The Marquess’s Hand_A Regency Romance Novel

by Rosie Wynter

  “Well, I have begged that man to take tea with me tomorrow to show my gratitude for the help he gave me today and to apologise for your treatment of him. So, if you have some grave objection to my associating with the man, I suggest you share your reservations now.”

  Both women gazed at each other in challenge, their faces very much alike when irritated. Lady Lynch, however, did not outlast her niece in displaying her irritation. As though suddenly deciding the effort of being angry was too much for her, the woman shrugged her shoulders and once more adopted that easy placidity she wore in general conversation. “No, I will not stop you from making your own mistakes. It is only through making mistakes that we grow. If nothing else, I should be pleased to see you have a definite backbone. I had worried part of your inability to gain a man came from some spinelessness or lack of conviction in your way. By all means, go and take tea with that man. I will be sure to pick up the pieces afterward.”

  Rosalie found herself quite outmanoeuvred by her aunt’s tactical retreat. She had expected more of a fight from her and even thought she might be forbidden from going out to meet Mr Farrell. Now that she was free to “make mistakes”, Rosalie felt suddenly vulnerable and had to force herself to maintain her nerve. “Well then, if we are done with this matter, I must change. I hope some of those clothes you ordered will be ready soon, now that my wardrobe has been reduced to only two items of dress.”

  As if no cross words had been spoken at all, Lady Lynch smiled with pride. “I have already seen to it all. A delivery of dresses will be brought to the house tomorrow morning. They represent the store’s stock of readymade clothing and are being altered tonight to your size. They will serve as a makeshift wardrobe until your actual dresses are made up by the tailors.”

  CHAPTER 9

  That night, Rosalie found sleep hard to come by. Despite having made a resolute promise to take tea with Mr Farrell and Abigail, Rosalie could not help but doubt herself and her decision. The gentleman had shown her great kindness in walking her home after her terrifying incident in the park, but it did not follow that he was honourable in all his dealings in life. As much as she did not wish to think ill of the man, Rosalie could not help but wonder how wise she had been in dismissing, out of hand, her aunt’s distrustful attitude toward him. Such a strong dislike had to stem from some foreknowledge of the gentleman, and Rosalie wondered what facts of the man’s past or nature she was not aware of.

  For her part, Lady Lynch had proven intractable when it came to giving any advice. Having once decided to let her niece make her own mistakes, she had held a stubborn silence on all matters regarding Mr Farrell. She did not speak his name at dinner or mention Rosalie’s meeting with him the next day. Instead, Lady Lynch had spoken a great deal on the clothes she had sourced for her and of the social engagements they would soon be attending, which would prove so useful for finding Rosalie a suitable husband.

  This attitude continued into the next day. At breakfast, Lady Lynch continued to talk amicably and animatedly on a variety of topics, not seeming at all bothered by the approaching hour of twelve. Rosalie wished she could mirror her aunt’s self-assured calm. She had more to lose in going out alone to meet Mr Farrell, however, so perhaps it was only natural her nervousness should be greater than her aunt’s. Lady Lynch, after all, was not the one being put at immediate risk.

  “Aunt...” Rosalie sighed and held off speaking a moment longer. They had been sitting in silence, in the drawing room, for some time now. She was certain Lady Lynch was forcing the silence to unsettle her and to play on Rosalie’s already fraught nerves. Even as she broke the quiet, she noted the slightly smug smile that spread on her aunt’s face.

  “Yes, dear, what is it?” Lady Lynch put down the book she was reading and gave her niece her full attention. “I suppose it must be time for you to think about getting ready to attend your social engagements of the day.”

  Rosalie would not let her aunt’s superior manner bother her. She had more important matters on her mind. She tried to remain humble and contrite, looking into her lap as she twirled her thumbs. “Is there some reason you do not want me to meet with Mr Farrell and his daughter today? I... I fear my pride let me dismiss your cautions yesterday, without giving you time to justify or explain yourself. It is obvious you have a great dislike of the man, and I would beg you to tell me just why I shouldn’t meet with him.”

  Lady Lynch took a deep breath and reclined in her chair. She took her time before speaking. It was possible she was searching for just the right words to say, but Rosalie thought it more likely that her aunt was simply savouring the moment. “Well, it is not much of an apology, but I will accept it.” She put her hands together, wrapping her fingers around each other as she regarded Rosalie. From the way her aunt looked at her, Rosalie felt as though she was some puzzle her aunt was looking to unravel. “I must disappoint you for now and refuse outright to give any further details about that man, beyond what you know already.”

  Rosalie’s eyes widened. It was not the answer she had expected, and her aunt’s queer attitude fed her frustration. “Is this some trick to fluster me, Aunt? Do you hope to prevent me from meeting with the man by hanging a sense of uncertainty over my head?”

  Lady Lynch continued to wear the unreadable expression that Rosalie was learning, moment by moment, to despise. Her own mother was an open book, and she wondered how this sister of hers could have learned to be so artful in her expression or lack thereof. “I have told you, already, I think it is important you have time to make some mistakes of your own. No one learned to dance by watching coyly from the walls of the ballroom. You need to make a few missteps.”

  “Do you believe my meeting Mr Farrell to be such a misstep?” Rosalie could feel a headache coming on as she tried to pierce through her aunt’s riddles.

  “I told you, I have nothing more to say on the matter.” Lady Lynch picked up her book once more and began to search for her page. It was obvious, however, that she had no expectation of returning to reading.

  “If I were to arrange further meetings with the man, after today, you would continue to withhold what you know about him and his family, then, too?”

  Her aunt’s right eyebrow arched artfully. “Not at all. I am willing to let you make missteps when learning the social dance that is London, but I will correct you after making them. One way or the other, I will tell you all I know of Mr Farrell in due course. Just when that will be is up to you.”

  “What do you mean?” Rosalie asked exasperatedly.

  “I mean you have yet to decide if you are meeting with Mr Farrell or not. If you remain here at home, I will tell you all I know of the gentleman at midday. If, however, you go out and meet with him for tea as you have promised, you will not hear any of what I know of him until this evening.”

  Rosalie shook her head. She felt like she was dealing with a child intent on playing a game. Deciding not to let herself be intimidated or tricked, she rose to her feet. “I should get ready to go out then. I need to decide which of those walking dresses, delivered, will look best on me.”

  “There was a fetching blue one that will look very well on you in the sunshine.” Lady Lynch did not seem at all perturbed by Rosalie’s decision to see her plan through. Somehow though, this came as no consolation to her. She desperately wanted her aunt to give some sign that would clearly tell her which path was the correct one.

  At half-past eleven, Rosalie stepped out of her aunt’s door, clad in a mint green morning dress that was very cool to wear and would not be unbearable to endure during the heat of the day. Her aunt was not wrong to suggest the blue walking dress. It was a perfectly charming item. Still, in her present mood, Rosalie disliked being seen to take her aunt’s advice and had chosen the mint dress as an act of stubborn rebellion.

  Rather than dally on the square or take her time in walking to the agreed meeting spot on Hyde Park Corner, Rosalie moved with great purpose and speed. She did not run, but she looked for all the world
as if she were in a hurry. She had decided that it was important to arrive at the meeting spot ahead of Mr Farrell and Abigail. She did not like the idea of keeping them waiting, especially when Mr Farrell likely did not expect her to honour their meeting in the first place. Moreover, walking at speed to the meeting spot helped reduce the time she had to change her mind and course. Rosalie still felt pangs of doubt about meeting the man for this second time, and she did not wish to torture herself by halting and second-guessing herself on her way. She was out of the house, and she did not wish to look a fool now by changing her course and returning home. Such a thing would make her appear weak and too easily led by her aunt’s games.

  As she came to the entrance to the royal park, Rosalie was surprised to find her company already waiting for her. Mr Farrell stood dressed in a smart grey suit with gold-brocaded waistcoat, and Abigail wore a cream dress with red sash, her thick blonde curls suffered to remain loose. By the way the girl hopped and skipped about, her head turning every which way, Rosalie could guess that it was Abigail who had forced them to arrive so early at their meeting spot. She smiled to think that she had made such an impression on the girl. Still, one thing more had caught her notice as she watched Mr Farrell unobserved. Once again, he was out without his wife. She had not given Abigail’s mother much thought the previous day. Now, though, as she watched the pair waiting so patiently for her, she had to wonder just where Mrs Farrell could be.

  Rumination was pointless, and Rosalie resolved not to leave Mr Farrell waiting for her any longer than necessary. Crossing to the corner, she waved cheerfully to Abigail. In her last moment of privacy, she promised herself that she would not let herself be fearful during this meeting, nor try to overanalyse the gentleman and his daughter. If there were truly some reason why she should avoid them, she was certain it would reveal itself through the natural flow of conversation.

  “Miss Curtis, you are early.” Mr Farrell sounded impressed as he greeted her. It was more than likely her appearing at all that impressed him, rather than any punctuality she showed.

  Rosalie smiled and bent down to address Abigail. “Well, I did not want to leave you waiting for me. That would be very bad manners.”

  Abigail nodded and immediately took Rosalie’s hand in hers. “Are we to go for tea now?”

  Rosalie drew up to her full height and smiled at Mr Farrell. “Yes, I think so. Perhaps, sir, you can recommend a place? I am still not very well acquainted with this side of the city and would not know where to go for anything.”

  Mr Farrell seemed to have recovered from the surprise of seeing Rosalie make good on her promise, and he returned her smile. He looked about him for a moment then offered her an arm as they set out. “I know a charming and rather private little establishment not too far from here. It is perhaps not to the tastes of the most refined personages in London, but you are always sure to find a table, and the prices are reasonable.”

  Rosalie rather liked the gentleman’s practicality and let herself be led onward.

  The trio enjoyed a pleasant walk through close but pretty side streets and soon found the particular tea house Mr Farrell favoured. It stood on the corner of the street near a row of other shops. It was a comfortable enough space to enjoy tea, with cushioned seats and pleasant views from the windows. Abigail had been very quick to drink her own beverage before begging to go out onto the street and play with a group of other children she had spied. Mr Farrell gave in easily to his daughter’s request, giving only the proviso that she remain in his sight from the windows at all times. Rosalie had watched with amusement as Abigail charged out of the establishment to join the other children, looking back to the window once to wave at them.

  “Your daughter is a most precious creature,” Rosalie complimented. “She reminds me very much of my younger sister, Grace, when she was that age.”

  Mr Farrell’s eyes were all to his daughter. “She is the greatest treasure and my proudest accomplishment in this life.”

  Rosalie’s eyes strayed from the golden-haired girl at play to study the man. Once more, her thoughts turned to the gentleman’s wife. Looking at his black hair and brown eyes, Rosalie could only assume Abigail took her looks from her mother’s side.

  “So, tell me, Miss Curtis, what exactly brings you up to London at so unusual a time of year? It is not common for people to make visits in the summer heat when the call of the country is so enticing.”

  Mr Farrell’s question had come before she had a chance to find out any of the facts she wished to learn about him. Still, she did not let herself become discouraged. It was quite flattering to have the gentleman show her so much interest.

  “In truth, I am here in London in search of a husband... Or that is at least my aunt and family’s intention.” It was most certainly poor manners to so openly admit her true reason for being in the city. Though it was always assumed that a single woman travelling to London was in search of a husband, it was never proper for the woman to admit to it.

  If Mr Farrell cared about such niceties of etiquette, he did not let it show on his face. His warm brown eyes rested on her, and he sipped a little more of his tea. “Your family have chosen entirely the wrong season for such a venture. All the richest and best men in England will now be dispersed across the country enjoying shooting and picnics and innocent frivolities on their estates.”

  Rosalie nodded and shrugged her shoulder. “I know it seems like a foolish endeavour. I, for one, did not believe in the enterprise either. Still, my aunt is very insistent that she knows best in these matters and holds that now is apparently the best time for procuring the interest of young men in search of a wife.”

  “Your family seems to place a good deal of confidence in your aunt’s opinion on such things,” Mr Farrell observed.

  “Well, she was able to win over the heart of a duke, in her time. If that does not give her some authority on such matters, I don’t know what else could.”

  Mr Farrell’s lips curled upwards in amusement, and his eyes seemed to study her more intently. “So, you are looking for a duke for yourself, then?”

  Rosalie laughed and shook her head. “Not at all. My aunt may have been so lucky, but I have neither her looks nor her artful manner in conversation and social etiquette.” She lifted her cup and took another sip. The tea was good.

  Mr Farrell tapped the table top twice with his index finger. His eyes continued to study Rosalie with interest, but she felt no fear or discomfort from his gaze. She could tell that the man was just trying to figure her out and was not looking at her with any kind of lust or unwanted designs. Why would he, after all? “Well, I cannot possibly make an informed comment on your chances. I do not make it a point to study the comings and goings of gentlemen in London. Still, I wish you luck in your search if a marriage is what you hope to find here.”

  Rosalie ran her fingers through her hair, brushing the loose curl of brown hair that framed her ear. “I never said it was my intention to find a husband, just my family’s fondest wish. However, if London still holds men, such as yourself, within her city limits, perhaps my chances of finding happiness are not as low as they might seem.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Rosalie blushed. She had not meant her compliment to sound quite as it had. It struck her that the remark was overly flirtatious in its own way, and her grey-blue eyes glanced nervously at Mr Farrell, as she noticed him shift uncomfortably in his chair.

  “You are very kind, Miss Curtis, but I am nothing special. I am merely a trader looking to provide the best for my daughter.” Mr Farrell took the teapot and busied himself by pouring more into both their cups.

  Though she had already set the conversation on uneven ground, Rosalie found her natural curiosity getting the better of her. She felt certain that her next question could only add to the tension between them. Even so, she was unable to prevent herself from asking it. “Pray, what kind of woman is your lady wife? Whenever I glance at Abigail, I am given to wondering if she takes more after her than
you in looks.”

  Mr Farrell took a deep breath, and his back stiffened visibly in his chair. When he answered her, he did so without looking directly at her. Instead, he looked down into his cup. “Abigail has her mother’s face, no question about that. There is very little of me to be found in her, except in the lessons and character I have tried to instill in her.”

  It was a cryptic answer indeed. What Rosalie noticed most was the way in which Mr Farrell failed to address the woman as his wife. The lady was assigned the title of Abigail’s mother. Other than this, he seemed entirely unwilling to give any information about her. Could it be his marriage was not one of happiness? Perhaps his reluctance to talk of the woman bespoke something darker in his personality, a clue to the distrust Lady Lynch showed him. She assigned such thoughts to the back of her mind, to be addressed when she returned home.

  CHAPTER 10

  By the time Rosalie was returned to her aunt’s door, the sun was only starting to sink in the sky. On these long summer days, it was hard to judge just how long she had been out, but the faint sound of bells suggested the hour to be near five when they finally stepped back into Grosvenor Square. The time had gone in a pleasant blur, the majority of the afternoon comprised of being led through a bewildering maze of streets by Abigail and stopping every so often to visit the young girl’s favourite shops. It was a punishing tour on the feet, but Rosalie was happy to suffer a few blisters on her toes. The only regret she had from the expedition was that she had not had opportunity to speak as often with Abigail’s father as she would have liked. The man held her fascination, and she dearly wished to know more of him. It was not just that she wanted to fathom why Mr Farrell was so reviled by her aunt. She found him to be pleasant company and felt more at ease walking by his side than she had with any man she had met in the past. It was almost a shame to reflect that he was married.