by Rosie Wynter
“Yes, it is the most important thing in the world,” Rosalie insisted.
The man smiled and shook his head. “Well, in that case, it would be wrong of me to take your money over it. Let me get someone to fetch the gentleman. Can you give me your name so he knows who is running after him in such a stirring fashion?”
Rosalie ignored his little joke, unable to find anything humorous in the situation. “My name is Rosalie Curtis. I’m sure if you tell him that, he will want to see me.”
The sailor chuckled. “So long as you aren’t his missus that he’s running away from.”
“Nothing of the sort,” Rosalie declared.
The man simply laughed again.
For a few agitating and fretful minutes, Rosalie was forced to wait on the shore for someone to give her leave to come aboard. She understood that if Farrell did not wish to see her, she would be denied access, and she prayed that his stubborn belief that she would be better off without him would not cause him to reject her now.
As she paced back and forth, her eyes noticed a figure come to the side of the ship and lean down over the railings to look at her. It was Mr Farrell, and Rosalie breathed a sigh of relief to see him. She looked at once to the man who had restrained her, but he appeared to have lost all interest in her as she seemed permitted to go aboard. Picking up her skirts, Rosalie ran noisily up the gangplank and onto the vessel. She stumbled with her footing as she came onto the deck, but that hardly slowed her at all as she ran straight into Peter’s arms. She did not care, at that moment, that he would have no understanding of how she had come to be there; nor did she want to give any kind of explanation. All she wanted was to feel her arms wrapped around him and to know that she had reached him in time. She clung to him tightly, as though the act of holding him would be sufficient to ensure that he could not leave her.
To Rosalie’s great relief, Peter Farrell made no attempt to reject her. After a moment of bewildered confusion, which seemed to leave him paralysed, he returned her embrace. He put his arms about her and rubbed his hands up and down her back soothingly. Rosalie began to cry from a mixture of sheer relief, happiness and still a lot of fear.
“What on earth are you doing here?” Peter whispered in her ear. “Do you have any idea what you risk by seeing me off like this and so publicly? Your fiancé -”
“Lord Wareham is not my concern any longer,” Rosalie declared firmly. Though she wanted very much to remain in Peter’s arms, she withdrew and looked at him with a steadfast expression. “I cannot marry that man, any more than I could anyone else on this earth. I am in love with you, Peter Farrell, and I’m willing to accept any judgement or reprisal others may throw at me in order to be by your side.”
Peter looked about at the sailors, many of whom had stopped their work and were listening intently to their conversation. “Rosalie, I am about to sail to America. I can’t stay here in London anymore, and Abigail deserves the chance to grow up in a place where she won’t be snubbed for being kin to me.”
Rosalie sniffed as her emotions threatened once again to overtake her. She put her hands around his and smiled at him warmly and lovingly. “I know that Peter,” she replied. “I know how much you will do for Abigail, and… I know now all that you have done for her in the past.” She studied his confused expression and summoned up the courage to tell him the truth. “Please do not judge me harshly for having done this. I found Harriet Donne, and I learned from her the whole business that you have kept hidden all these years and which you refused to tell me for my own sake.”
Peter’s eyes widened, and he looked about furtively as though worried that some unseen party could be listening in. He then closed the distance between them and spoke in a whisper. “Harriet? How did you find her? What did she say to you?”
“She only told me what I needed to know in order to make the right choice for my happiness. Please do not be angry with me for having sought her out. I promise you, unreservedly, that I will not speak a word of what I know of your past to anyone. I know why you are willing to bear the rumours spoken against you: it is to ensure that Abigail has the advantage of being seen by the world as a legitimate child. It is a wonderful thing you are doing for her, and I will not try to interfere with that noble enterprise.”
“Then you know now why we cannot possibly be together. It is one thing for me to ensure Abigail has all the advantages in life that I can give her, but it is quite another for me to ask you to suffer the same fate as I.” Peter looked at Rosalie sadly, heaving a sigh and clearly expecting these words to be words of parting.
Rosalie cupped the man’s cheek in her palm, gently pulling his face close to her so that she could kiss his lips. Unlike the last time they had almost kissed, Peter did nothing to resist her.
Rosalie closed her eyes as their lips met. It was the most wonderful kiss. Better than anything she had ever felt or imagined! His lips were soft, and Rosalie’s senses failed her. She felt her knees weaken, hardly caring as she felt Peter’s arms supporting her. The kiss was full of finesse and fiery intensity and carried much more promise than those few kisses Rosalie had shared with Lord Wareham. With Peter, Rosalie could feel true passion. She was everything to him, and the kiss communicated that adoration and devotion. Rosalie felt Peter’s hand run through her hair, then caress the nape of her neck. The other hand pulled her closer to him, the press of his body against hers promising safety and comfort. This moment with Peter was better by far than any sensation Rosalie had ever felt. She felt whole and perfect.
Even the boorish cheers of the ship’s crew around them did nothing to spoil it. Rosalie barely paid them any heed when, at last, she drew away just a few centimetres and whispered to him. “Peter, do you not see? You do not need to ask me to do anything. I am here because I want to be, and I’m choosing to spend my life with you because it is what I want more than anything. If that life is to be in the Americas, then so be it. If loving you as a husband means loving Abigail as my own daughter, I readily and fully commit myself to that, too. You are not asking or forcing me to do anything. I have made my choices myself, and I have burned my bridges with Lord Wareham. Please, do not send me away now in the belief that I will find a better man than you elsewhere.”
Peter took a breath and glanced over the rails at the sights of London. His eyes then drifted back to Rosalie, and a smile spread across his features. “You have nothing at all on you. You will need clothes, at the very least, for the journey.”
Rosalie put her hands over her mouth as she let out an involuntary cry of pure joy. “Does this mean… Are you are allowing me to come with you? Are you asking me…?”
“Yes. Rosalie Curtis, I am asking you to come away with me to America and to be my wife. If you will have me, I know I will have been blessed beyond all reason.” Peter took her hands in his, gripping them tightly as he bent down on one knee in the traditional manner.
This proposal was every bit as public as the one that Lord Wareham had made to her, but Rosalie did not seem to notice or care about any of the people who watched her now. The only person in the world who seemed to exist on that boat was Peter himself, and she unashamedly collapsed to her knees and wound her arms about him once more, as she kissed his lips over and over in answer.
A chorus of cheers and whistles erupted from the entertained crew before a shriller and more excited voice called out above the noise. “Rosalie!” Abigail, who must have been waiting in one of the cabins, appeared now before them, her face erupting in delight at the sight of her father and Rosalie together. She seemed more than approving of the situation as she ran into their arms, the three of them embracing each other tightly.
Who knew how long a time passed? However, as the bell tolled the hour of ten, Peter seemed to regain some of his senses and looked to the two most precious women in his life with new conviction. “Abigail, Rosalie is going to come with us to America and be your new mother. You know you are the most precious thing in my life, and I need to know that you will b
e happy with this.”
“Of course I am happy!” Abigail giggled. “Rosalie, I promise I’ll be a good daughter for you.”
Rosalie stroked the girl’s hair as Abigail clung naturally to her dress, as easily as if they had known each other for years, as easily as though they were flesh and blood. “I know you are already the best daughter in the world,” she assured her.
Peter’s chest puffed out with pride, and he looked at his daughter seriously. “If you wish to be a very good daughter to your new mother, then take Rosalie to our cabin. I need to have a word with the captain and see if there is any chance that we can source some clothes from a nearby tailor before this ship sails.”
Rosalie and Abigail both watched as Mr Farrell stepped away and immediately began making the arrangements for Rosalie’s passage with them. As with all things he did, he moved with great purpose and conviction, wanting nothing else but the happiness of his daughter and his new fiancé. Although Rosalie reflected that she should have been in some small measure scared by the prospect of what she was about to do, she found herself at peace and content. She did not know what life in the Americas would hold for her, nor the reactions she would receive from her parents regarding this inexplicable and sudden move. Still, she knew her heart, and she knew without fear of contradiction that she was doing the right thing.
Epilogue:
A Letter
Dearest Rosalie,
I am sure you are wondering just how I found out your address ahead of your writing to me yourself. For this, you have to thank our youngest and brightest sister, Claire. I do not know quite how she has gained such a knack for finding information, but she really can be relied upon to supply one with virtually anything one could desire. I will assume by now that I can no longer address this letter to Miss Rosalie Curtis, and I’m smiling as I write on the envelope, for the first time, Mrs Rosalie Farrell. I hope your wedding and your marriage are proving everything you wanted them to be, and my only regret in all this is that I was not there to witness the occasion. Of course, this puts the burden on to you to write me a most detailed and full account of all you have done since leaving for the Americas.
For now, I am sure you are eager to know what news there is from home, after your sudden leave-taking.
Needless to say, Father was furious. He was certain that the Marquess would have given him all he needed to expand his woollen operations and bring to life his dream of creating a new swathe of fashions in the capital. I can fully picture your rolling your eyes at this, but I am afraid he has taken the matter very badly and has declared that he will not speak to you again should you ever return home, nor write you in America.
Mother had a somewhat nuanced reaction to things. On the one hand, her eldest daughter running away to the Americas with a man of ill-repute, leaving behind her a wealthy and seemingly honourable fiancé, was a most terrible crime and embarrassment for the family to deal with. However, as you have done nothing so reckless in the past, she has been able to pin the blame for your actions solely on Aunt Lynch. In a strange sort of way, I believe Mother is enjoying this and almost seems to crow over our aunt’s corrupting influence. She makes a point of telling us frequently how much better off we were when our aunt had nothing at all to do with our lives. With this in mind, I believe Mama will ultimately forgive you for what you have done and come to accept your marriage in the near future.
Regarding the Marquess, he proved less than gentlemanly when he discovered that you had fled from his home. Here in London, your name is now being bandied about as the most exciting and sordid piece of gossip ever to grace the capital. You are now held up as a cautionary tale, an example of what comes from making bad acquaintances. I fear that your standing in England will never recover, but I am quite confident that you and your husband will not need ever to return to these shores or be at all concerned by what cretins and idiots say about you both.
If you are reading this letter observantly, you might have noticed that I am talking about London as though I am a resident of the city. Well, I am pleased to say that in fact I am living in the great city now, having taken over the room you occupied in our aunt’s home. Unfortunately, when the truth came out about your leaving, it was impossible for Claire and me to feign total innocence. Father and Mother both seemed to guess that you must have had help in arranging your escapade. To protect Claire, I told them that it was I who helped you steal away from Sussex and reach the boat that Mr Farrell was taking. As a result, Father has banished me from his sight, and I am now living by the generosity of our dear aunt. Mother and Claire write to me often, but I am told it will be some time before Father will allow me to return home.
Aunt Lynch herself has come away from this whole fracas better than I would have anticipated. Indeed, whenever I make note of that fact, she always fixes me with a knowing smile and tells me it is the payoff for years of faithful service to London society. With you now gone and married, I believe she is now turning her attention to finding me a husband. I have told her on several occasions that I need no such help and have been quite candid in telling her that I have been more than successful in winning young men’s hearts in the past. She seems insistent on the matter, however, and I am not going to be the one to spoil her fun. Certainly, her patronage could prove useful on one matter. Lord Wareham, unable to hurt you far away in the Americas, seems to be doing all he can to injure me and my name here. So Lady Lynch’s choice to vouch for me is a welcome shield against that man’s attacks on my person. Please, do not be troubled by this. I am more than capable of handling that man and anyone else who seeks to belittle me through mere rumour and gossip.
I know you are only just settling in to your new life and circumstances, but I cannot wait to hear from you and for you to tell me in full detail just how you were met by Mr Farrell on that boat and what wonderful adventures the two of you have had together, since leaving England. Waiting with very little patience for your reply,
Your loving sister,
Grace Curtis
The End
Dear Reader,
Did you enjoy my romance novel? If you did, I’d love to invite you to read the next book about Grace, Rosalie’s younger sister, and Lord Blackmore. Tall, with short dark hair and the chiselled features of a Grecian statue, George Blackmore is blessed with a regal bearing that makes him instantly desirable to the ladies of London – and to Grace…
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Yours,
Rosie Wynter
The Author
Rosie Wynter
Author of Sweet Historical Romance
Born, raised, and based in the heart of London, Rosie Wynter’s love for books began at an early age – even though her grandma always told her she would never find a man like that. Writing came into her life later, as did a man who supported and encouraged her to give her exuberant fantasies a structured form.
Rosie likes to make life difficult for her protagonists, so the happy ending is not only sweet, but also well-deserved. Love is always the most important thing in Rosie’s books, even if it isn’t obvious at first glance. Through her novellas and novels she strives to inspire readers across the globe and remind them of love’s innate ability to endure, no matter what time period.
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The Marquess’s Hand;
A Regency Romance Novel
by Rosie Wynter;
Published by:
ARP 5519, 1732 1st Ave #25519 New York, NY 10128
April 2018
Contact: [email protected]
1. Edition eBook (Version 1.0); May 17th, 2018
© 2018
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© Novel Expression
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Table of Contents
About this Novel
Contents
PART 1: The Would-Be Spinster
PART 2: A Good Man
PART 3: A Man to Marry
Epilogue: A Letter
The Author