Page 66 of The Duke’s Masked Wallflower

“But you still go to see her.”

Mr. Sinclair took a step forward. “Miss Winthrop.”

“No.” She put out a hand to stop him, surprised and yet not surprised by her lack of anger. Another feeling rose to the surface. “Do you love her, Mr. Sinclair? Do not answer me as a prospective husband. Answer me as the gentleman I thought you to be.”

The silence stretched long enough to answer the question, and yet he still said, “Yes. And I do not know how to cease loving her. I am more sorry for that than you could ever understand.”

Rosalie felt something in her chest crack open. It was not betrayal exactly. He had never lied to her outright. Maybe it was grief for both of them, caught in the same particular trap of dreaming of someone they were not permitted to have, and settling where they thought they ought to be instead.

“Mr. Sinclair,” she said steadily, stepping toward him. He froze as she reached up and adjusted the coat on his shoulders. “I do understand you, and that is why I cannot despise you for this.”

“You...”

“Yes.” She nodded, hoping he understood what she was not yet ready to say out loud. “You must leave this house for good and go to her.”

“But, Miss Winthrop⁠—”

“I will not be second in the heart of any man,” Rosalie said, stepping back. “And you should not have to divide yours unnecessarily. I am not cross. I forgive you for this... so long as you do not return.”

Neither of them said anything further. There was nothing left to say. A tear fell down Mr. Sinclair’s cheek. When she moved to wipe it away, he took her hand and kissed it fervently, thanking her silently for setting him free.

Much later, after Doctor Brown had come and gone and the newspaper had been burned, Rosalie found her way to her father’s room and stopped dead in the doorway at the sight of him.

His eyes were open.

“Father!” She rushed across the room and took his hand, which curled weakly but unmistakably around her fingers. “You’re awake... Oh, thank heavens... The doctor never said—But I must fetch Mother at once...!”

“Rosie...” His voice was thin and rusted with disuse. She began to cry before she could stop herself. “Do not fetch anyone yet. Sit with me first, my daughter.”

“But Father... We should have the doctor call.”

“I need my daughter first. Humor me, my serious girl.” He managed something that was nearly a smile. “I have had a verse in my head for days... I think.”

“A verse?” His voice was low, and she leaned down to hear him better. “Do you mean poetry?”

“Fetch my book. The little one, by the bed.”

She hated to release his hand but did as he bid. The sun had set an hour ago, and the fire cast the room in shadow. She found the book and a pencil on the bedside and dragged the candle closer, her heart racing, tears pooling in her eyes from relief and surprise.

Sitting close beside him, her father dictated a few halting lines about a river that did not disappear, always finding its way home. She wrote them down exactly as he spoke them, her script a shaky scrawl on the page, calling to mind Mr. Aster’s hellish poem.

“That will do,” he whispered when he had finished. “How long?”

“Many days,” Rosalie said, staring at the page before she could bring herself to look up at him. “You have been sleeping so much, but Doctor Brown tells us you must rest, that you have had a terrible shock.”

“He bled me.”

“I think so.”

“Good Lord...” It looked like her father intended to roll his eyes, and Rosalie stifled a laugh. He let his eyes close briefly before opening them again, fixed on her face with an intensity that frightened her. “Possum... I must say something to you while I have the strength...”

The doctor had warned them about excess agitation, and Rosalie shook her head. “You will have the strength for that later.”

“No,” he said, licking his chapped lips and staring out the window. “You must hear this from me. I love your mother more today... than the day I married her. I chose rightly... You must choose right, Possum. Anna chose right...”

She was crying openly, unable to stop it. “This doesn’t matter now.”

“Your happiness is the only thing that matters to me now. So do not marry a man... only because he asks little of you.”