by Rosie Wynter
“Ah, awake at last, I see.” Lady Lynch was sitting upright in a composed and dignified position, watching as her carriage slowly navigated its way through the sea of people, carts and other vehicles trying to make their way about. “We are nearly at my house. Grosvenor Square is just a few turns away.”
Rosalie made no verbal reply but just looked dumbly out of the window as they trundled along the last leg of their journey. She did, however, force herself to take a deep breath of the air in this part of the city. If she were to be living in this vicinity for the foreseeable future, she reasoned she should at least make certain that she could stomach the smell.
To her great relief, the smell in this part of the city was nowhere near as rank as it had been in the little district where she and her mother had rented a home for the season.
As the name implied, Grosvenor Square was a large, open square of land, surrounded on all sides by long rows of grand terraced houses. The houses were three storeys high, not including the attic and basement, and were the abodes of some of the most influential and affluent families in London. Subsequently, many of the homes were empty at the moment, as Lady Lynch’s rich neighbours had done what was expected of them by retiring to their estates in the country.
As Lady Lynch was helped out the carriage, she smiled at being returned to her familiar neighbourhood. She immediately took Rosalie’s arm, squeezing it excitedly. “Oh, I just know you are going to love it here, Rosalie. My late husband was able to buy our humble little slice of Grosvenor Square after some good fortune in his trade with the Americas. It has always filled me with joy living in this gorgeous centre of London. I think what I like best are the neighbours.”
Rosalie raised an eyebrow and looked at the two abodes on either side of Lady Lynch’s home. Both houses seemed vacant. “Are they good people, your neighbours?”
“Not at all, they are perfectly horrid,” her aunt said with a rueful smile. “They have never reconciled themselves to the fact that the woman living next to them is nothing but a poor country girl who was raised to prominence merely by her ability to captivate a man’s heart with her conversation and beauty alone.” She chuckled to herself and added, “It is quite fun to take in their envious glares when they think I am not looking at them.”
Though it was narrower than her own home in Bradford-on-Avon, Rosalie found her aunt’s home very spacious for a terraced house. The house stretched a long way back, and the rooms on each floor were of ample size. Moreover, the luxury of each room was like nothing Rosalie had ever experienced in her life. As she wandered the drawing room, library, music room and more, she was enchanted by the opulence of her aunt’s living. Her breath was stolen by the ornate harp in the music room, by an exquisite landscape picture hung above the fireplace in the drawing room and by a peculiar marble statue of Grecian design that sat in the corner of the library. Rosalie could not help but feel as if she was in a dream. Despite all her misgivings about returning to London, this latest trip perhaps would not be so bad if it meant she could wake every morning in a place as grand as this.
When she found her own quarters, the normally reserved and sensible side of her was momentarily quashed as she let herself fall gratefully onto the bed. The feel of the mattress, the soft feather pillows and the fine sheets was unlike anything Rosalie had ever felt before. It was a comfort she had never known, and she wondered how anyone who slept in such a bed could ever be made to rise from it in the morning. She herself spent over twenty minutes lying on the bed in perfect bliss, the time kept for her by the charming little standing clock on the bureau by her bedside.
Getting back up was a real struggle, but Rosalie was able to rally herself with the thought that she could not leave her aunt waiting indefinitely for her to return to the drawing room. She had to thank the woman for bringing her here and give her opinion on the place. Before going down, Rosalie decided she would open her cases that had been brought up by the footman and place her clothes in their designated places. Unpacking would help affirm to her, just a little more, that this place would be her home for a time.
It was only as Rosalie lifted the first of her large trunks and hoisted it onto the bed that anything seemed at all amiss. When grabbing the handles of the trunk, she had prepared herself for a struggle in hoisting it over to the bed. Instead, the box lifted with a singular ease, and she was able to place it on the bed without any effort at all. She was quite certain she could handle the seemingly weightless trunk with one hand and even tried lifting it with just her right hand. This was immediately a cause of concern, as she knew she had packed all her belongings from home into the trunks she had brought down and had felt their weight before leaving. She remembered how heavy they had been, and it was impossible for them to suddenly have become near weightless. Confused, Rosalie immediately opened the trunk to see what mischief was at work.
What she saw inside caused Rosalie’s eyes to grow wide. The trunk contained only three dresses. Pulling each one out, she realised that the three dresses that remained were all ones Grace had either given to her as a present or had always insisted that Rosalie looked very well in. Sensing a trick, Rosalie slammed the lid shut and ran downstairs to find her aunt.
Lady Lynch was already in the drawing room, ensconced in a chair and reading a paper that had been fetched for her by one of the servants. She smiled serenely at Rosalie, either not noticing or not caring that her niece wore a most irritated expression on her face. “Well, did you enjoy poking around the house? I know it is vain of me, but I always enjoy hearing people’s thoughts on the place.”
Though she would not normally be as rude as to ignore someone’s question outright, Rosalie was too pent up at that moment to keep herself in check. She looked at her aunt with narrow and accusing eyes. “The trunks I brought down from home, the ones with my clothes and things inside—why are they all empty?”
Lady Lynch blinked twice as though she didn’t have the faintest idea what Rosalie was talking about. Then she clicked the fingers of her right hand as though having just remembered. “That is right, I never told you. I am planning to fit you out with a whole new wardrobe while you are living with me. You wouldn’t have had a need for any of the clothes you were going to bring with you from Bradford, so I asked your sister Grace to go through them and keep only the best dresses you own and to remove the rest. It made the journey up here far easier on the horses.”
“She left only three dresses!” Rosalie blushed just a little as her voice echoed off the otherwise quiet walls.
Lady Lynch raised an eyebrow and put down her paper. “Really, only three? I did not think your sister would be that discriminatory, or do you really not have any fashionable dresses in your possession?” She twirled a lock of her golden-brown hair. “Well, I had thought to take you to the dressmakers after you had enjoyed a couple of days settling in here. However, if you have truly been left with only three gowns, I suppose we shall have to go tomorrow and hope they have some dresses ready-made in your size.”
PART 2:
A Good Man
CHAPTER 7
Rosalie had been staring at her reflection in the full-length mirrors surrounding her for over three hours. She had been made to stand on a circular podium in the upstairs of a dressmaker’s in Bond Street, as a score of seamstresses and designers looked her over, took measurements and talked in hushed tones with Lady Lynch, who sat in the far corner of the room with a cup of tea. The owner of the shop stood behind her aunt, hunched over the woman’s shoulder as they pored over designs and options for dresses together.
They had begun by talking of ball gowns and evening wear. The dressmakers were only now considering options for Rosalie’s new morning wear and walking dresses. They all seemed most excited, perhaps because they had never thought to receive so large an order for clothes in what should have been a slow time of year for them. Rosalie did not know just how much money her aunt was throwing into the work of outfitting her, but the sum must have been considerable. It
made her feel somewhat frustrated. She knew her aunt meant well, and was demonstrating exceptional generosity, but it was a generosity that Rosalie had neither looked for nor wanted. She did not like the idea of feeling indebted to her aunt for this. Rosie believed that as far as possible, it was best to never be in anyone’s debt for anything.
Letting out a sigh of sheer boredom, it occurred to Rosalie that none of the dressmakers had come over to her for a good ten minutes. She had been left to stand on the round, wooden podium unguarded, and it seemed to her that perhaps she had an opportunity to escape.
“Aunt Lynch,” Rosalie called out, turning on the spot to face the lady who was still recumbent with her tea.
It took a few moments for her aunt to respond. She seemed to be comparing two different dress designs and finally settled on the left-hand one before allowing herself to look up at her niece. “Yes, dear, what is it? The dress designs are coming along marvellously. By the time these fine artisans are through, you will be a whole new woman.” Her words caused a few of the designers to smile smugly.
“Well, that is all very well,” Rosalie answered, “but is it necessary for me to remain perched on this box like some marionette? My measurements have been taken, and they have been studying my face and complexion for hours, now. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had recorded my every freckle and blemish.”
The owner of the shop looked up and laughed. “I can assure you, Miss Curtis, we do not keep records of our customers’ freckles, and I have not noticed any kind of blemish of note on your pretty face.”
Rosalie was not in the mood to be charmed by the man her aunt was paying to make her feel beautiful. “But you no longer need me standing on this platform, am I correct?”
The man shrugged. “It is true we have all the basics we need from you, yes.”
“Then why don’t you come and inspect all the lovely designs I have selected for you?” Aunt Lynch patted an empty wooden chair by her side.
Rosalie pursed her lips at the offer. It did not seem any more enthralling than what she was already doing. “Actually, Aunt, I was wondering if I might be permitted to take a walk. I noticed a rather lovely park across the way from your home. If it is not too much trouble, I’d like your driver to take me there, and then maybe I could meet you back at Grosvenor Square when you are done finalising the order for my new clothes.”
“Hyde Park?” The woman tapped the arm of her chair for a moment, her eyes taking Rosalie in as she tried to come to some decision. She seemed a little disappointed, from the way she pouted. “I suppose that if these designs really hold no interest for you, then I will allow it. Try not to be gone too long, however; if I come home and find you not there, I shall be most put out to have to send my footman after you. I do not wish to think of your getting lost or robbed.”
Rosalie did not know if her aunt’s warning was given out of concern for her safety or to try and frighten her into staying put. Either way, she was resolved to leave. The visit to the dressmaker’s seemed interminable, and the chance of being robbed by some thug was a risk she would gladly take if it meant getting away from the place. “I promise to be no more than an hour. I just need some fresh air.”
Lady Lynch nodded. “Remember, Hyde Park is just west of my home. Do not stay out too late, and do not leave the park or wander around Knightsbridge.”
Fresh air in London was still distressingly hard to come by. No matter where one went in the city, there seemed to be some smell that infiltrated the nostrils. Still, not all odours were bad. The smell of fresh bread baking, at all hours, from the back of a shop was most welcome. However, to Rosalie’s mind, the scents that wafted about the city were more unpleasant than otherwise. Even in this more affluent part of the city, so close to the prestigious Grosvenor Square, there always seemed to be some kind of unpleasant stench rising from a hidden corner, and Rosalie was glad the city had wide-ranging green parks she could retreat to when the smells threatened to overcome her. That Hyde Park was just a short stroll from her aunt’s home was an added bonus, and she felt sure she would have come to know the park intimately by the time her latest stay in the city came to a close.
Hyde Park itself was a charming place, complete with a river and reservoir. There were many paths one could walk along, and Rosalie elected the first one that took her fancy. As she walked, she took in the sounds of the birds in the trees and watched as a family took a stroll down one of the other footpaths that snaked through the park. She was enveloped in total serenity, enjoying having her own stretch of path all to herself.
When she had come to London before, with her mother, Rosalie had not had the opportunity of indulging herself in the great parks of the city. Despite being a very good point for social meetings, Mrs Curtis had heard ill rumours about such places. They were reportedly the scenes of duels of honour, and highwaymen and ne’er-do-wells were reported to lurk amongst the trees. Mrs Curtis did not seem to take the intuitive leap of assuming such villains would not frequent the parks in the daylight. When she heard such frightful gossip, she was liable to let her imagination run riot, and she quickly became certain that London’s parks were too dangerous for her eldest daughter to wander in, even if the all of the other eligible women in search of husbands were seen to venture abroad in such places.
Rosalie shook her head when she thought about her mother and her odd views on the world. Though she still did not know what to make of Aunt Lynch, she had to accept that the lady likely couldn’t do any worse than her mother in the business of sourcing a husband for her. A smile crept across her lips, and she took a deep breath of the park air, enjoying the green and verdant landscape all the more, having been denied it during her past visits.
However, as Rosalie’s eyes returned to the path, they widened in shock. Two horsemen were galloping down the centre of the path. They were still some distance away, but they spurred their steeds to such a speed that the gap was quickly closing. Neither showed signs of slowing down. The large, black stallions bearing down on Rosalie were accompanied by the thunderclap of hooves and a regular snorting.
Rosalie knew she had to step out of the way of the riders and their mounts. The two men were even waving their arms, gesturing for her to step aside before she was mown down. Rosalie tried to obey the order, but her legs had suddenly forgotten how to move. She just stood there, dumbly watching as the horses came closer, threatening to slam into her and trample her to death.
At the last possible second, Rosalie closed her eyes. Shutting out the sight of those two maniacal riders was a reflex and one that might just have saved her life. No longer frozen by the terrifying sight, she was able to move her legs once more. She knew she had but an instant, and she threw herself to the left, hoping that she had hurled herself out of harm’s way.
Pain shot through the right-hand side of her body as she hit the ground. She did not immediately open her eyes. Instead, she curled into a ball, like a hedgehog, hands covering her face as the sound of hooves grew louder and then softer, retreating into the distance. Only when they were no louder than a murmur on the air did Rosalie dare to uncoil herself.
She opened her eyes and sat up, turning to watch as the two riders continued to speed recklessly down the way, not even stopping to see if she was injured. Emerging from her dazed state, she stood hastily, her face contorting in pain as her right foot buckled under her weight.
“Cads! Utter, utter cads!” she called after the two riders, uselessly shaking her fist in the air as she limped after them. She was breathing heavily, and she tried to regain her composure by putting her hand on her stomach and forcing herself to count each intake of air. As she did so, she became more and more aware of the gentlefolk wandering the other pathways around her. Her outburst may not have been heard by the two rogues who had caused her fall, but plenty of others had heard.
Flushing with embarrassment, Rosalie tried to ignore the groups on the other paths. She determined to strike back for home and the safety and seclusion those four
walls would give her. She did not manage four limping steps, though, before being stopped by a voice.
“Excuse me, Miss?”
The voice that had called out to her was most certainly a man’s. However, as Rosalie turned about to look at her would-be rescuer, she found herself staring at a young girl who was running across the grass toward her. By her height, Rosalie guessed the girl to be little older than six or seven. She had a head of thick blonde curls that bounced wildly as she ran, and her bright yellow dress with a white ribbon made her look a little like a wheat sheaf.
Rosalie looked a little beyond the bouncing, golden girl and saw a man following her. She guessed this man to be the girl’s father, and he must have been the one who had called out to her. Rosalie smoothed out her dirtied and torn dress, noting the grass stains on the knees, and she put on her brightest smile as the two strangers approached. She did not wish her frustration and anger towards the two aggressive riders to be directed to this sweet young creature approaching her.
As soon as the girl arrived at Rosalie’s side, she took her hand as if they were already best friends and began to lead her away from the path. “You mustn’t linger on Rotten Row, Miss,” the child scolded immediately. “All the fast riders come down this path. The ladies’ path is this way.”
“Is it?” Rosalie could not help but smile to be so immediately led and lectured to by the young girl. She was certainly a vivacious creature, and her sweet nature effectively dispelled all annoyance and anger that lingered in her mind. “I am sorry, I have never walked in Hyde Park before and did not know.”