She said it because she was tired. Tired of smiling. Tired of being polite. Tired of pretending that hope had not already slipped through her fingers years ago.
"I will marry the first man who enters," Rosalyn said, her voice light, playful, careless enough to sound like a joke. The women around her laughed. Someone clapped. Someone else teased her for her boldness.
No one believed her. Not really. Then the iron gates at the far end of the garden opened. The laughter died slowly, like a candle running out of air.
A man stepped through the gate, tall and still, dressed in dark, severe clothing that made him look more like a shadow than a guest. He did not smile. He did not pause. He did not look confused or amused.
He looked straight at her. Rosalyn felt the world narrow to the space between them. The Duke of Blackthornne had arrived. Lady Hartwell's garden was full of color and noise.
Silk dresses brushed the grass. Gentlemen spoke in low voices. Teacups clinked. The afternoon sun filtered through tall trees, soft and warm, as if the day itself wanted to be kind.
But Rosalyn felt none of it. She stood frozen near the refreshment table, her fingers tight around an untouched glass of lemonade. Her heart thudded once, hard, then again. The man walking toward her was unmistakable.
Everyone knew him. The Duke of Blackthornne, cold, powerful, unmarried by choice. A man whispered about in drawing rooms and avoided by hopeful mothers. A man who had never been seen to laugh.
And now he was crossing the lawn with slow, deliberate steps. Beside Rosalyn, her friend Helena leaned closer. "Oh no," she whispered. "You did not summon him."
"I was joking," Rosalyn murmured. "I was absolutely joking." The Duke stopped a few feet away from her. Up close, he was even more imposing.
His face was sharp, unreadable. His eyes were gray and steady, as calm as winter water. The garden seemed to hold its breath. "Lady Rosalyn Thornwell," he said.
Her name sounded different in his voice. He did not ask. He stated it. "Yes," she managed.
"Your Grace." "I heard you," he said. Her stomach dropped. "I heard your declaration," he continued.
"And I accept." The words struck her like a sudden gust of cold air. "You accept?" she repeated faintly. "Yes."
"That was a joke." "I am not laughing." Someone nearby gasped. Helena made a small choking sound.
Rosalyn felt heat rush to her face, then drain away just as fast. "Your Grace, surely you understand that I was speaking out of frustration." "I understand perfectly," he said. "You are unmarried."