Page 37 of The Duke’s Masked Wallflower

“Thank you.” Her mother crossed the terrace, her shoes clicking against the tile, and helped Rosalie out of her chair. She led her to the terrace doors and kissed her on the forehead, then closed the doors behind her.

How queer, Rosalie thought, turning to the rest of the house.

She quickly found a small staircase off the back hall, not having the energy to go any further. The carpeted stairs were comfortable enough for a quick reprieve, and she sat down on the third step with her hands folded in her lap.

Her breaths were coming in too quickly and not helping her pounding headache. She had not thought of Gabriel once, she told herself, not until this very moment of trying not to think of him, which of course meant she had been thinking of him the entire time. You are here with a good man, she told herself sternly, who has done nothing but be kind to you. Behave, Rosalie.

She sat long enough for the sun to move slightly across the floorboard before she rose and smoothed her skirts and made her way back toward the terrace doors. But she stopped just short of the doorway, at the sound of voices from the passage that led downstairs, she guessed, toward the kitchens.

“...and mind the good china is out for it, not the everyday service,” a woman’s voice was saying briskly, clearly mid-instruction to her junior. “The whole house wants turning out properly before the Lady and Miss Winthrop leave for the day. The master has been very clear on it.”

“Why so particular all of a sudden?” This was from a younger voice, curious rather than complaining. “We’ve had callers before without half this fuss.”

“Oh, you. No talking back, Clementine...”

“But why⁠—”

“Because it’s an important visit, that’s why, and the master wants everything just so, so she’s pleased with what she sees when it comes time.” A pause followed, and the clink of something being set down heavily. “Now don’t dawdle. The silver won’t polish itself. And don’t forget the linens in the bedroom by the⁠—”

The voice drifted away, and the command went with it.

Rosalie stood still in the shadow of the doorway, her heart beating fast. She, they had said. Not him, not they, not the family, but she. That meant a single, particular woman, who the household staff seemed to understand without needing further explanation—someone whose good opinion mattered enough that Mr. Sinclair had apparently given very clear instructions on the matter.

It was likely nothing. He had not mentioned a sister or a female cousin outside Beatrice, but that did not mean one did not exist. An aunt, maybe, from abroad. Or one of his brother’s wives.

Despite the excuses, she returned to the terrace with a new resolve to learn more about Mr. Sinclair—who maybe was not as straightforward as he had first appeared to be.

In the end, Lady Winthrop had been a captain on the terrace, commandeering the conversation however she pleased. Rosalie discovered nothing new. And before she knew it, she was being whisked away from one suitor’s home to another, this time with her father for company.

Hartmere House, when she and her father arrived there just before sunset, was in a state of cheerful disarray that Rosalie recognized before she had even properly set foot in the front courtyard.

“My, what is all this?” her father said, peering out the carriage window at the small army of gardeners working in the area beneath the terrace. “Has His Grace decided to replant the entire estate? At this time of year? Your grandfather would have never...”

“It looks like...” Rosalie leaned over her father to inspect the scene. Her heart skipped a beat. “Those were the rose beds.”

Four or five servants, only one or two of them likely gardeners, were carefully unwinding and re-staking the old climbers exactly as she had described them to Gabriel. She had not thought for a second he would genuinely remember her advice, let alone implement it immediately. The scene disappeared as the carriage turned around the drive.

When they found him, Gabriel was standing at the edge of the beds, his coat off despite the company and his staff present. His sleeves were pushed back, revealing the pale skin of a muscular but hairy forearm. He gestured at something with authority, then laughed, shaking his head, and moved toward the beds.

Their approach must have been louder than Rosalie thought, because Gabriel soon turned from where he had been halfway bent over a planter.

“Why, Baron Winthrop.” Gabriel crossed to greet her father with warmth, wiping his hands off on his trousers. “You have caught me at my least ducal. Forgive the state of things. The afternoon escaped me. Had we planned this call?”

“We had,” her father said, smiling. The breeze blew his long white hair, which he usually wore in a queue but had gone without that day. “But you are a busy man, Your Grace; I do not blame you for forgetting an appointment out of hundreds. You’ve cut them back properly. Whoever advised you knew their business. My father was an avid gardener.”

“I had heard a thing or two about that, yes.”

Something in the way he said it made her father glance between him and Rosalie, though he was too well-mannered to remark on it further. It was not long before Lady Chipping appeared on the terrace, gasping and waving. She drew Rosalie in for a hug, then took her father off toward some discussion of art that Rosalie only half caught: a painting of Bologna her father wanted to purchase for his own collection.

This left her, for a moment, alone with Gabriel and his gardeners.

“This will do nicely for them,” she said, examining the nearest bed. “You have been thorough in your assignments, Your Grace.”

“I had excellent instruction.” He straightened, brushing the remaining dirt from his hands. She observed his fingers and had to look away when her stomach coiled pleasantly. “I really did not expect you today. Was there something particular you wished to discuss?”

“My father is discussing art with Lady Chipping. He invited me to come along. But now that I am here...” She took a few steps back from the gardening crew, not wanting to be overheard. Gabriel followed wordlessly, and they quickly fell into step, walking down the lawn. “There is a ball this Friday. I assume you have been invited to it?”

“You will have to be more precise.”