Rosamund
I had adjusted my dress for what felt like the hundredth time when Madam Theresa's hand closed firmly over mine.
"Relax, my lady," her voice was low and amused. "Everyone in this room will know it's your first ball if you keep doing that."
"I'm uncomfortable." I forced a smile and dropped my hands. "And this dress—" I glanced down at the scandalously low neckline. "Couldn't you have found something less revealing? I look like I belong in a club, not a ballroom."
"Properly raised ladies do not make jokes about their birthrights, Rosamund. Remember what we discussed."
"I know," I sighed.
"Then act like it. You need only survive this evening and an introduction to the Duke. Then it's done. You're to speak only when spoken to. Answer only what is asked, and for heaven's sake, stop slouching."
I fought the urge to roll my eyes and tried to mirror the effortless poise of the women drifting past us in silk and diamonds. They moved as though the ballroom belonged to them. Perhaps it did.
A server glided by with a tray of crystal glasses. I reached out instinctively, desperate for something to do with my hands, when fingers clamped around my wrist, grabbing it painfully and yanking it back.
I turned stunned, only to look into the eyes of my father.
"Are you insane?" he said through gritted teeth. "Are you trying to meet the Duke reeking of alcohol?"
"I'm sorry, father," I said quietly. "It looked like water."
"You'll have all the water and wine you want after meeting with the Duke." He released me and smoothed his jacket. "Remember your lines and for the last time, don't forget your name tonight."
"I won't, Father. I have everything memorised."
He started to say something when a tall, thin man in a dark coat floated from the crowd towards us. When he reached my father, he leaned close and whispered something in his ear; whatever it was, it drained the colour from my father's face.
Without sparing Madam Theresa or me a glance, the thin man disappeared as quickly as he'd come.
"The Duke is here." My father announced after the thin man left, his throat working as he swallowed nervously.
Madam Theresa blinked. "Already? I thought he never comes to these balls on time. It's not even midnight yet."
"Apparently, tonight is different." My father shrugged, smoothing the lapels of his coat with slightly unsteady hands. "Worse, he's already asking for us. For Rosamund specifically." He turned to Madam Theresa. "Do you think she's ready to meet him?"
"She'll do, my Lord," Madam Theresa said with a patronising smile. "She's not as polished as a proper lady, but as long as she speaks only when spoken to, everything will be fine. The Duke is not a man of many words."
My father nodded and drew a slow breath, turning to face me fully for the first time that evening. It had been barely forty-eight hours since we met for the first time, and this was not the reunion I had imagined during all those years of waiting and wondering.
"Now listen to me, Rosamund. This is your chance to make a lasting impression on the Duke and secure our family's future. I want you to give it your absolute best."
"Can I at least know what this is about?" I asked tentatively, my gaze darting from him to Madam Theresa. "If I understood what I was walking into—"
"That is not necessary, Rosamund," My father stopped me half sentence. "You only need to do as we have instructed."
"But what if something goes wrong? What if I make a mistake and the Duke finds out the truth?"
His jaw tightened. The warmth I'd briefly imagined in his expression vanished entirely. "Then you're as useless as your mother was, and I'll have wasted considerable effort in retrieving you."
The words landed like a slap.
"Father—"
"That's enough." Madam Theresa stepped between us with a sharp look in my direction. "You shouldn't argue with your father, Miss Rosamund." Then she turned to him and said softly. "Go now, my Lord. You mustn't keep the Duke waiting."
My father nodded and motioned to me. Without another word, I followed him through the crowd, trying to steady my breathing while ignoring the pointed stares and whispered gossip floating past my ears.
Who is the lady with Baron Fletcher? Where did she come from?
We left the ballroom and climbed the marble staircase until we reached the landing. We veered off the right corridor, our footsteps echoing off the polished floor, and continued until we reached the last room.
Two guards stood stationed outside the mahogany door; their faces impassive.
When they saw us approaching, one of them knocked lightly. "The Baron is here."
A soft, feminine voice replied from inside. "Send them in."
The guards opened the door, and my father walked in with me at his heel. The room was larger than I expected, with six people present.
There was a middle-aged man with glasses perched on his nose, sitting in one corner, flipping through a large leather-bound book. Two women in nurses' uniforms stood behind him.
At the other side of the room, sitting on a large velvet chair close to the fireplace, was a devastatingly handsome man. He wore an impeccably tailored dark waistcoat and crisp white shirt. His dark hair swept back from a sharp jawline, and his piercing grey-blue eyes watched the glass of wine held loosely in his hand with cold indifference.
That must be him—the Duke.
I rehearsed the words "Your Grace" silently, just as Madam Theresa had instructed me to address him.
Beside the Duke stood a beautiful woman in a burgundy dress that hugged every curve of her body. Her blonde hair was pinned in an elaborate style, and her smile didn't touch her lips or reach her eyes.
Who was she?
There was another man in the room whom I nearly missed—standing at the window with his back to us. He was tall, broad-shouldered and dressed in dark riding clothes that clung to his muscular frame. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he didn't bother to acknowledge us as we entered.
"Baron Fletcher," the beautiful woman came forward with a small smile. "I'm Jennifer, the Duke's secretary." Her gaze moved to me with curiosity. "And this must be your daughter?"
"Yes," my father nodded, turning to me. "Dear, introduce yourself."
I stepped forward and bowed just as Madam Theresa had taught me, my heart pounding against my ribs. When I straightened, the Duke in the chair was studying his nails. He didn't seem interested.
"My name is Rosamund Fletcher," I said quietly, turning my gaze to Jennifer. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, My lady."