by Rosie Wynter
The girl turned about, her bright, emerald-coloured eyes looking at Rosalie with the utmost seriousness. “Well, a lady should not walk in an unknown place without accompaniment. It is a very good thing I brought my father out here today, or I would never have been here to help you.”
Rosalie’s smile broadened into an amused grin, and she took a deep, cleansing breath as the last of her anger left her. She watched the curious little girl lead her by the hand, her other arm waving to the man who was now very close.
“Father! This lady has hurt herself and is lost.”
The man had been jogging briskly towards them but slowed now he was near enough to be heard properly. “Forgive me, Miss.” He doffed his hat as he came alongside his daughter. The wheat sheaf girl let go of Rosalie’s hand and wrapped her arms in a possessive manner about her father’s waist, her thick head of hair pooling over one side of her face as she stared intently up at Rosalie. “I saw the fall from across the way. Are you hurt? I hope my daughter was not a nuisance.”
Rosalie stared at the man addressing her, taking in his face and looks with an intensity she did not normally show to the men she met in this city. Though hardly a relevant thought for that particular moment, Rosalie’s first impression was of how handsome the man appeared. He had dark black hair that was cut short, but which grew in thick curls from his head. His body was lean from exercise and labour, but his build was not hard-lined or bony. He had a soft, round face and eyes the colour of chocolate. He looked her over with an earnest worry, and Rosalie found herself feeling immediately safe in this man’s company. Just as she came to this conclusion, she became very aware that she had yet to give an answer to the man’s question.
“Oh... oh, no, your daughter was most helpful in getting me off that path and gave me a fitting lecture for not knowing which roads to walk upon.”
The man looked down at his daughter with some severity, lifting her chin so she was forced to look directly at him. “I hope you were not too rude in giving your pearls of wisdom.”
Rosalie put out her hand, resting it on the gentleman’s forearm reassuringly. “No, no; it was not a complaint. Honestly, I am just grateful someone was willing to come to my aid at all. Those riders seemed to think nothing at all of the danger they put me in.”
The man’s eyes glanced to the road she had left. The riders were long gone, but his lips still drew thin as he scowled in the direction they had fled. “I am afraid the great and the good of London are often bred to feel entitled to run roughshod over us common folk as they will.” He sighed and shook his head, returning his gaze to Rosalie and inspecting her stained and ripped clothes. “I see the fall has marred your dress. If you will permit it of a relative stranger, my daughter and I can walk you back home. I do not think it will do for you to walk alone in this state.”
Rosalie blushed as she looked down at herself. Her dress really did look a mess, and her hair was loose and tangled by the fall as well. “I thank you, I would welcome the help.”
The young girl detached herself from her father’s side and took Rosalie’s hand once more. “Where do you live?” she asked.
“Not far from here; my aunt keeps a house on Grosvenor Square.”
By the glances her kind rescuers shared with each other, Rosalie could tell they were surprised. In her somewhat plain gown, which could hardly have been called elegant even before it was damaged, she doubted she looked like the sort of lady to boast a residence on London’s most famous square.
“Well, that is not far at all, then.” The gentleman seemed to recover well from the shock of Rosalie’s admission. “Can you walk? You seemed to be limping a little just now.”
Rosalie bit her lip and looked down at her leg. She tried shifting the weight back and forth between her left and right foot, flinching ever so slightly when she put too much pressure on the one side. “It is a little tender, but not a cause for concern. If we could just take the journey slowly?” She looked at the father and daughter in apology.
“Of course, there is no rush at all.” The man drew alongside her and put out an arm. “If you have no objection, please lean on me to make the journey easier.”
Rosalie did so at once, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and even a slight thrill as her arm wrapped around the gentleman whose name she had still not been given. Realising this, she looked at him and bit her bottom lip slightly. “I beg your pardon! It has just occurred to me that I have no idea to whom I am so indebted.”
The man laughed and ran his spare hand through his short black hair. “Oh dear, forgive me. You do not want to be travelling with complete strangers. It is Farrell, Peter Farrell.”
“And I’m Abigail,” the little blonde girl added quickly, eager to introduce herself.
“A pleasure,” Rosalie answered, being sure to give a grateful smile to the young girl, who was still holding her hand. “I am Rosalie Curtis.”
The young Abigail grinned, revealing a set of pearly white teeth. Mr Farrell, however, seemed deep in thought. “Curtis? It is not a name I am familiar with.”
Rosalie blushed. “Forgive me. I am the niece of Lady Lynch. I do not know if her name is known to you at all?”
The muscles in Mr Farrell’s jaw seemed to tighten on hearing the name, Rosalie could only assume he was aware of her aunt in some capacity.
CHAPTER 8
The journey back to her aunt’s home took far longer than Rosalie would have liked. Despite her best efforts, she really struggled to walk at any pace on her injured foot, and she felt no small sense of embarrassment at swallowing up so much her rescuers’ day. Mr Farrell and his daughter showed no signs of frustration or annoyance and took great care to walk at the speed Rosalie dictated. Even so, she felt like a real inconvenience and apologised to them both on several occasions.
Conversation on the painfully slow walk back to Grosvenor Square was led principally by the young Abigail. The innocent and starry-eyed girl talked a great deal on all manner of topics, switching from one to the other without rhyme or reason. In a single breath, she would express her annoyance at the riders who had knocked Rosalie down, then move seamlessly on to talking about the yellow dress she wore and how pleased she would be if she could make one just like it in green. She told Rosalie, with the authoritative certainty only a child could possess, that green dresses were the best for wearing out in the parks as grass stains would never be noticed. It was an amusing logic, and Rosalie was sure to nod along and praise the girl for her cleverness, intuition and knowledge.
Mr Farrell remained relatively quiet throughout the journey, but Rosalie noticed his reticence intensify as they left the park and walked down the street that led to Grosvenor Square. She could feel the way the muscles in his arm seemed to seize up and grow rigid as they entered the square. He seemed to look around at the passing residents with a certain unease and something that looked very much like suspicion. She remembered the way he had looked when she had mentioned her aunt’s name and could not help but wonder if the two had met somewhere in the past.
After directing Mr Farrell to her aunt’s door, Rosalie found herself reluctant to part with the pair who had brought her safely home. Although she was sure Mr Farrell likely had his own wife to return to, she was loath to be parted so soon from the first people she had met in London whom she could even remotely count as friends. She had spent the past two seasons in the city, and already this curious father and daughter had made themselves dearer to her than any of the acquaintances her mother had forced on her.
“Can I persuade you to come inside?” Rosalie asked. She could feel a blush rising to her cheek and tried to check it. There was no reason to feel embarrassed in inviting a married and respectable man and his daughter into her aunt’s home. Indeed, after all they had done for her, it would be poor manners not to invite them inside.
Abigail squeezed Rosalie’s hand a little tighter and looked at her father with a pleading expression. “Please, Father, can we?”
Whatever ob
jections Mr Farrell had to the idea seemed to melt at his daughter’s hopeful gaze. Just from first impressions, he seemed like the kind of father who doted on his daughter and was powerless to go against her if it meant disappointing her. “As long as it is no trouble to you, Miss Curtis. I suppose it might behove me to speak to your aunt to relay all that happened on your outing. I can imagine she would have some serious questions for you otherwise.”
Rosalie nodded. “Excellent. I am sure my aunt will be most grateful to you and your dear daughter for having been of so much assistance.” As she spoke those words, Rosalie privately hoped that her aunt would, in fact, still be held up at the dressmakers. Some instinct suggested to her that this would be best, considering the odd reserve Mr Farrell seemed to show at the mention of Lady Lynch’s name.
Not yet having a key of her own, Rosalie was forced to ring the bell and wait for one of the servants to admit her. Lady Lynch had eleven servants, in total, including cooks and carriage drivers, and it did not take long for one of them to answer her and admit them. The sight of her ripped, grass-stained clothing no doubt came as a shock, and the man who answered her seemed to avert his eyes skyward at the sight. “Welcome home, Miss Curtis.”
Rosalie stepped inside, still holding Abigail’s hand, and looked about for signs of her aunt. She did not have to search hard, for a familiar voice from the stairwell assured her that Lady Lynch was most definitely at home.
“What is the meaning of this?” It was the first time Rosalie had heard her aunt piqued. In her own way, Lady Lynch was like a calm lake. She did not suffer her still waters to be easily disturbed. However, the sight of her niece in a ruined frock and in such unexplained company seemed to be enough to send a ripple out across the surface of her emotions.
Rosalie let go of Abigail’s hand and found herself instinctively placing herself between her aunt and the child. “Aunt, please do not be angry. I took a bad fall in the park, and this kind gentleman and his daughter gave me assistance in getting home.”
“Assistance, indeed?” Lady Lynch marched down the stairs sending out a large echo with every thunderous footfall. She held a closed fan in her right hand, which she brandished like some dagger in the direction of Mr Farrell. “I dare say my poor niece’s fall is in some ways your fault. Tell me straight and at once just what you did.”
“Aunt!” Rosalie could not believe the total transformation in the woman she had thought to be so cool-headed and collected. All of a sudden, it seemed very natural to her that Mr Farrell should have shown hesitation in coming inside. If this was the manner in which her aunt treated folks, it was a small wonder that she had any friends in the city at all. She glanced at Mr Farrell apologetically, noting that he showed no sign of defending himself. Instead, he took his daughter’s arm and seemed to be pulling her back towards the entrance. Abigail, sweet and innocent child that she was, simply seemed confused and upset to see her father shouted at.
“Please, Mr Farrell bears no blame at all for my fall. I was walking across... Rotten Row.” She struggled to remember the name Abigail had used for that stretch of path in the park. “I was confronted by two riders who charged recklessly down the road. They did not stop or slow for me, and I fell when trying to flee their path. On my honour, I did not even meet this kind gentleman and his daughter until I had sustained the bruises and cuts to my gown you see here. They have been most kind in helping me walk home on my bruised ankle.”
A long and awkward silence passed over the hallway. Abigail had slunk behind her father and now seemed positively terrified of stepping further into the house. Mr Farrell stood like some bulwark defending his daughter but also ready to receive any admonishment Lady Lynch chose to throw at him. Meanwhile, Lady Lynch continued to scowl at him, as though she were some protective guard dog staring down a robber. Even if Rosalie’s words had reached her, she seemed loath to give up her irritation and ire towards the man who stood in her home.
“Was that truly the way of it, Mr Farrell?”
That Lady Lynch knew the man’s name without introduction confirmed Rosalie’s suspicion that the two must be acquainted in some way. “Aunt, why would I lie about such a thing? If this man had harmed me in any way, do you really think I would take the trouble to invite him here?”
Lady Lynch’s clear blue eyes glanced away for a moment as she checked her emotions. It was only for a moment, though, and then her eyes were on Mr Farrell once more. “Well, you have delivered my niece safely home; you have my thanks for that. Now, I must ask you to be on your way. Or were you looking for some reward for your labours?”
Mr Farrell seemed to bristle at that, for the first time showing signs of being insulted. He did not make any attempt to assert himself, however, and merely nodded with clipped politeness to the Lady. “No reward necessary, Lady Lynch; I was happy to be of assistance.” Turning his attention to Rosalie, his countenance seemed to soften. He did not look her in the eyes, likely embarrassed by the reception he had received. “It was very good to meet you, Miss Curtis. I hope your foot heals quickly and you enjoy your stay in London.” With a deep breath, he bowed and began to guide Abigail out of the house. The blonde girl made no attempt at making a farewell. The poor creature looked confused and terrified in equal measure and seemed eager to flee the house.
As soon as father and daughter were out the door, Rosalie looked to her aunt with incredulity. She was not normally one to cause a scene, but she could not hold her tongue at her aunt’s seemingly disgraceful treatment of her rescuers. “What is wrong with you, Aunt Lynch? Those two people were most kind to me and deserve our gratitude for helping me as they did.” She could feel her breath coming in sharp bursts as her temper rose. Her fists clenched together, and she bit her lip as she tried to control herself. She could not do so, though. “I tell you, if you are not going to show them true gratitude for what they have done, I will do so myself.”
Gathering her skirts, Rosalie marched to the door, opened it wide, and stepped back out onto the street. She glanced in all directions until she saw the slowly retreating forms of Mr Farrell and Abigail and at once began to hobble after them. In a torn and dirtied dress of low quality and running in some distress, she must have looked thoroughly out of place on this most prestigious of streets. She did not care, though, what kind of exhibition she was making of herself. There were more important issues at stake than her own pride or her aunt’s.
“Mr Farrell, please wait!” Rosalie called out, gaining the man’s attention.
Abigail held her father’s hand tightly and seemed uncharacteristically shy as Rosalie approached. The sight of the young girl hiding behind her father’s legs moved Rosalie deeply. “Please, accept my most sincere apologies for my aunt. I can’t even begin to fathom what madness came over her for her to treat you in so deplorable a manner.”
“I am sure your aunt has her reasons,” Mr Farrell answered in a most ambiguous fashion. “You have nothing to reproach yourself for.”
Rosalie shook her head, vehemently refusing to accept the man’s forbearance on the matter. “No. Please, I must make it up to you both. I cannot bear to think that this is all the thanks you receive for having helped me.” She wracked her brain for some way she could show her appreciation. “Could I beg you to forget my aunt’s rudeness and meet me at noon in one of the tea houses tomorrow?” She could see the reluctance on Mr Farrell’s face and added, “I really must insist on this, sir. I do not wish to be left feeling guilty for having let you help me this day.”
Despite her plea, Rosalie felt the gentleman was about to refuse her. She could hardly blame him after the cold reception he had just endured. Still, Mr Farrell seemed to wrestle with the proposition and finally caved. “As long as it will not displease your aunt, we would be honoured to take tea with you, Miss Curtis.”
Rosalie ran her fingers nervously through her tangled hair. “I cannot say it will please her, but I am firm on this matter, and I assure you I will be having words with her about her abhorre
nt treatment of you before this day is done.”
Mr Farrell’s lips drew thin and he nodded. “Well, we shall wait for you at the entrance to Hyde Park tomorrow at midday. If you do not appear by half past the hour, I will assume your aunt had an objection to your stepping out with us.”
Rosalie could feel a fresh flush of embarrassment sweep over her face as the gentleman answered her. It was irksome to think that she might still end up disappointing the pair. “I promise you, she will not object.”
Mr Farrell nodded, but his face displayed no greater confidence in the planned meeting. “Well, for now, I suggest you get inside. You need to rest that ankle and find some new clothes. We shall look for you tomorrow.”
It was a cool and standoffish farewell, but Rosalie could hardly blame Mr Farrell for his caution. She tried to smile as she watched the two continue on their way. She was able to gain some small measure of relief to see Abigail turn around and offer a cautious wave as they went. Only when they had turned a corner and disappeared from sight did Rosalie allow herself to walk back to her home, where her aunt was waiting at the door with her arms crossed. She had barely made it to the front steps before Lady Lynch began to scold her.
“I had heard tell that you were meant to be the smart and cautious one of your sisters. Perhaps it was naive of me to trust your father’s judgement of character. Do you know how foolish you just looked running across the street as if the whole of London was on fire?”
Rosalie scowled at her aunt as she pushed past her into the house. Despite her wild and tattered appearance, she held herself with pride. “I would not have had to put on such a display if you had only been courteous to the man who was so helpful in escorting me home. I swear you frightened his poor daughter half to death!”
Lady Lynch closed the front door with an audible slam. “I am sure that creature is quite used to hearing her father attacked. Do not presume to lecture me on people you know nothing about. If you had spent any time in London’s upper strata, you would know Mr Farrell to be a man you should steer well clear of.”