by Rosie Wynter
“Oh yes? Is it a new scheme for attracting some visiting merchant to invest in his precious mill?” Rosalie forced herself to smile as she spoke. It was hard, but she wanted things with her sister to be easier. She had to show willing to put the past behind her.
“No. He actually asked Mama if you had tried to call on Aunt Lynch while you were in London.” Grace’s warm blue eyes darted to her sister, eager to see her reaction to the news. She still seemed too nervous to keep her gaze on Rosalie for long, though.
“He really brought her up?” Rosalie couldn’t deny this truly was news. “I can’t imagine Mama was best pleased. I am probably lucky I am only hearing about this second hand. What exactly did he have to say about her?”
Grace’s confidence seemed to build and she skipped a few paces ahead of Rosalie. Spinning about, she began to walk backwards, so she could look at her sister properly while they talked. Once she had something really juicy to say, Grace could seldom remain quiet. “It seems, after an evening drinking brandy and fretting over all he had heard about your stay in London, Father determined to write to our aunt, and he actually sent off a letter to her, without either reading it over or consulting with Mama first. I can’t even guess how much he must have drunk to believe that was a good idea.”
Rosalie’s eyes widened and her lips drew thin. She could only imagine how this news would have gone down with their mother. With their moods already inflamed, this move by her father would have only added fresh fuel to the fire. “Did he say what was in the letter?”
Grace shrugged her shoulders and swivelled about once again to face the road they walked down. “I am not sure that he even knows the half of what he put inside it. I think he was perhaps asking for advice in finding us poor girls husbands.”
Rosalie nodded. “She made no reply, did she?”
Grace smiled. “No. He sent the letter shortly after you returned home, so it is doubtful she intends to respond… same as always. I think Father just wanted to admit to the lapse in judgement and get it off his chest.”
Rosalie hadn’t noticed the moment when her shoulders had become so tense, but her body seemed to relax as Grace finished speaking. It was a good thing Aunt Lynch had not made a reply. Such a letter would have been sure to incense their mother and cause no end of trouble for them all.
Aunt Lynch, or Lady Lynch, to use her proper title, was Mrs Curtis’s younger sister. Three years younger than Mrs Curtis, Aunt Lynch was not even out in society before her older sister married a promising young gentleman of business. As Rosalie had heard it from her mother, her aunt had never taken to Mr Curtis, declaring from the start that the man was all talk and no action. She quite brazenly attacked his dreams of expanding his family’s woollen business into an empire. Her parents had censured her for such outspokenness, and Rosalie’s mother had become more distant from her sister as they argued over her choice of husband. However, their sisterly bond had not truly crumbled until their aunt had married far more auspiciously than anyone could have expected.
Aunt Lynch’s marriage to a young and dashing duke had caused quite a stir in London, at the time. Young Lord Lynch had been known to have his eye on a Lady Barrington at the time Rosalie’s aunt had arrived in London in search of a husband. With her older sister already married, no one had had any expectations for the young girl to do better in marriage than some gentleman merchant with a dependable trade. So when, against all expectations, she had managed to steal the heart of Lord Lynch away from Lady Barrington and set herself up as a woman of the peerage, Mrs Curtis’s sister immediately became the apple of their mother and father’s eyes.
Mrs Curtis had insisted on remaining civil to her sister, never poking her nose in or making any comment on the deplorable way her sister had contrived to separate Lord Lynch and Lady Barrington. By all accounts, Rosalie’s mother had struggled for several years to maintain cordial relations with her sister and to not give in to envy at her younger sibling’s better situation.
However, when Mrs Curtis began to write to her sister regarding her husband’s business, the great rift in their family had been forged forever. Mrs Curtis insisted she had never directly asked her sister for money, but from time to time she would petition her sister to speak to her wealthy husband about the possibility of investing in Mr Curtis’s woollen mill business. Lady Lynch had refused flat out to do such a thing. In a frank and mean-spirited letter, which Mrs Curtis had burned after reading, the Lady had reiterated her lack of confidence in Mr Curtis, accusing the man of being a dreamer with ambitions loftier than his reach and capacity.
Since that day, the two sisters had communicated but rarely. They did, naturally, exchange terse letters once a year at Christmas, and Lady Lynch had sent longer, more thoughtful letters on the births of each of her nieces. Aside from these, however, the only time they had spoken was on the occasion of Lord Lynch’s untimely death, some years ago.
To Rosalie, Lady Lynch was an enigma, albeit a slightly inconvenient one. Although she knew the woman could bear her and her sisters no conceivable malice, the mention of her name always sent their mother off in the worst of moods. Consequently, Rosalie could not think of her aunt without feeling her own engrained kernel of resentment at the woman.
That her father had reached out and contacted the woman who had, for so long, belittled him and his wife was proof of the desperation Rosalie had driven her parents to.
On reaching the town centre, Rosalie found herself too caught up in her own private thoughts to think too long on her sister. When she caught sight of some friends she had not seen in months, Rosalie was happy for Grace to excuse herself and go looking for fabrics at the local tailors. She barely even looked back at her sister as she walked across the street and embraced her friends one by one, noticing with delight the tell-tale ring one of them wore on her finger.
For the next two-and-a-half hours, Rosalie was treated to all the gossip and news from Bradford-on-Avon. A lot had come to pass over the spring by all accounts. Of her three closest friends, one had married a local farmer, Mr Owen, another was expecting to hear Mr Ellis’s proposal any day now, and the third had garnered the eye of the rather handsome parish parson. Rosalie was amazed and quietly jealous of the success all three had enjoyed and appreciated her friends’ sympathy as she was forced to own up to her second unsuccessful season in London.
“Are you finding yourself bullied out by the grander ladies of London?” the newly married Mrs Owen asked. The four were now drinking tea together in the town’s tea room, and all attention had turned to Rosalie.
“I can’t say it is at all pleasant trying to compete with such women. More times than I can count, I found myself standing next to a woman whose silk gloves were worth more than every stitch I had on my body.” Rosalie offered a brave smile and shook her head. “More than that, the gentlemen of London are all so…” she paused, as she tried to find the right word. “They’re so busy. First meetings are conducted in great haste, and you must rely solely on first impressions to get the measure of any man’s character. Most will only grant you a few minutes of their time before rushing on as if their coattails were on fire.”
Mrs Owen nodded continually as Rosalie spoke of her troubles. “It must be hard. I was fortunate, with my dear Edmund, that we have been practically next-door neighbours since we were children.” The other two women muttered approvingly as they sipped their tea.
“I do wish I might have been allowed to find a man from among the gentlemen here at home.” Rosalie let out a deep sigh and put down her cup. “I cannot say there has ever been any man from among my acquaintances here whom I have secretly yearned for or wanted for a husband. But just knowing the quality of the men in these parts, having seen them every day of my life and grown up with them sets me at ease. If any man in Bradford were to ask for my hand, I would know his character fully and could make an informed decision before giving my answer. In London, all the gentlemen blur into one, and they expect your good opinion from first int
roductions. The moment they sense hesitancy, they find themselves some bolder girl who is more inclined to dance with a complete stranger.”
“I can’t imagine a more ghastly thing,” Mrs Owen said. She put down her cup and rubbed Rosalie’s back reassuringly. “Still, you have said your father is not likely to return you to London for a third season. Between the three of us ladies, I am sure we can find you an amiable man from amongst our acquaintances. One who has yet to realise how beautiful you are under those conservative dresses you are so fond of wearing.”
Rosalie laughed. She did not mind it when her closest friends teased her for her choice of gowns; they had earned the right over the years, and their jibes never felt malicious. As she considered the prospect of her three closest friends working together to engineer a match for her, Rosalie couldn’t help but feel a little hope for the year ahead. There would be the autumn assemblies, of course, and Mrs Owen had already made her a promise of dinner at her new home with her husband.
By the time the group parted, Rosalie had quite forgotten Grace. She wandered the familiar streets of her hometown with a smile on her face, taking in all the facets of the place that had remained the same since she was a girl. London and the wider world were for other people. Whether her parents wished it or not, Rosalie felt as if she had no business mingling in the capital or trying to move beyond quiet and peaceful Bradford-on-Avon.
As she turned a corner, her eyes alighted on the coaching inn. The whinnying of the horses in the stable caught her ear, and she suddenly became aware of a particular danger she had sought to guard her sister against. Looking up and down the street, she could not spy her sister anywhere, and in no time at all, her feet were marching to the coaching inn to inquire if her sister had been seen by any of the workers there.
The stablemen had seen her loitering near the inn about an hour or so ago and said she had disappeared shortly after. They pointed Rosalie in the general direction Grace had taken and suggested she might run into one of their boys on her travels, who had but lately been given leave to run an errand. Rosalie could easily guess just which boy they were referring to and knew full well that he likely had no errand in mind except to escort her sister into some quiet corner of the town.
For fifteen minutes, Rosalie strode through the town at a determined and brisk pace as she searched to and fro. She tried to think of all the corners and darkened ways her sister could be hiding in and systematically checked each one, her mind filled with all the scandalous horrors Thomas Cooper might be trying to wreak on her naïve younger sister.
As she turned her head to look along the river path from the bridge, she finally spied her sister. Grace was sat, hidden among some rushes, leaning casually on the shoulder of a man Rosalie took to be Thomas. Seeing her sister in such easy repose, seeming not even to care that she might be seen by a passing neighbour, sent a wave of righteous indignation through Rosalie, and she immediately made for the path. She looked back only once to ensure she was not being spied upon and then coughed loudly, several times. She had no desire to be forced to drive the boy away from her sister and was relieved to see her coughing fit startle both Thomas and Grace to their feet.
Grace blushed to see her sister, but she then turned to Thomas and squeezed his hand. Seeming not to care that she was about to receive a scolding, she even leaned into his ear and whispered some secret to him. Rosalie tried her best to hold in her indignation and not shout at them both for their reckless actions. She stopped about a metre from them, her hands balled into tiny fists.
“Grace, you’ll come away at once; we’re going home.” Rosalie’s words were spoken very deliberately and very slowly. She had not been in the habit of parenting her sisters before, but then Grace had never shown such a severe lack of judgement before.
Grace offered an apologetic smile to Thomas and actually leant in closer to him and kissed his cheek before walking silently away. The boy gave her no parting words but grinned idiotically as he watched Rosalie escort Grace back up the path and into the town.
“I do not know how you can call what I just witnessed a harmless flirtation,” Rosalie admonished her when they were far enough away. “Sitting alone in that man’s arms, in broad daylight, by the river! I am surprised the whole town hasn’t noticed the two of you carrying on together if you have been that daring in public.” Rosalie remained purposefully by Grace’s side. She did not trust her sister to remain with her and did not wish to lose sight of her for a second.
“Really, Rosalie? You talk as if the entire town is constantly on the lookout for young men and women out alone.” She smiled at a passing neighbour and waved as though nothing at all were out of the ordinary before continuing. “I do not know if you have ever observed this phenomenon, but most folks have jobs and places to be and thoughts of their own to preoccupy them. The only people who might have disturbed us would have been the occasional boater, and they are far too conspicuous not to be seen coming.”
“Well, I was able to find you easily enough,” Rosalie retorted with some pride.
“You were looking for me, though. No one else in this town ever is.” Grace sighed and shook her head. “Anyway, if you are going to scold me, you needn’t bother. I was very firm with dear Thomas when I met with him today. I told him in no uncertain terms that we could not step out in secret as we have been doing and that our flirtation had to come to an end.”
Rosalie’s brow knotted. To her frustration, she could no longer tell if her sister was speaking truthfully, teasing her or simply saying what she wanted to hear. “Your recumbent posture against his arm doesn’t fill me with any hope that he understood your message.”
Grace chuckled and, in a move that surprised Rosalie, wrapped her arm around her sister. “Well, I might have deigned to grant him one last hour of innocent banter and harmless romance. It seemed nicer to end our little arrangement with a golden memory than with my leaving him alone and rejected outside the coaching inn, when he had worked so hard to come out and see me.”
Rosalie looked at her arm held in Grace’s. She did not understand her younger sister at all. Still, she knew she could not control her. Resigning herself, she let her shoulders slump. “Very well. Purely for the sake of convenience, I will believe everything you are telling me. I will warn you, though: if I see you lurking alone with that young man again…”
“I can well imagine the dire consequences you’ll have in store for me. I imagine they will involve going to our dear father.”
Rosalie studied her sister’s face. It still held a smile, but she also thought she detected a slight tightening of the muscles in her cheek. It was almost as though Grace were forcing her breezy and light-hearted mood.
As their home came into view, Grace stopped in her tracks and peered towards the garden. “Rosie… I think we must have company. Look at that carriage! Have you ever seen anything so grand?”
Rosalie peered past the obscuring tree branches and hedges on the road and did, indeed, see an ornate carriage drawn up outside their door.
CHAPTER 4
Walking up to the grand and incongruous vehicle parked outside their door, Rosalie felt something like fear pass through her. The black lacquer of the carriage’s wooden frame reflected her own troubled face back at her, and she instinctively pulled away from it. Grace was far less intimidated and ran her fingers wonderingly over the panelling.
“Grace, don’t touch the thing. You have no idea how much a carriage like that might cost. If you put so much as a scratch on the wood with your nails—”
“Then I promise you Lady Lynch would not be best pleased.” The voice of the driver took both girls by surprise. He was a well-dressed man in a large, black coat that did not at all suit the season. Of a somewhat fierce aspect, he seemed to be busying himself with untacking the horses and did not bother to glance in the direction of the two girls examining his carriage.
“Excuse me, did you say Lady Lynch?” Grace went wide-eyed, and an enormous grin appeared on her
face as though the driver had just told her Christmas had been moved forward to tomorrow.
“I did indeed, Ma’am; your aunt, if I am given to understand things aright.” The man sniffed, and his eyes narrowed as he scrutinised the two girls. “Yes, you have your aunt’s look about you both, somewhat; you especially so.” He pointed a finger to Grace.
Rosalie bit her bottom lip and looked towards their front door. It was impossible to believe that Lady Lynch, Aunt Lynch, was actually here in their home. What made her appearance all the more baffling and simultaneously terrifying was the thought that she had to have come down from London as a result of reading their father’s letter.
“Come on Rosie, let’s get inside at once. Who knows how much we have missed. Oh, I wonder just how Mama is taking this!” Grace pulled at her sister’s arm excitedly, seemingly delighted by the promise of the drama their aunt’s arrival was sure to create.
As the girls entered, they could hear voices coming from the drawing room. Only two of the voices were at all distinctive. The first was Claire’s, who seemed to be talking in an enthusiastic manner. The words ‘thank you’ were being offered again and again. The voice that followed hers was unknown to both Rosalie and Grace and yet carried an air of familiarity with it. Rosalie could only assume that this was the voice of Lady Lynch, and she found her footsteps growing ever shorter as she moved to the drawing-room door. It was Grace who grabbed her arm and finally caused her to cross the threshold.
The most peculiar sight greeted Rosalie as she entered the room. Sitting in her father’s chair was her aunt, a woman whose face, like her voice, was at once familiar and alien to Rosalie. The woman was almost the exact likeness of Grace, though slightly more mature. She had a round face, perfect blue eyes and a surprisingly good figure. She wore a blood-red dress with a low, square-cut neckline and white lace frills about the taffeta puffed sleeves. Lady Lynch was a woman of singular taste and fashion. More than that, however, the beauty of her youth had not suffered degradation over the years. Although Rosalie knew the span of years between her mother and her aunt amounted to only three, she could not believe it when comparing the two. Her mother, more rotund, more wrinkled and wearier, looked easily ten years the elder of the woman seated in the centre of the room.