by Rosie Wynter
Unsurprisingly, Mr Farrell made his farewells on the pavement, some doors from Lady Lynch’s home. Even Abigail, who had been clinging to Rosalie all day, seemed unwilling to follow her back to the house where her father had been shouted down but a day before.
“Will we be able to do this again?” The girl’s question was made to her father, but Mr Farrell did not answer. He looked to Rosalie instead.
Rosalie smiled at the girl and knelt down by her side. “I would love nothing more than to travel around the city with you some more. It would certainly provide me with all the exercise I need.” Her eyes moved up to Mr Farrell. He seemed pleased by her answer, which in turn made her wish all the more that he might agree to another meeting. Still, she had to be cautious. “Perhaps your father could give me your address, and I could write to you when I am next available to take a turn through the parks with you?”
Abigail looked back up to her father. Rosalie hoped that the man’s nod of approval was not made purely for the sake of his daughter. “We are on 34 Harley Street. It is only ten minutes’ walk from here.”
Rosalie had heard of the street before. Harley Street had been mentioned more than a few times by Mrs Curtis as a desirable street, on which resided young men of fortune. It was also, apparently, the address of several notable doctors and artists. It was ironic that the first man she connected with, who lived at a respectable address, would be a man her aunt disapproved of and who was likely already married.
“I shall hope to see you at your home very soon,” Rosalie promised. She was directing her gaze completely to Abigail, but her words were meant for them both and for herself as well.
Finally, Rosalie was forced to return her aunt. There was only so long she could spend standing in the square with Mr Farrell and his daughter, putting off the inevitable. She returned to her aunt with reluctance, almost disappointed to think of what was to come once she entered through those doors. Soon enough, she would know whatever secrets and gossip Lady Lynch knew about the gentleman. After that, Rosalie knew her opinion of Mr Farrell would be irrevocably changed. She wanted to believe it otherwise. She would have been glad to believe that what objections her aunt had to the man would prove to be trivial. However, her aunt did not strike her as the type of person given to obsessing over small matters. Whatever she knew of Mr Farrell, it had to be sensational and likely not pleasant for her to hear.
Lady Lynch was in the library when Rosalie returned home. Rather than try to avoid her aunt, Rosalie went straight to her, asking one of the servants to send them some tea. She imagined the conversation between them would last a while, and she wanted the exchange to be as cordial as possible. When she came to the library, she actually knocked on the door, rather than going straight inside. She took a deep breath, letting it out in disappointment when she heard a laugh coming from within.
“Really? Are we going to discuss your time with Mr Farrell so formally? Are you by chance planning to admonish me for having suggested he was lacking in honour?”
Rosalie shook her head and opened the door wide, walking in at a brisk pace and sitting down in a chair by her aunt’s side. Lady Lynch held an amused look on her face that Rosalie was fast beginning to despise. “It is a habit for guests to knock before entering a room is it not? You could have been writing a private letter or maybe...”
“You were seeking to add some pomp to this little conversation we are about to have, when really I want you to think of this more as simple gossip between friends.” Lady Lynch’s smile remained on her face, making her look quite wicked in her own way. It would be far too big a stretch to call the woman evil, but she did seem to delight in moments such as this in a way that Rosalie did not like or agree with.
“Well, I have called for some tea so we might talk properly. I have been out with Mr Farrell, as I said I would do. Now, you owe me a full account of exactly why you disapprove of him so.” Rosalie remained focused on business. She would not let this descend into simple gossip as her aunt so hoped.
“Really? Do you not want to tell me all about your outing, first?” Lady Lynch seemed surprised, even disappointed, by this. She puffed out her cheeks and stared morosely at her lap. “My, you are as serious as your sister warned.”
“I just do not want the focus of this conversation to be lost. If you will tell me all you know of Mr Farrell now, I will gladly tell you every detail of our walk through the city in return.” Rosalie felt she needed to offer this as an exchange. She did not fully trust her aunt to honour her promise to reveal all she knew of Mr Farrell without having some kind of incentive to do so. It might have been a ridiculous fear, but it was just the impression she had of the woman.
Lady Lynch raised an eyebrow. “Tit-for-tat.” Her chest puffed out then as she reached over and took her niece’s hand. “I am very proud of you, my dear. You are already beginning to learn the importance of information and equivalent exchange. It will serve you well in getting ahead in this city.”
Rosalie did not know how she felt to be so complimented. It was not a trait she felt worthy of praise or even something to be encouraged. Still, she would not make that argument with her aunt now. “So, you will tell me what you know?”
“As if I would disappoint you. Though I do fear Mr Farrell’s story will not be to your liking.”
Rosalie settled back into her chair, saying nothing more as she waited for her aunt to tell her the gentleman’s past.
“Mr Farrell is the son of a very respectable doctor. Old Dr. Farrell was known as the doctor for the peerage. During the London season, Mr Farrell’s father was the one physician the dukes and earls would call on when in need. I recall that Dr. Farrell was even requested to attend the King on occasion. What drew people to him, aside from his excellent medical knowledge, was his manner. You could not hope to know a more genuine and caring man. When you were his patient, it was obvious that you were the centre of his world. You could not imagine yourself in safer hands, and you knew that his interest in you extended beyond the desire to be paid for his time.”
Rosalie frowned a little as her aunt began her tale. “It sounds to me like you are speaking from experience. Were you ever a patient of the doctor?”
In that moment, a new emotion seemed to light on Lady Lynch’s face. As a woman of such composure and frivolity, the look of sadness that played across her face, the way her vitality seemed to quietly leave her, was quite heart-breaking to witness, and Rosalie almost wished she had not made the inquiry. Nevertheless, her aunt continued, heaving a sigh as she forged on.
“I was never a patient of the good doctor. My own dear departed husband, however… he was. Dr. Farrell did his very best for my dear George. He exhausted himself trying to find a cure for the cancers that claimed him. When he could not cure him, he made every effort to make his last months and days as painless as he could.”
As Lady Lynch took a much-needed breath, tea was brought in. It was a welcome and necessary interruption, allowing the woman to find her composure once more. As soon as she had her tea in her hand and had taken a needful sip, she was ready to continue once more.
“You could not find a man more dedicated to his patients than old Dr. Farrell. He became one of the richest physicians in the entire country and was frequently gifted things beyond money for the miracles he performed. His son, Peter, was not so well known. He showed no interest in entering his father’s line of work, but became entangled, at a rather young age, with business dealings in the Americas. I forget the particulars, but the man made a few very wise investments and bought a few very important mills and plantations abroad, which now earn him a very handsome income indeed. Even with his father being one of the wealthiest physicians in the country, it did not take long for his son to surpass him in fortune.”
Rosalie was astonished. To think that the man could be so accomplished and wealthy at his age without relying on his inheritance was certainly impressive. Lady Lynch, however, was now wearing a scowl as her story moved away from the man�
��s noble father.
“As befits all young men of large fortune and tolerable looks, young Peter Farrell was the toast of the London elite and the object of many a young woman’s desire. The way he was headed, he was certain to receive honours from the King in due course, and it was not long before he found himself a place in the affections of Lady Georgiana Hargrave, the daughter of the Earl of Peterborough. Their relationship was something that was kindled in a slow brazier. Despite Lady Hargrave’s natural beauty and fine breeding, Mr Farrell seemed intent on keeping her waiting, for some time, for a proposal. Still, knowing how respectable a gentleman Dr. Farrell was, no one could believe his son to be in any way dishonest or a rogue. Everyone assumed he was taking his time to examine his feelings properly and to ensure his proposal was made after a correct period of knowing the lady.”
“But am I to take it that something happened to change all that?” Rosalie found her chest tightening as they seemed to be arriving at the crux of the matter.
Lady Lynch pursed her lips and nodded. Despite what Rosalie had thought, her aunt seemed to display no joy in relating the case of Mr Farrell, now that she had started it. Perhaps being forced to bring up the memory of her own husband had soured her mood. “As you are a girl who appreciates things spoken plainly, I will give you just the facts of what happened next, before weaving in what is largely rumour and conjecture.”
“Please do,” Rosalie encouraged.
“During the spring of 1805, seven years ago, Mr Farrell made a journey to Lady Hargrave’s house, a journey that was noted and recorded by her neighbours. There were ugly reports of shouting, and witnesses saw the man forcefully ejected from the property by Earl Hargrave himself. Neither young Peter nor his father could be drawn to speak on the matters discussed that day, but the Hargraves have never shied away from speaking of it whenever an opportunity arises.”
Lady Lynch took another sip of her tea before revealing the final secret.
“Mr Farrell had gone to the Hargrave’s home to admit to a romantic scandal he had been embroiled in and which had led to the birth of an infant girl. He had been insistent that the girl was his own daughter and that he had been sure to legitimise her by a marriage to a mother no one had seen or heard of before. Whatever else the woman was, she was likely of very low birth and not the sort of person a man such as he should have been fraternising with. What made the matter all the more shameful was the obvious realisation that the cad must have been in relations with this other woman during the long period he had been courting Lady Hargrave.”
Rosalie had a lump in her throat, and she had to swallow back the entire contents of her cup to dislodge it. She had known from the first that her aunt’s tale would not make for pretty listening, but she had not imagined something quite so dire. “So the man was exposed as a cheat. Can anyone say for certain if the child was conceived out of wedlock? Could Mr Farrell perhaps have always intended to marry this serving girl, who bore his daughter?”
Lady Lynch gave her niece a derisive look. “I know you wish to think well of the man for the kindness he has shown you, but don’t sully my good opinion of your intelligence by saying such ridiculous things.” She ran her finger over the rim of her cup before continuing. “Young Mr Farrell never brought the child’s mother up to town, and no one has ever seen or heard anything of her. Her name does appear in parish records that prove the union and the legitimacy of Mr Farrell’s young daughter. But, beyond that… it is as if the woman never even existed. The records indicate she died very shortly after her wedding to Mr Farrell, within a few short months.”
“Do you think perhaps she died in childbirth?”
“That is the official line,” Lady Lynch said. “Still, many believe the woman to be alive and kept in seclusion somewhere in the country. Mr Farrell has been known to make many secretive outings into the eastern parts of England from time to time, even though he has no roots or business connections in those counties. There were also irregularities with the recording of the woman’s death. Though it is marked in the register of the same parish in which they were married, no one recalls ever seeing the body, or can point to a grave site for the woman.”
Rosalie shook her head. “Why would Mr Farrell invent such a death though? Surely it would have been better to simply honour the marriage agreement he had made with that poor girl?”
Lady Lynch offered a sympathetic smile. “Oh, if only men were so decent a species as you believe them to be. Remember, dear, by having his wife’s death recorded, he is now free to marry again. It seems quite obvious, by the fact that he never speaks of the woman, that she meant nothing to him. I reckon he was hoping his fortune would prevail on some more eligible lady to take his hand after the unfortunate fracas he was embroiled in. Even if Lady Georgiana had rejected him, there were plenty of women who might have been willing to bear the title of ‘Second Wife’ to such a man. Women can be very willing to overlook a man’s misdeeds if his coin purse is big enough.”
“Did he find such a wife for himself?” Rosalie surprised herself as she asked this question. Despite all she had heard of the man’s misdeeds, she was still strangely eager to know if he was single or not.
Lady Lynch’s face turned severe now, and she stared at her niece intently. “No woman has tried to claim the gentleman since then, and no one with any sense ever shall. Earl Hargrave and his family have been engaged in a long and protracted war with the Farrells ever since young Peter so embarrassed them and broke the heart of their daughter. By the end of his life, through no fault of his own, Dr. Farrell had lost the good opinion and patronage of all those families that used to speak so highly of him. Meanwhile, Peter Farrell found his business ventures in England fall on hard times as people refused to do business with him or invest in his ventures.”
Rosalie nodded. She was by now leaning very far forward in her seat as she listened. “But the man still holds a house in Harley Street, and does not seem impoverished at all.”
“That is the good fortune of having so much of his business concerns tied up in the Americas. None in that country care what extramarital hijinks the man committed in England. Honestly, it is a wonder to many that Mr Farrell even chooses to remain in London at all. He is a black spot on this city and unwanted in any social gathering. I sometimes wonder if he remains out of sheer stubborn bitterness. Better by far he takes his daughter out to the New World and finds a wife and fresh start for himself there.”
Rosalie wanted to say something in the man’s defence, but she could not. Her aunt was infinitely the superior when it came to knowing the facts of Mr Farrell’s case. What difference would it make to declare that she had had a most pleasing afternoon in his company and thought him a perfect gentleman throughout? After all, cads and rogues of all stripes often had the ability to put on charm and sophistication in their efforts to garner favour from unwary women.
“Well then, Rosalie.” Lady Lynch’s voice suddenly perked up considerably as she poured herself a fresh cup of tea. “I have told you the whole ignoble tale of your Mr Farrell. Now I will have the entire account of what you did with him today.”
Rosalie’s body slumped. She had no wish at all to recall the afternoon verbatim. It was a meeting she was now eager to forget in light of the new information she had received.
CHAPTER 11
Discovering the stain that marred Peter Farrell’s name was a disappointment that changed Rosalie’s entire outlook on her business in London. In some subtle way, the discovery that a man she had deemed so honourable could have such a sordid past had disillusioned her about finding a truly good man for a husband. Certainly, Rosalie could not trust her own judgement and intuition when it came to the character of men in the city. This thought brought with it a change in attitude to her own Aunt Lynch. She no longer questioned and scrutinised the lady’s decisions and promptings and began to obey her commands like a marionette. Lady Lynch held Rosalie’s strings, and Rosalie found it no hardship now to let herself be pulled about an
d made to dance to her aunt’s tune.
Over the course of a week, a collection of boxes was delivered to Lady Lynch’s door, each one containing items for Rosalie’s new wardrobe. The tailors had evidently worked hard to have the first batch of dresses ready in a hurry, and Rosalie found herself in possession of a good selection of clothes for various social occasions. The gowns were all gorgeous and made with the kind of care and attention to detail that Grace would have killed for. There were dresses of white muslin overlaid with patterned black bobbin lace. Other gowns employed rich taffeta on the sleeves to create puffed out crinkled rolls, and others still came with enchanting silken chokers to be worn about the neck. Even the more conservative morning and walking dresses were of a style and richness far beyond anything Rosalie had worn in her lifetime. In an assembly at the town hall in Bradford-on-Avon, Rosalie fancied she could wear even the meanest of the morning dresses bought for her by her aunt and still garner compliments from the ladies of her hometown.
Rosalie found only one thing objectionable when trying on her new outfits. As she had feared, the cut of the dresses about her chest were all made to that bold London style that seemed to demand the exposing of flesh. There were, Rosalie was certain, women who wore dresses even more revealing and scandalous than she was now parading in, but that did not make her feel any less self-conscious as she stood in front of the mirror, trying to pull the fabric of her dress up to cover just a little more of her cleavage.
“Come now, Rosalie, I cannot have you dawdling forever in your room!”
Lady Lynch’s voice rose imperiously from the hallway stairs, and Rosalie let out a frustrated groan as she looked herself over once more. She was wearing a curious dress that was somewhere between formal eveningwear and a day dress. It was the kind of gown that implied casualness and a lack of effort, while still presenting a refined figure. Once again, though, the cut of the dress about her cleavage was not to her liking. She smoothed out the cream-coloured cloth and then lifted the dress one last time before checking her hair was properly pinned in place. She took but a moment, not wishing to keep her aunt waiting.