24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

T he carriage swayed softly while traversing the dimly illuminated streets of London, the muffled sounds of the city filtering in through the curtained windows. Rosalind sat in silence, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes downcast as she fought to keep her emotions in check.

Beside her, she could see Isabella and Amelia exchanging worried glances, their brows furrowed in concern. They obviously knew something was amiss, could see the sadness writ large on Rosalind's face, but with their father present, they dared not speak of it openly.

Lord Harrington, oblivious to the tension that hung thick in the air, chattered on merrily about the evening's events. "A rousing success, wouldn't you agree?" he exclaimed, his voice booming in the confined space of the carriage. "The ton was abuzz with excitement. I daresay the Duke will propose any time now. I wouldn't be surprised if he paid a call on us tomorrow for that very reason."

His words stabbed Rosalind's heart, recalling the night's events. She had been so hopeful, so full of joy and anticipation as she had walked into the ballroom on Alex's arm, their love a beacon of light in the midst of the glittering crowd.

But then Mary had appeared, like a spectre from the past, and everything had come crashing down around her. Rosalind's hands clenched into fists as she berated herself silently for allowing herself to trust Alex so completely, for opening her heart to him and believing in the promise of their future together.

How could she have been so naive, so blind to the truth of his past? She believed he was unique and their connection was deeper than others. In the end, though, she joined the long list of women who fell prey to his charms, left with a broken heart.

Rosalind swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. She could feel her sisters' concerned gazes upon her, but she could not bring herself to meet their eyes, could not bear to see the pity and sympathy she knew would be reflected there.

Instead, she turned her face towards the window, watching as the familiar sights of London slipped by, her mind a whirlwind of anguish and regret. She gave everything to Alex, only to have it all destroyed in one moment.

As the carriage drew closer to home, Rosalind could not shake the feeling that her world had been irrevocably shattered, that the future she had so carefully crafted for herself was nothing more than a fragile illusion, destined to crumble at the slightest touch.

Rosalind barely waited for the sleepy footman to open the carriage door before she leapt out. Her legs nearly getting tangled in her gown as she dashed towards the imposing fa?ade of the Harringtons' townhouse. Behind her, she could hear her sisters calling out to her, their voices laced with concern, but she paid them no heed; her mind consumed by a single, all-encompassing thought – to escape, to flee from the anguish and heartbreak that threatened to consume her.

"Rosalind!" Her father's booming voice cut through the night air like a whip crack, sharp and reprimanding. "What is the meaning of this unseemly behaviour? You shame yourself, running about like a wild boy!"

Rosalind could not bring herself to care about propriety or decorum, not when her entire world had been shattered into a million pieces. She continued her headlong flight, her feet pounding up the stairs as she raced towards the sanctuary of her bedchamber, the only place where she could finally let the tears flow unchecked.

Bursting through the doors, she flung herself onto the bed, burying her face in the soft embrace of her pillows as the sobs she had been holding back finally broke free. Trembling with anguish, she mourned the death of her dreams and her broken heart.

The sound of the door opening barely registered through the haze of her grief, but then she felt the mattress dip as her sisters joined her, their arms encircling her trembling form in a tight embrace. Amelia and Isabella murmured soothing words. Their voices were a soft counterpoint to the storm raging within Rosalind's heart. However, it was not until she felt their tears mingling with her own that she finally found the strength to speak.

"He... he has a child," she choked out, the words bitter on her tongue. "A child with... with that woman, Mary. He never told me, never gave any indication that he had such a... such a secret in his past."

Rosalind's voice broke on the last word, and she dissolved into fresh sobs, her body shuddering with the force of her anguish. Amelia and Isabella held her tighter, their own tears falling freely as they shared in their sister's heartbreak, offering what little comfort they could in the face of such devastating news.

For long moments, the only sound in the room was the ragged cadence of Rosalind's breathing as she struggled to regain her composure. Even as the sobs subsided, leaving her feeling wrung out, she could feel the weight of her father's impending wrath pressing down upon her, a heavy mantle that she knew she could not avoid for much longer.

She would have to tell him, to face the consequences of her actions and the choices she had made. Though the thought filled her with dread, she knew that she had no choice but to press on. With her remaining strength, she had to prepare herself for the upcoming battle.

The elegant drawing room felt more like a gilded cage than a place of comfort and respite. Rosalind sat rigidly upon the delicate chaise longue, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she braced herself for her father's inevitable wrath. She could feel his piercing gaze upon her, scrutinizing her every movement, every flicker of emotion that danced across her features.

"Explain yourself, girl," Lord Harrington demanded, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the very foundations of the room. "What could possibly possess you to refuse the Duke of Somerton's suit? Do you have any idea of the consequences your actions will bring upon this family?"

Rosalind lifted her chin defiantly, her emerald eyes blazing with a fire that refused to be extinguished. "The Duke has... indiscretions in his past that I cannot abide," she replied, her voice trembling ever so slightly despite her best efforts to remain composed. "Secrets that he has kept hidden, even from me."

Lord Harrington's brow furrowed, his lips twisting into a disdainful sneer. "Indiscretions?" he scoffed. "My dear girl, you are being far too idealistic. Every man of the ton has skeletons in his closet, secrets that are best left unspoken. The Duke of Somerton is no different."

Rosalind's hands clenched into tight fists, her nails biting into the soft flesh of her palms as she struggled to maintain her composure. "This is not some mere dalliance or youthful indiscretion, Father," she insisted, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion. "He has a child, a son born out of wedlock, and he never saw fit to tell me of her existence."

The weight of the words bore down on Rosalind, impacting her. She could see the shock ripple across her father's features, his eyes widening ever so slightly before he regained his customary stoic mask.

"A child?" he repeated, his tone laced with a mixture of disbelief and disdain. "And you would throw away this opportunity, this chance to secure your future and that of your sisters, over such a trifling matter? One illegitimate scrapling will mean nothing when you begin to produce legitimate heirs."

Rosalind's heart clenched, the pain threatening to overpower her again. "It is not a trifling matter, Father," she insisted, her voice barely audible over the roaring in her ears. "He lied to me, kept such a monumental secret from me, and I cannot... I cannot..."

She fought back tears as she pressed a trembling hand to her lips. Lord Harrington regarded her with a mixture of exasperation and disappointment, his features hardening into a mask of stern disapproval.

"You are being far too emotional, Rosalind," he chided, his tone sharp and unyielding. "This is not some fanciful notion from one of your beloved novels. This is reality, and in reality, we must make sacrifices and compromises for the greater good of the family."

Rosalind opened her mouth to protest, but her father raised a silencing hand, his expression brooking no argument. "We must move quickly to mitigate any damage your actions may have caused."

Rosalind felt her father's words weigh heavily on her, drowning her in dread and anguish. She knew, deep in her heart, that he spoke the truth – society would judge her harshly for rejecting the Duke of Somerton's suit, and her sisters' reputations would suffer in turn.

"But Father," she protested, her voice trembling with barely contained emotion, "it was never a formal engagement. Surely the ton will understand that a courtship was merely... an exploration of possibilities."

Lord Harrington's gaze hardened, his eyes flashing with a mixture of disappointment and frustration. "Do not be so naive, child," he chided, his tone laced with a hint of condescension. "The mere whisper of a potential match between you and the Duke has set tongues wagging throughout the entirety of the ton. Your reputation, and by extension that of your sisters, hangs by a thread. When a duke is involved, it is always the young lady who is found wanting if the match does not come to fruition."

Rosalind's heart sank, the weight of her father's words bearing down upon her like a physical burden. She knew, deep down, that he was right—the damage had been done, and her actions had cast a shadow over the entire family.

"What would you have me do, then?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Marry a man I cannot trust, a man who has deceived me in the most egregious of ways?"

Lord Harrington's expression softened ever so slightly, a flicker of something akin to sympathy passing across his features. "I would have you do what is necessary for the good of the family," he replied, his tone firm yet tinged with a hint of regret. "You will begin a new courtship, with a suitor of my choosing, and you will conduct yourself with the utmost propriety and decorum."

Rosalind felt the words catch in her throat, a thousand protests rising to her lips. She wanted to remind her father that it was he who had chosen the Duke of Somerton, he who had pushed her towards a match that had ultimately brought her nothing but heartache and humiliation. However, the words died on her tongue, unspoken, as she saw the resolute determination in her father's eyes.

With a heavy heart, Rosalind nodded in acceptance.With a heavy heart, Rosalind nodded in acceptance, realizing her dreams of a loving partnership were destroyed. Her future lay in the hands of her father, and she could only hope that his choice would be a merciful one.

"I already know just the fellow," Lord Harrington was saying, but it sounded as if his words were coming to Rosalind from very far away, as if she was at the bottom of a deep, dark well. "A man of good standing and position, someone steady and intractable to help manage your wilder inclinations. Yes, that is what is needed."

Rosalind only closed her eyes, dread settling over her shoulders like a mantle that she was too tired to shrug off.