2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A s the Duke's gilded and crested carriage pulled to a stop before the Harringtons' fashionable townhouse, Rosalind felt a knot of apprehension tighten in her stomach. She glanced at her sisters. Amelia, ever the picture of poise, stood tall and regal, her golden curls perfectly framing her face. Isabella, on the other hand, seemed to be doing her level best to simply disappear into the ground, her eyes fixed on her feet.

All three sisters had been carefully coiffed, powdered, and dressed in the most flattering day dresses they owned. The high waists of their muslin and printed cotton dresses were accentuated with ribbons in colours that flattered their complexions: purple for Rosalind, delicate pink for Amelia, and cornflower blue for Isabella.

The three sisters and their father were assembled on the tiny patch of grass on one side of the short path from the street to the townhouse's front door. Opposite them, the servants were likewise assembled, standing in a neat line to greet the Duke, aprons and collars stiffly starched. To see them, no one would ever guess that despite their serene appearances, the house had been in a chaotic furore over last-minute preparations. Secretly, Rosalind suspected that her father would likely get an earful from the housekeeper on the subject.

A footman hustled forward and opened the carriage door, the Duke's crest gleaming in the sun as he did so. Everyone assembled seemed to collectively hold their breath as the Duke emerged, one hand steadying his dove-grey top hat.

Rosalind's breath caught in her throat as she took in his imposing figure, his dark hair and piercing eyes giving him an air of authority and power. He moved with a confident grace, his exquisitely tailored marine blue jacket accentuating his broad shoulders and lean frame.

Lord Harrington stepped forward, a broad smile on his face as he greeted the Duke. "Your Grace, welcome to Harrington Manor. It is an honour to have you here." The assembled crowd all bowed and curtseyed in unison as the Duke descended the carriage steps and accepted Lord Harrington's proffered hand.

The Duke inclined his head, his gaze sweeping over the assembled family. "Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Harrington. I have heard so much about the...charms of your daughters that I am delighted to finally meet them."

Rosalind felt a flicker of annoyance; though the Duke's words were polite enough, there was a twist of irony in his tone that set her teeth on edge. Rosalind was quite sure that she and her sisters were more than mere objects to be admired and appraised. Though a little untoward for a lady to do so, she met his gaze defiantly, determined not to be cowed by his presence or the expectations placed upon her. There was something of a challenge on her face, fairly daring the Duke to note her.

Lord Harrington began the formal introductions, starting with Amelia. "Your Grace, may I present my eldest daughter, Lady Amelia Harrington. She is a young lady of many accomplishments, an ornament wherever she goes."

Rosalind scoffed inwardly, unable to completely resist rolling her eyes. Why didn't Father simply erect an auction stage and be done with it? she thought snidely.

Amelia, however, curtsied deeply, her movements fluid and practised. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace," she said, her voice soft and demure. "Welcome to Harrington House."

The Duke took Amelia's fingers, bowing over them so closely that Rosalind thought for a moment that he would drop a kiss on them. "The pleasure is all mine, Lady Amelia. I have heard much about your beauty and accomplishments from many green-eyed ladies of the ton."

Amelia blushed accordingly and demurred again, exactly as was expected of her. The Duke, for his part, seemed bemused and pleased by the response.

Rosalind watched the exchange, her stomach churning with unease. She knew that Amelia was the most likely choice to become the Duchess, given her impeccable manners and poised demeanour, but the thought, of her sister being trapped in a marriage, with a man of questionable intent, no matter what her father said, made Rosalind chafe.

Rosalind found herself studying the Duke, trying to discern the man beneath the polished exterior. There was an air of arrogance about him, a sense of entitlement that set her teeth on edge. She wondered what kind of husband he would make, and whether he would treat his wife with the respect and kindness she deserved.

Despite her reservations, Rosalind knew that she had to play her part in this charade. She curtsied gracefully when her turn came, meeting the Duke's gaze with a cool politeness. "Your Grace," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging within her.

The Duke's eyes lingered on her for a moment, a flicker of recognition sparking in their depths. "Lady Rosalind," he replied coolly, "I have heard much about your wit and spirit. I look forward to becoming better acquainted."

Rosalind felt a shiver run down her spine at his words, unsure whether to be flattered or unnerved by his attention. She knew that the coming days would be a test of her resolve, as she navigated the treacherous waters of courtship and societal expectations, to say nothing of her father's expectation.

For now, all she could do was smile and nod, playing the role of the dutiful daughter, her face not feeling like her own as she kept a cheery expression plastered on. The Duke was ushered into the drawing room where tea was waiting, Amelia playing the part of consummate hostess.

As they filed into the house, Rosalind managed to catch her sisters' eyes in turn, and found that, though outwardly determined or serene, there was an undeniable tension in their bearing.

Rosalind trailed along after Amelia and the Duke, her heart still pounding from the initial introduction. As they traversed the corridors of Harrington House, the Duke's attention was drawn to the paintings adorning the walls. His eyes widened with appreciation as he took in the intricate brushstrokes and vibrant colours.

"These paintings are exquisite," the Duke remarked, his gaze lingering on a particularly striking landscape. The subject was simple enough, a humble watermill on a brackish pond, but the sky above was a riot of colours alive with wind and clouds. "Who is the artist behind these masterpieces?"

Rosalind seized the opportunity to speak up, her voice filled with pride. "They are the creations of my younger sister, Isabella. She has an incredible talent for capturing the beauty of the world around us."

The Duke turned to Isabella, who blushed under his scrutiny. "And in oils, no less? I thought young ladies were confined to dabbling in watercolours." Rosalind opened her mouth, ready to argue with him, but Amelia put a hand on her arm, silencing her. "You have a remarkable gift, Lady Isabella. Your paintings are truly breathtaking," the Duke said with a degree of sincerity that he had hitherto not shown.

Isabella mumbled a quiet thank you, her eyes downcast as she shied away from the attention. Rosalind felt a pang of protectiveness for her younger sister, knowing how uncomfortable she was in the spotlight.

Amelia, clearly recognising Isabella's discomfort as well, gently encouraged everyone into the drawing room where tea was laid out. An assortment of cakes and dainty little sandwiches were arranged on trays, which were ferried about the room by a pair of footmen.

When the sisters were all settled with teacups in hand, the Duke cast a cool, appraising eye over them, settling on Rosalind. "I don't recall seeing you at many social events this season, Lady Rosalind," he commented, his tone casual, but his eyes challenging.

Rosalind met his gaze, her green eyes sparkling with a mix of defiance and curiosity. "I find my time is better used on other pursuits," she replied evenly.

The Duke raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her response. "And what pursuits might those be, Lady Rosalind?"

Rosalind hesitated for a moment, weighing her words carefully. She knew that her opinions were not always in line with the expectations of society, but she refused to hide her true self. If the Duke wished to make a match, then it was only fair that he knew her character precisely.

"I am fascinated by the ideas of progress and change, Your Grace. I believe that women have the potential to contribute so much more to society than what is currently expected of us." She paused, fixing her gaze on the sugar bowl, which the Duke was reaching for. "I've recently been taken with the debate on the morality of sugar, for instance."

"Sugar?" the Duke repeated, his hand hesitating.

"Sugar," Rosalind confirmed. "There are some who find it to be a great evil, being the product of slave labour, a sign of the worst sort of decadence." She sipped her tea, her eyes finding the Duke's over the rim of her cup.

"Rosalind," Lord Harrington said into the silence that followed, his voice a warning.

The Duke arched a brow aristocratically, amused by her bold statement. Deliberately, while maintaining direct eye contact with Rosalind, he dumped another spoonful of sugar into his teacup and stirred it slowly, and the sound of the spoon on china made Rosalind grit her teeth.

"That is a rather unconventional view, Lady Rosalind. Do you not believe that concerning yourself with such things is detrimental to a woman's role to be a dutiful wife and mother?"

Rosalind felt a flare of anger at his words, but she kept her voice steady. "I believe that a woman's role should be whatever she chooses it to be, Your Grace. We are capable of so much more than simply being decorative objects or bearers of children."

The Duke studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "And what do you believe is the true nature of happiness and fulfilment, Lady Rosalind?"

Rosalind met his gaze unflinchingly, her voice filled with conviction. "I believe that happiness and fulfilment come from living a life true to oneself, Your Grace, from pursuing one's passions and making a difference in the world, regardless of the expectations placed upon us by society."

The Duke's lips twitched into a small smile, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and admiration. "You are a devotee of Mary Wollstonecraft then, Lady Rosalind?"

"You know her work?" Rosalind asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice. She leaned forward, interested despite herself.

The Duke offered a one-shouldered shrug, all casual composure. "I've read her pamphlets. I must admit, I find your perspective rather refreshing," he said with another bemused tilt to the corners of his mouth.

Rosalind felt a flutter of satisfaction at his words, but she knew that her outspokenness could also be seen as a liability in the eyes of a potential suitor. She glanced at her father, who was watching the exchange with an expression caught between disbelief and apprehension. He cleared his throat pointedly, and Rosalind sullenly sat back again.

"The weather has been abnormally fine lately," Amelia blurted into the awkward silence that followed.

The Duke's gaze, which had still been fixed on Rosalind, slid reluctantly to Amelia. "It has," he agreed flatly.

Rosalind resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the banality of the types of conversation that were considered suitable for young ladies to engage in. She withdrew into herself, becoming a spectator rather than a participant, exactly as was expected of her.

The grand clock in the hall chimed four times, announcing the hour. The Duke stood, preparing to take his leave. He bowed slightly to Lord Matthew. "Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Harrington. It has been an..." He paused, searching for the correct word. His eyes flicked to Rosalind. "An illuminating afternoon. Your daughters are a credit to you."

Lord Harrington beamed with pride, his chest puffing out slightly at the compliment. "You are most welcome, Your Grace. It has been an honour to have you here."

The Duke's gaze swept over the three sisters as they rose to curtsy and murmur their own polite farewells, lingering on each of them in turn. "Ladies, it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I must say, I am thoroughly impressed by your wit, intelligence, and beauty."

Rosalind felt a flicker of unease at his words, unsure whether to be flattered or wary of his attention, unsure of his sincerity. She watched as he took Amelia's fingers, squeezing them gently. "Lady Amelia, you are a most congenial hostess. You would make a fine wife to a lucky man indeed."

Amelia blushed, her eyes downcast as she murmured a quiet thank you. Rosalind's heart clenched at the sight, knowing that her sister's fate hung in the balance. She hated everything about it, knowing that this man had the power to choose her sister's fate.

The Duke turned to Isabella next, and Rosalind tensed up further, worried that he might upset her in some way. To her surprise, his voice softened with admiration. "Lady Isabella, your artistic talents are truly exceptional. I confess I've never seen their like, and I have no doubt that you will be appreciated for them."

Isabella's cheeks flushed with pleasure at the praise, but Rosalind could see the underlying tension in her shoulders. She knew that her younger sister dreaded the thought of being thrust into the spotlight, of being the centre of attention that being such a high-ranking nobleman's wife would entail.

Finally, the Duke's eyes settled on Rosalind, his gaze intense and searching. "Lady Rosalind, your wit and intelligence are as bracingly refreshing as a cold breeze in winter. I have never met a woman quite like you before."

Rosalind met his gaze steadily, refusing to be cowed by his words. "I am honoured by your praise, Your Grace, but I must confess, I am not one to be easily swayed by flattery." From the corner of her eye, she could see her father give a hapless flap of his hands in frustration.

The Duke's lips twitched into a small smile, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I would expect nothing less from you, Lady Rosalind."

With that, the Duke exited the drawing room with Lord Harrington, promising to call again soon.

When the Duke left, the tension seemed to leak from the room. Exhaling through her mouth, Rosalind flopped in a most unladylike manner onto the upholstered settee. She turned to Isabella, and seeing the mix of fear and uncertainty in her eyes, grabbed her hand and encouraged her to sit next to her. "What do you think will happen now?" Isabella whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Amelia shook her head, her face oddly pale and wan. She, too, sat on the settee, wedged between Isabella and the arm, but perched right on the edge as if she would bolt up at a moment's notice. "I don't know, Isabella. But we must be prepared for whatever comes our way."

Rosalind tilted her head at Amelia, something in her oldest sister's manner bothering her. Her mind raced. She knew that the Duke's decision would have far-reaching consequences that would affect all of them.

Rosalind couldn't shake the feeling that their lives were about to change forever. She glanced out the window, catching a glimpse of the small garden behind the house, watching as the sun began to set behind the other London houses, casting a warm glow over the carefully maintained hedges.