Rosamund
I was still shaking when I rounded the corner of the house and saw a carriage pulling up to the entrance.
My father stepped out before the coachman could open the door for him. He looked tired. His coat was wrinkled, and his cravat had loosened, but when he spotted me walking toward him, the fatigue on his face was instantly replaced by annoyance.
Mr Gerard had come out by this time and was hurrying down the steps to greet him. "My Lord, welcome back. Shall I—"
"Leave us," my father said, his eyes locked on mine.
Mr Gerard hesitated, glanced at me, then bowed and retreated inside.
My father closed the distance between us, his voice dropping to a furious hiss. "What have you done?"
"Father—"
"I leave to take care of important business, and you've already caused problems. I heard you insisted the Duke stay here instead of leaving for Wellspring as planned. Do you have any idea how that makes us look? The Duke is not a man you make demands of, Rosamund."
"That is rich coming from you, when you sold me to a man who kills his fiancées."
My father's face went through shock, confusion and blankness in rapid succession as he glared at me. "Where did you hear such rubbish?"
"Don't pretend." My voice was rising now, and I didn't care. "I know about the women before me. I know what happens to them when they see what's under the mask. So don't stand here and tell me I'm causing problems when you handed me over to a murderer."
"Those are unfounded rumours," he said. "Gossip from servants and village women who have nothing better to do than invent stories because the Duke wears a mask."
"Do you know why, at least? Is there a reason a sane, grown man would walk around with a mask on his face when it's not a masquerade ball?"
"Heavens, child! How am I supposed to know?" my father asked with exasperation. "You shouldn't concern yourself with his preferences?"
"His preferences?" I let out a dry laugh. "Isn't it enough that you're marrying me off against my will and consent? Don't I also have a right to see the face of the man I'm to marry? Why does the Duke wear a mask if he's not a monster?"
"That's enough, Rosamund—"
"What about the other women, Father? Or weren't you aware that the Duke had been engaged to other women before me?" My hands were shaking, so I balled them into fists at my sides. "Where are they now?"
"I don't know, and I don't care. That is not my concern."
I stared at him.
The man standing before me had the same eyes I'd inherited, the same nose, the same stubborn line of the jaw I saw in the mirror every morning. I had spent nineteen years building a version of him in my head. A father who would hold me and explain why he'd been gone, who would make up for every single moment I'd spent without his love.
That version crumbled to dust right in front of me.
"Your daughter's life is not your concern?"
He said nothing.
"So this is what you meant," I whispered, and I hated the way my voice trembled, hated that he could see it, hated that I still cared enough for it to hurt this much. "About making it up to me and giving me the love I never had?" I swallowed the knot in my throat.
"Rosamund—"
"This is your way? Selling me to the highest bidder? Because that's what the Duke was, wasn't he? Your highest bidder."
"Rosamund, you do not understand—"
"What is there to understand, Father?" A tear rolled down my cheek, and I swiped at it furiously."I saw the case Clyde handed you. Just tell me the truth. Did you do it for the money?"
"Rosamund." He exhaled, rubbing his hand across his face. "It's complicated. I cannot possibly—"
"Just tell me, Father!" I yelled, blinking hard against the tears blurring my vision. "How much was I worth? Because I want to know exactly what number made it easy for you to hand your only family to a man who—"
My voice gave out. I pressed my hand to my mouth and turned away from him, my shoulders heaving with the effort of holding myself together.
"I didn't have a choice in this arrangement," he said quietly.
"Of course," I laughed bitterly, wiping at my face without turning. "When it involves your daughter, you simply cannot say no to money."
"No!" The word came out with a force that startled me, making me turn. "It's because no one can refuse Duke Nevan Wilder."
The fear in his eyes made me pause.
"What do you mean?"
He glanced toward the house, then back at me.
"The bank seized this manor six months ago," he started. "The land, the farms, the horses, everything, and they were going to eject us. I had debts I couldn't pay, creditors were already on my neck for their pay, and not a single friend left willing to lend me a coin." He paused. "Then the Duke came to me."
I frowned. "The Duke came to you?"
"Yes," he nodded. "He showed up unannounced at the Manor one day and told me he would buy the manor from the bank, clear every debt attached to it and return the deeds to me." He met my eyes. "In exchange, he wanted you."
Blood rushed to my head at the revelation. "Me? He didn't even know me."
"He knew everything about you. Where you lived, the boarding house in Hadley Cross, the debts you'd accumulated. He had already paid them off before he ever came to see me. All he needed was my consent."
"But… why?"
"That is a question for the Duke, not for me." He straightened his coat, the vulnerability from moments ago replaced by coldness. "If you back out of this arrangement, we would have to pay the Duke every single cent, Rosamund. It's a lot of money."
"Why did you agree to it in the first place?" I chided, feeling more confused than ever.
"And have the only legacy of this family taken away?" He shook his head, coming close to hold my shoulders. "Rosamund, you don't understand what this is. The previous women the Duke had wanted to marry all threw themselves at him. But you, he came looking for you specifically…"
"Father, that is not—"
"He found you himself," he cut me short, a strained smile on his face. "And the fact that he's agreed to stay here for three days at your request…" he trailed off, something almost like bewilderment crossing his face. "That is not his way. No one says no to Nevan Wilder, and no one asks him to wait. Yet here he is."
I took a step back. My mind was racing as I tried to piece together what I was hearing, but the pieces wouldn't fit. If the Duke had chosen me deliberately, before we'd ever met, then this wasn't a transaction of convenience. This was something else entirely.
And that was worse.
If he had sought me out, it meant he wanted something from me. Something the others couldn't give him. And if the others had died trying —
"Lady Rosamund."
I turned. Clyde stood at the front door, hands clasped behind his back, his expression pleasant and unreadable.
"His Grace requests your presence in the drawing room." His gaze shifted. "Yours too, Lord Fletcher, if you would be so kind."
My father straightened, surprise flickering briefly across his face before he smoothed it away. He gave a stiff nod.
I followed Clyde inside, my father a few steps behind. We walked through the main hall and down the corridor until Clyde stopped in front of the drawing room doors. He turned to me with a faint smile.
"After you, my lady."
I smiled my thanks, pushing the door open, and paused, my eyes widening.
The drawing room had been transformed. The curtains were pulled wide, morning light flooding the space. The furniture had been pushed to the walls, and at the centre of the room stood a table draped in white linen. On it sat a three-tiered cake — frosted in pale cream with delicate sugar flowers trailing down its sides.
Around the table stood the household with smiles on their faces. The maids, Mr Gerard, Madam Theresa, my father's cook, and several servants I didn't recognise.
And standing beside the cake, his hands clasped beside him with a stillness that I was beginning to recognise as distinctly his, was the Duke.
"Happy birthday, Rosamund," he said.