, who, though standing a respectable distance apart, seemed connected by a kind of palpable energy.

"I sincerely hope that you know how much this means to me, and to Isabella, too," Rosalind said tenderly. She gazed up at the Duke with perfect sincerity. "I must confess that I had never suspected you would do something like this for my sister...or for me."

Alex turned to Rosalind, his eyes filled with a warmth that took her breath away. "You have done an incredible thing here, Rosalind," he murmured, his voice low and sincere. "Your dedication to your sister's happiness is truly inspiring."

Rosalind felt a blush rise to her cheeks at his words, a sense of pride and accomplishment swelling within her chest. As they stood side by side, their hands brushing against each other in a moment of shared triumph. Rosalind realised that her feelings for Alex had grown far beyond the practical arrangement they had initially agreed upon.

Rosalind stood beside Alex, her heart swelling with pride as she surveyed the exhibition room, alive with the buzz of admiration for Isabella's stunning artwork. The cream of London's high society mingled amidst the glittering chandeliers, their voices a symphony of praise and appreciation. Rosalind's gaze drifted to her sister, who blushed under the attentions of Lord Tyrrell.

"Your work is truly exceptional, Lady Isabella," Lord Tyrrell declared, his eyes alight with genuine admiration. "The emotion, the depth, the raw talent—it's breathtaking. You've taken the mundane and treated it with such dignity and grace that it's become elevated."

Isabella ducked her head, a shy smile playing at the corners of her lips. "You're too kind, Lord Tyrrell. I'm merely expressing the beauty I see in the world around me."

"What a precious thing, to see the world with such eyes," Lord Tyrrell replied, his voice and expression soft.

Rosalind watched the exchange with a mixture of joy and protectiveness, her heart aching for her sister's happiness. She leaned closer to Alex, her voice low and conspiratorial. "I think Lord Tyrrell is quite taken with our dear Isabella."

Alex chuckled softly, dipping his head to speak closely into her ear in a way that made Rosalind shiver. "It seems her talent has the power to captivate even the most discerning of critics."

As they moved through the crowd, Rosalind couldn't help but notice the curious glances and murmured speculations that followed in their wake. The sight of the Duke of Somerton and the unconventional Lady Rosalind together as a couple had set tongues wagging. The air was thick with the weight of gossip and conjecture.

Rosalind lifted her chin, determined to ignore the whispers and focus on the triumph of the moment. She and Alex paused before one of Isabella's most striking pieces, a hauntingly beautiful portrait that seemed to capture the very essence of the subject's soul.

"She has a rare gift," Alex murmured, his eyes fixed on the painting. "The ability to see beneath the surface, to reveal the truth of a person's character."

Rosalind nodded, her heart swelling with love and admiration for her sister. "Isabella has always had a way of understanding people, of seeing the beauty and pain that others often overlook."

But even as they lost themselves in the magic of the artwork, the tranquillity of the moment was shattered by the insidious whispers that began to circulate through the room. Members of the ton, their faces alight with a malicious glee, huddled together in small groups, their voices low and conspiratorial as they shared the latest gossip.

Rosalind strained to catch the threads of conversation, her heart sinking as she heard Alex's name repeated in hushed tones, accompanied by words like "indiscretions" and "scandal." She glanced at Alex, saw the tightening of his jaw and the flash of anger in his eyes, and knew that the rumours had reached his ears as well.

Strangely, a stab of anger, a sort of protectiveness that she had hitherto only felt for her sisters lanced through Rosalind. She could feel her temper rising, and she turned scathing eyes on those who gossiped. Alex, catching the way that she whipped her head around to glare at someone who said his name, touched her arm gently.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"They have no right," she hissed, not bothering to hide her irritation. "Who do they think they are?"

Though clearly still annoyed, Alex exhaled a laugh. Rosalind glanced up at him, and was somewhat mollified to find that he was not as upset as he had been. "Your loyalty is...surprisingly touching." His expression faded, a frown replacing it. "Would you excuse me? I must attend to something."

And with that, he departed without waiting for a reply, his eyes fixed on something across the room. Rosalind, feeling strangely alone, was left like a stone in the middle of a river as the gossip continued to swirl about her.