by Rosie Wynter
Lady Lynch laughed and drained another quarter of her own glass with contemptuous ease. “Oh, I do not need you to tell me that. I can only imagine your father was as drunk as a sailor on shore leave when he wrote to me. Even putting aside his monstrously abhorrent script, I know well enough that he would not dare to write to me without some liquid courage spurring him on and drowning out the glares of my dear sister.”
Rosalie did not feel comfortable hearing her aunt talk of her parents in such an unguarded and disdainful manner. Much as her mother had been wont to criticise Lady Lynch for years, it did not seem right to Rosalie that this lady could do the same to them, certainly not when staying as a guest under their roof. “I can assure you my father is not in the habit of drinking often.”
Lady Lynch shrugged, seeming to care nothing at all for Rosalie’s defence of her parents. “Whether he does or does not is of no concern to me. What I do concern myself with, however, is the well-being of my nieces when my dear brother-in-law and sister try to use them in their never-ending bid to find a man foolish enough to invest in your father’s infernal woollen mill fantasy.”
Though still cautious and a little offended by her aunt, Rosalie could not help but smile to hear her speak of the woollen mill so disparagingly. “As I understand it, it was a passion of his even when he first met you,” she offered.
Lady Lynch laughed again, only this time the sound seemed far more genuine to Rosalie’s ears. She shook her head and ran a finger over the rim of her glass as she gazed off into memory. “Ah yes. Your father is nothing if not persistent in his ambitions. It is honestly a trait I might have admired were it not for the fact that he chose the most appallingly poor business to try and turn into an empire. While I will never deny there will always be a place for wool, his notions of the great ladies of London trading their embroidered lace and muslin for woollen coats and shawls is quite ridiculous.”
Rosalie found her hand reaching out for her own glass of brandy once again, momentarily put at ease by her aunt’s candour on a subject she had often thought beggared belief. “I will admit, it can be quite exhausting humouring him on the issue.”
Lady Lynch nodded enthusiastically as the two began to find a natural rhythm with one another. “Oh, dear, before you try drinking that again, take a smaller sip this time, and try to leave the liquid on your tongue for a moment rather than forcing it straight down your throat. You might find that helps take the edge off it.”
Rosalie did as she was told. Honestly, holding the strong liquor on her tongue was not much better, to her mind, than swallowing it down in one quick go. However, she did not find herself spluttering as badly on this second attempt. Her lips curled upwards ever so slightly at the accomplishment, and she placed the glass back down on the side table reverently. As she leaned back in her chair, she looked at her aunt with a furrowed brow. “You did not answer me about what my father said in his letter. I know I do not really want to hear it, but what kind of picture did he paint of me?”
Lady Lynch leaned forward, holding her brandy in both hands and fixing Rosalie with a steely look. “Your father painted a picture of a beautiful young woman, full of potential, whose chances of marrying well were being ruined by a mother and father whose only real aim was to beg their future sons-in-laws for money.” The woman let an irate breath out through her nostrils. “I highly doubt my sister’s skills at courting have come on any since she and I were girls, so I can only assume she has been filling your head with all sorts of bad advice in your two seasons in London. In short, dear, the only picture I gained of you, when I read your father’s letter, was of a poor girl struggling to find her own happiness while dealing with two incompetent and foolish parents. I can tell just by looking at you that you feel uncomfortable to hear them insulted so openly, but can you really tell me you have not privately thought all the things I am now saying aloud?”
Rosalie found herself in the most unusual position of not knowing the correct way to respond. She was not fond of lying if she could help it, but she also did not believe in candidly complaining about her parents to other people. In the end, though, the soft, slightly roguish smile of her aunt coaxed her from her shell. “I can’t deny the last two seasons have been a chore and a burden. May… may I admit something to you in confidence?”
Lady Lynch’s smile broadened just a little. “My dear, I have not had your mother’s ear since before you were born, and I would never get a word in edgewise with your father. I can promise you your secrets are quite safe with me.”
Rosalie nodded and took a deep breath as she prepared to unburden herself. “Although I know my failure in London, these last two seasons, has very much disappointed both my parents, I feel it almost a reward that they have told me they will no longer fund me to go up to the city in search of a husband. The thought of being left alone to recuperate from these last two exhausting years is the most welcome thing in the world to me right now.”
Something seemed to flicker across Lady Lynch’s features. Her countenance wavered just fractionally, but it was enough for Rosalie’s keen eyes to notice it. Had she said something to offend or dismay her aunt?
“Well, dear, I hope you are not considering writing yourself off and allowing yourself to fall into spinsterhood. No matter how badly your parents may have berated you for your perceived failings, I can’t believe a woman as strong and proud as you would let yourself think that you are not worthy of a man’s attention.” Lady Lynch’s eyes were roving all over Rosalie’s face, and it was clear she was concerned by what she had just heard.
Rosalie wondered whether or not to tell her aunt of the meeting she had had with her friends in the town that day, of her hopes that she might find someone local to marry, whom she already knew well. Something stopped her. She did not know if it was lack of trust in her aunt or lack of trust in the plan itself that motivated her silence. Still, she had to give some sort of answer.
“I do not believe I will grow to become a spinster. I just do not think I have the kind of personality or beauty that would allow me to thrive in London. The ladies there can rival even Grace in beauty, and I find myself fading into the décor of the halls and assembly rooms whenever I attend events there. Meanwhile, the gentlemen my mother introduces to me never seem to pay me more than a moment’s notice before excusing themselves.”
“Yes, but whose fault is that?” her aunt asked seriously. “Again, I am sorry if it is hard for you to hear me talk so bluntly of your parents, but your mother’s choice of husband does not instil confidence in me concerning her abilities to choose prudent partners for her daughters. I am certain your mother simply threw young men at you recklessly and randomly, without even thinking about whether or not you might be compatible with them, or knowing their true characters.”
Rosalie had not considered this before, and she had to admit the thought gave her fresh pause. However, all this talk was beginning to frighten her, and she still had not come to the crux of the conversation, the one thing she had wanted to know since she had first spotted the black lacquered carriage standing imperiously outside their door.
“Aunt Lynch, I hope this is not too rude a question, but what exactly are you doing here? You’ve made it abundantly clear that it is for my benefit that you have come all this way. But, I must confess, I do not have the slightest clue as to what it is that you expect to do for me.”
The lady gave the same maternal smile Rosalie had seen when she was giving her gifts to Grace and Claire. She put down her glass and got up from her seat. Silently, she crossed the room and knelt down in front of Rosalie, wrapping her slender porcelain hands around Rosalie’s ruddier ones. She took a long moment to look into her niece’s eyes. At this close proximity, Rosalie could truly see how beautiful her aunt still was. An aspect of her youth had never been permitted to die off with age.
“My dear Rosalie, my business in coming down to the country was so that I might take you safely away from your father’s clutches and bring you with me
back up to London.”
“Back to London!” Rosalie couldn’t help but raise her voice and she shot right out of her seat in alarm.
Lady Lynch looked up at her in some confusion and rose to her feet more steadily. “Yes, you are to come and live with me in my house in Grosvenor Square. I am going to take it upon myself to introduce you to the kinds of gentlemen and society that your mother was clearly unable to. Beyond this, you will be able to conduct your search for a suitable husband without your father’s damned woollen mills or investment schemes wearing on you like a millstone.” The lady paused. “I can tell you, as well, that with my pocketbook and good sense, I will be more than capable of setting you up so that you could rival and outmatch even the finest young ladies of the court.”
CHAPTER 6
Without even being sure just how it had happened, Rosalie found herself sitting in a carriage, being transported away from her home and back up the bumpy roads and by-ways toward London. No sooner had her aunt declared her intentions to take her niece to her home, in search of a suitor, than Mr Curtis had had his eldest daughter’s things packed and ready for her to go.
Mrs Curtis had made no attempt to try and stop her sister from abducting Rosalie, though it was clear she struggled to accept what was happening around her. She had entered into a kind of fugue since her sister had arrived at the house, operating in only the most basic fashion the entire time. More often than not, she kept herself hidden and out of sight, complaining of phantom headaches that beset her at all hours. Of course, everyone knew such complaints were very poorly made excuses to avoid spending any more time than was necessary in her sister’s company. It was, however, far better to go along with the convenient lie than face the awkward silences and tense expressions that passed between the two sisters when they were in the same room together.
The only person who made any kind of objection at all to Aunt Lynch’s decision to take Rosalie to London had been Grace, and her protestations had nothing to do with any concern for her elder sister’s well-being. No, the only objection Grace cared to make was that Rosalie alone got to travel to London and live with Aunt Lynch, while she and Claire were doomed to stay on in quiet, rural Bradford-on-Avon.
Rosalie never quite heard what her aunt had whispered into Grace’s ear to quieten her during her moment of petulance. She guessed it must have been something complimentary because Grace came away from the conversation wearing an impossibly smug smile on her face. With the only person objecting to her leaving dealt with by words and means unknown, Rosalie quickly found herself bundled into the black lacquered carriage and spirited away from her home once again. Aunt Lynch had only been at the Curtis’s home for three days, and Rosalie had not even been back home a fortnight.
For Rosalie, the only consolation to be had in any of the unexpected turns of events set upon her was that this latest long carriage ride was far more pleasant than the one she had endured coming down from London. The summer air was still just as hot and humid as it had ever been, but this carriage was far better equipped to help one endure. The glass windows slid down, allowing a rush of air to circulate through the carriage. The increased ventilation and breeze meant that Rosalie never felt uncomfortable with the heat. Meanwhile, the seats were so broad and well cushioned that she was quite certain she could lie down upon them and sleep her way through most of the journey should she be so inclined. She did not, however, try to do so.
Lady Lynch spent much of the carriage ride staring out of the window at the passing countryside. This was a welcome departure from Rosalie’s mother, who had filled the entire journey back from London with an endless procession of criticisms, fears and worries that could not possibly be resolved in the middle of a carriage ride across the length of the country. Rosalie was not sure if her aunt was simply waiting for her to initiate conversation. However, as long as her aunt was willing to hold her tongue, Rosalie was happy to enjoy the silence. She did have much to think about, after all.
As the shape of the English countryside subtly shifted between low rolling hills and long stretches of flat plains, Rosalie found plenty of time to think of all the things she hated about the prospect of a return to London. Top of that list was the stench of rotting sewage and effluent that she had thought herself saved from. That smell was sure to be worse now the country was firmly held in the grip of summer, and Rosalie could only pray that the folk in Grosvenor Square were somehow protected from that hideous odour. If she had to live with that smell invading her nostrils day after day, she was quite certain she would resort to stealing from her aunt’s purse and engaging a postal carriage to take her out of the city and back home.
Coupled with the prospect of the summer stink of London came the consideration that the city would now be emptied and devoid of the kind of eligible young men one was meant to meet during the parliamentary season. This kind of very obvious barrier to securing a husband was not something Rosalie could believe her sharp-minded aunt had simply overlooked in her planning. Therefore, she could not help but ask the question as soon as it formed in her mind.
“Just how do you expect to find me a husband in London, when all the eligible young men will have returned to their country estates by now? Do you not have some country residence of your own we could go to, rather than returning to the city?”
Despite having gone hours without talking, Lady Lynch did not seem at all fazed by the sudden burst of conversation, and neither did she take any offence at her niece’s tone. “My dear, the first mistake every girl coming to London in search of a husband makes is her assumption that the best men in England all retire to their country estates in the summer.” The lady spoke with an air of slight superiority to the subject of her remark. If nothing else, Rosalie was sure her aunt was confident that her words were the absolute truth.
“Just why is it such a bad thing for a man to repair to the country in summer? It cannot be good for a gentleman to spend all his time in such a packed city all year round.” Rosalie stared at her aunt intently, eager to hear her justification.
Lady Lynch sighed, turning her eyes toward the window. It felt like having to explain something as simple as addition to a child. “London is the beating heart of England, and it is in the commerce and trade at her docks where the wealth of this country is made. Not a great many people seem to recognise this, but the world is changing greatly. Old moneyed families, who spend their time cloistered in their country estates and living in the perpetual belief of their own self-importance, are declining. Their fortunes are dwindling, and more than a few grand homes are beset with damp and wood rot; their owners simply cannot afford to keep up the repairs. Meanwhile, in the city, those who work hard throughout the year are seeing their fortunes rise higher and higher. For the first time, we live in a world where society is no longer divided between the rich and the poor. There is now a middling-sort growing, and their wealth is starting to rise above even some of the landed gentry, whom young women are always so eager to marry.” Lady Lynch certainly seemed to know her economics. It was fascinating and strange to see a woman of such singular talent in spheres that were so often the purview of men alone.
Rosalie was quiet for a moment, only continuing the conversation when she realised how oppressive the quiet had become. “And is it to one of the middling-sorts of men that you intend to marry me?”
Lady Lynch frowned. “You make it sound as if I am dragging you up to London in chains to sell you to the first man we happen across on the streets. I do not intend to marry you off to anyone. All I intend to do is to put you in advantageous situations where you might meet such ambitious and hard-working men and where you will be able to take your pick of them without having to worry about the competition of other women squabbling for a partner.”
Rosalie blushed and looked down at her feet in some embarrassment. “Forgive me, Aunt. I did not mean to be rude. It is just… after two years of returning to this city, I cannot say I have the stomach to go another long set of months in a fruitle
ss endeavour.”
Lady Lynch smiled and shook her head. “It is quite alright, dear. You have no way of knowing how influential I am in London, nor how many eligible bachelors I am able to steer in your direction.” The woman yawned and began to stretch. Despite her regal bearing, she slipped off her shoes and lifted her legs up onto the seat. “Now, it is a long road up to London. If you don’t mind, I think I shall try to get some measure of sleep before we arrive. Feel free to do the same, so long as you do not let your shoes muddy the cushions.”
Rosalie did not dare lie down as her aunt did. Still, she took the time to stare at the woman, noting yet again how similar the older woman was in both looks and manner to Grace. The thought that her younger sibling could one day be as formidable as this woman was a thought that both amused and terrified Rosalie in equal measure.
Despite trying her best to stay awake, the monotony of travel forced Rosalie to succumb to sleep on a number of occasions. Their carriage made no stops on its journey, the main driver swapping out with another servant whenever he became tired and needed a rest. In this manner, the carriage was able to make exceptional time as it wound its way eastward. It was only when the whole vehicle began to shake in a rhythm distinctly different to the one enjoyed on the country roads that Rosalie’s eyes opened and she looked blinkingly out of the window at the changed scenery around her.
There was nothing to see. The view from her window was of a brick wall. When they passed this, cross streets emerged, and Rosalie found herself looking out at a sea of people in all manner of garb, going about their business on the cobbled road. Without having seen exactly where it happened, Rosalie found herself returned to London. She tried to hold back the desire to breathe through her nose, certain that at any moment the stink she remembered, which always rose out of the Thames, would infiltrate her nostrils and cause her to gag or maybe even vomit.