Читать книгу To Wed A Rebel - Sophie Dash - Страница 8
ОглавлениеRuth
Dresses made from Indian shawls, bright textiles, exotic dishes and flickering torches had turned Vauxhall Gardens into a far-off paradise. Summer had arrived and the evening was blissfully mild as it drew its night-time veil across London. The social season was coming to a close, with the wealthier classes hosting a few final balls and bashes, before vanishing to their country manors for cleaner air and better sport.
Against the vibrant backdrop, Ruth Osbourne was ill-placed. She was fresh from Miss Lamont’s Academy for Young Ladies and looked it: overwhelmed, unworldly and wide-eyed against the perfect, practised flirtations that the other women around her were well-versed in. Even Lottie, her dearest friend and fellow former pupil, managed to acclimatise herself far better at the grand party, which had been thrown by a rich earl with too much money, too little sense, and a thirst for fame.
“You miss the little ones, don’t you?” It was more an accusation than a question from Lottie. Ever since they’d gained their freedom, the bolder woman had been all too keen to forget she’d ever been sheltered from such an exciting social life. Ruth, on the other hand, kept looking back.
“There will be no one to look after them,” said Ruth quietly. “Miss Lamont isn’t kind.”
“That is an understatement.” Lottie snorted, quickly covering her mouth with her fingers. Well-bred ladies did not snort and she was determined that people would view her as one, even if her father had earned his money through trade. “They will have to look after themselves from now on.”
“Like you did?”
Lottie quietened then, expression softening. Back when they were younger, in the first days in the academy’s halls, Ruth had found Lottie hiding in a wardrobe, in pieces after a stern lecture from Miss Lamont. They were familiar to one another through their family acquaintances, but were far too different in temperament to strike up a natural friendship. At the academy, that had changed, for there was no one else. Lottie’s hands had held red, angry lines from the wooden rod their captor and instructor always carried with her. Young Ruth had not spoken and had simply scrunched herself up, in the empty corner opposite Lottie, their knees touching under their plain dresses, because she believed no one should be sad alone. They had been friends ever since.
“I never imagined it would be so wild,” said Lottie, as odd, trilling music met their ears.
It was like drowning. Ruth missed the academy’s halls, the little girls, the structure and routine. She missed knowing everything, being the one others turned to, an authority figure. Here, in London, she was a nobody and she knew nothing. The book smarts and collected air she held were no longer assets. Cleverness, she had been repeatedly told, was wasted in a woman. And worse still, she had never even spoken to a man – at least not one her age. Uncle Osbourne and their stuffy few friends and relatives did not count. But it was not as though any man would give her a second glance in her attire.
The cream summer dress Ruth wore was ill-fitting, layered with faded lace, and the gloves along her arms would not stay put. The lacklustre colour washed out her complexion and made her look like an old bag, not a young woman. Lottie had picked it out and it wasn’t ever worth the grief to argue, especially not when she relied on Lottie for so much. The dress would look stunning on the redhead, for she was taller, angular and sharper. On Ruth, her curves, attractive figure and her prettiness were concealed. Back at Miss Lamont’s, Lottie hadn’t given a fig what Ruth wore, though her expression had always darkened if Ruth was complimented for her attractive vulpine features and her long, chestnut hair.
“I feel ridiculous,” said Ruth quietly. “Everyone else is wearing all those bright clothes and I look like a ghoul in comparison. I thought you said they would all be dressed for a garden party, not a real ball.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” Lottie clung to her elbow, eyes dancing, red tresses piled high and coiled in a turquoise turban that matched her dress. She looked exceptional, more so because her companion did not. “In no time, you will be married and running your own house in Russell Square.”
“I can hardly believe it,” confessed Ruth, truthfully. “I haven’t seen Albert since we were children and now I am to spend the rest of my life with him.”
“Do not make me jealous.”
“What if we are not suited to one another?”
“It doesn’t matter – he’s rich.” And they both knew that Ruth was not. “He’s clearly besotted. He wrote to you, did he not?”
“Yes.” Ruth nodded. “Once.”
It had been a short, bashful note about their combined futures in a clumsy script. The other girls at the academy had squealed and clucked upon finding the letter and told Ruth how wonderful it would be, how lucky she was, and what a fine lady she would make.
I miss them, she thought. And, selfishly, she missed who she was to them: a leader, an anchor. She had always taken charge, always known what to do, always been the one to save the day.
But now I need saving…
Soon she’d have Albert – and soon, she reminded herself, life would be better. She’d find her feet again, she’d be happy again, she wouldn’t feel so lost, for he’d always find her. Isn’t that what love was about? And, more importantly, it was what Uncle Osbourne wanted.
“Father,” said Lottie, turning to the beady-eyed figure trailing behind them. “Can we go and see the animals? Gosh, can you hear them? How do the people in those far-off places tolerate them? Scales and claws – ghastly. I would have them all killed on sight. I bet they’re beastly to touch. Oh, and look! There are little canal boats. Now that is sweet. We must ride them, we must.”
“Not by yourselves,” replied Mr Griswell, bored and uninterested in all he surveyed. If he was not growing his finances and merchant business, he was not happy. The only time he ever seemed to show real emotion was when money was involved. At least Uncle Osbourne was not like that. Yes, he was reserved, strict and practical to a fault, but he was not as waspish or as spiteful as Lottie’s father seemed to be. Uncle Osbourne had reluctantly taken Ruth in, a skinny child, at five. He had never wanted children; he had never wanted a family. He only enjoyed his work. He thought people were too complicated and a child was an added difficulty he had never anticipated. But a poor relation – especially a young girl – in the workhouse would reflect poorly on his own status. Besides, he’d promised his brother to protect the child and it was, without a doubt, bad form to argue with a dying man. When Ruth arrived, her uncle put in place numerous rules about being quiet, about fitting in around his life, about being as unassuming as possible. Ruth was good at it, for she’d remembered all her mother had said to her in the last few days of her life: “Never be a burden, my darling.” And she never had.
What little money her father and mother had passed down to her went on her education, and it was a good education. She had made friends in the classroom and she had excelled. Beyond the academy, no one cared about how well she wrote in Latin or her knowledge about geography. No, to be a woman, one had to know the right way to wave a fan, to wear the latest dress, to flirt. Ruth’s face went red at the thought. Give her books, where other people did all the running around and courting: it was far easier to read about such matters than to experience them herself. Even if, at times, the prospect seemed…exciting.
She kept her gaze focused on the assembled guests, lest anyone approach her and expect her to be a real woman, to be like Lottie. “You should stop being so shy,” Lottie had always chided her, “You should be more like me.” But it wasn’t shyness, it was a constant fear, a knowledge that if she spoke up, if she tried, she’d do something wrong. And there was so, so much that could go wrong, especially at a large party such as this.
“I wish we were back at the academy,” she whispered to her friend.
Lottie only rolled her eyes. “You would.”
Mr Griswell ushered the two young women towards a small group who were stood a safe distance away from the performers. Flame conjurers gave the air a smoky smell, their bare feet skimming along the grass as they danced, shining with sweat, nerves like steel.
“There’s too many damned people here,” said the merchant, inclining his head towards Ruth’s uncle, Mr Osbourne, and a stout young man with them. The latter had lemon-coloured hair and an expression equally as sour.
“It isn’t decent. It’s no place for a woman, but I do not intend to stay long,” agreed Osbourne. “I have two gentlemen to pay respects to, then we go.” Business, as usual, was the order of the day.
“That’s him, that’s Albert Pembroke,” whispered Ruth, needlessly pointing to the younger man. “Do you think he will recognise me?”
Four steps away was her future husband. His belly pressed against his waistcoat and his blond whiskers stuck out from his round, ruddy cheeks. He wasn’t what one would call conventionally attractive – or attractive at all.
“He’s…he’s taller than when last I met him,” said Ruth tactfully.
“How old were you?”
“I was twelve; he was sixteen.”
Osbourne summoned his niece over with a wave as stiff as his appearance. “I had feared you would be late,” he said, guiding Ruth to stand before Albert, who gave a bashful bow. “It will not be long now, then we’ll be at the church, the deed done and everything as it should be.” The lines around Osbourne’s eyes grew deeper. “Ruth, is that a new gown?”
“It’s mine,” interrupted Lottie with a toothy smile. “Doesn’t it look lovely? I picked it out.”
Ruth’s uncle was a banker and firmly disapproved of lavish expenditure. His clients were fond of his frugal nature, as it made their own finances feel safe – as though someone who spent so wisely and dressed so poorly would never ill-treat their savings. Make do and mend was his work ethic and Ruth, as his ward, had adopted it too. Even at Miss Lamont’s Academy she had been the one to darn and mend garments for all the other girls – and allow herself to be taken advantage of.
Albert shuffled his feet and became exceedingly pink with Ruth’s approach. He went to speak, failed, and left Ruth to begin their stilted conversation. She didn’t, until Lottie nudged her sharply in the back, prompting her to gabble, “Are – are you well, sir?”
The young man puffed out his cheeks before nodding heavily, blowing air between thick lips. “I’d – yes – well, I am,” he stammered, before adding as an afterthought, “And you are well, I take it?”
“Yes.” Ruth nodded. “Quite.”
She rustled up a wan smile, as her uncle and Mr Griswell talked politics and Lottie was swept up by another high society friend to discuss an upcoming garden tour and ball the next day, leaving the couple to themselves.
“How are you enjoying the season, Mr Pembroke?”
“I could do without all this nonsense; makes me feel ill.” He flapped towards one tall figure who drew frightened gasps from the crowd as he cradled a large, hairy spider in his hands. “If I wanted to experience another country, I would go there.”
“I rather like it,” admitted Ruth. “It’s all so pretty, like a dream or something I have only ever read about.”
“I, well, I suppose it’s tolerable, though it doesn’t match your tolerableness.” Albert beamed, overly pleased at his clumsy compliment. “I never like these events; they’re always too loud and the music too modern. It’s all too heathen for my tastes and anyway…”
Once Albert began talking, finding Ruth to be a polite listener, he did not stop. Whenever she tried to interject, she was cut off and ushered back into silence. Torches were lit as the sun went down and while Lottie was free to skip off and mingle with other tittering women, Ruth was left to listen to her future husband’s complaints, gripes and moans. From gout to stomach upset, there was no ailment the man did not latch on to. The pair were to be husband and wife. They had a whole lifetime to get to know one another. And yet, as another hour slowly dribbled by, Ruth felt as though she knew everything the man would ever say, think, feel and do.
It was all arranged, the match agreed, and it would please her uncle. It was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? She couldn’t rely on her extended family any more. She must accept it. There was no other choice. Albert kept prattling on, and on, and on, while it felt as though a fault line was growing in Ruth’s chest, her ribs, her heart. The smoke was in her eyes; that was all. She didn’t cry, not since she was little, but she was close now, stupidly close – when she’d prided herself on being stronger, better, more removed from her emotions than everyone else. It was all too much, too soon.
I do not want to be Mrs Pembroke.
She couldn’t think like that.
She wasn’t allowed to think like that.
“Were it not for Godfrey’s Cordial,” continued Albert, “I doubt I’d get any sleep, what with my—”
“The boats,” interrupted Ruth, attempting a good-natured smile that fell flat. There was a catch in her voice. “Let’s find Lottie and go along the canal, shall we? She’d be terribly disappointed if we left without doing so.”
Albert pouted heavily, as though she had asked the world and, even if he had it, he would never give it to her. When they were married, it would be different, Ruth told herself. She’d run her own home, she’d have independence, she’d have children. Albert could provide all that. It was a practical, sensible choice…that stuck in her throat like a sharp slice of apple.
“Yes, a good idea, off with you,” said Osbourne, dismissing the youngest in their party.
A resigned huff left Albert, before he said, “If we must.”
In the dying light, the canal looked molten gold. Men and women in their finery rowed themselves along the water, laughing and drinking as they navigated the reeds and narrower stretches. One intoxicated group bumped and scraped the stonework beneath a low bridge as they bobbed by, calling and hooting. The three waited for them to pass – Lottie with amusement, Ruth with concern, and Albert with sheer disapproval – before climbing into their own craft. It dipped alarmingly at Albert’s end and only Ruth’s harsh looks kept Lottie from laughing.
“It’s not fair. I think the people in the other boat are having far more fun than the rest of us,” observed Lottie.
“Or they want us to think they are,” said Ruth.
Lottie was delighted at the opportunity to perch herself in a rowboat and spoke far too quickly for Albert to keep up, and with too much force for him to interrupt. She always chattered away when trying to impress someone and Ruth was grateful that, for once, her friend made an effort on her behalf. Albert nodded along and was already sweating from the small effort it took to wrestle with the oars. Ruth let Lottie’s words fade into background; she’d had years of practice, after all. She trailed her hand in the water, spied pale lilies with petals so thick they could have been made from marzipan, and watched dragonflies dart across the ripples that marked their progress.
“Did you hear about that awful Miss Ollis, the one who left the academy before us?” continued Lottie, though no one listened. “Ran off to France you know, to become an English tutor. There was a gentleman involved, and I use that term loosely, though heaven knows who’d want her…”
It won’t be so bad, Ruth reassured herself, as she let her gaze wonder over to Albert. When she’d imagined marriage, she’d hoped for love. Perhaps it had been childish. Her uncle would think so, and she desperately wanted to please him. After all he’d done, with how generous he’d been, she owed it to him to be grateful, to be obedient, to never be a burden…to marry Albert.
As they approached the bridge, claps and exclamations could be heard from an audience surrounding a performer. Another display, skit or creation. It was their shouts – along with a hard THUMP – that alerted Ruth to the fourth member in their little boat.
A snake, dropped by its keeper on the bridge, took its bearings. Thick and fat, it began to wind its way along the wood. Albert screamed. It was a high, quivering noise emitted as he bumbled back and – with a comical roll – fell into the canal. The motion jolted the boat dangerously. Ruth clung on, while Lottie scrabbled to climb behind her, sloshing water over their legs.
“Get it away, get it away,” hissed Lottie, her fan wielded like an offensive weapon. “Do something. Kill it, Ruth.”
“With what?” It was the harshest response she had ever given her friend and had they not been frightened for their lives, Ruth knew she’d have gotten an earful.
A pressure smoothed itself along Ruth’s ankle, over her skirts, winding upwards. Shock and fear kept her still as the scaled, dark green monster coiled its way towards her. She looked to Albert for help, only to find he had fled to the nearest bank, dripping profusely, not even casting a glance back. They had been abandoned. Left for dead. No one was coming. No one would help them; no one cared to.
“Albert,” she called, but he wouldn’t answer, pretended he couldn’t hear. His name felt clumsy on her tongue, as though it didn’t belong there and never would. “Albert, please!”
A heavy splash showered the two women. Strong, firm hands grabbed their craft and kept it steady.
“Hold still.” The stranger reached out and easily pulled the snake from Ruth’s gown. He draped it across his shoulders as one would a shawl. “Stay where you are. I will come back and get you.”
He moved so quickly that Ruth didn’t get a real look at him, only an impression. Tall, dark and controlled. She watched him go, unable to disobey his instructions even if she wanted to.
The man waded towards dry land and gave the creature back to its handler, who snatched it up and vanished into the mass of spectators, trailing foreign apologies behind him, before any repercussions could follow. True to his word, the stranger returned and eased the boat to a shallow stretch, bumping it into a grassy ledge. The assembled crowd cheered and Ruth felt her cheeks redden, suddenly aware that they were being watched. In fact, it seemed that many party guests assumed the entire scene had been a performance put on for their benefit. Her fear had been entertaining to that faceless, fickle lot.
God, she couldn’t do this, couldn’t be like this – like them – and they knew it.
Lottie was the first one to scramble back onto the grass in a sprawling unladylike manner. Her fingers were hard on their rescuer’s forearm and were hastily removed for appearance’s sake, while she muttered darkly about her ruined dress and sought to blame someone for it. Others came to help her, friends, ones Ruth did not share.
“Come on, love, let’s get you up,” said the man to the forgotten girl, slipping his warm hand into hers and pulling her to her feet. “Steady now, I’ve got you.”
And he did, for she could not have let go if she tried.
Speechless, Ruth allowed herself to be guided onto the bank, where Albert – sopping wet – was berating the nearest servant he could find for his “brush with death” and stealing away any attention or concern that might have been offered her way. And although Ruth was coasting away from the crowds, beyond sight and prying eyes, she wanted it. To escape Albert – her future – and Lottie and the awkward conversations with people who did not even care to remember her name.
A stone bench squatted nearby and Ruth was steered towards it. She groped for the cold surface. There was no one to stare here, no quips to reach her, a chance to gather herself. It was almost like solitude, were it not for the man who lingered beside her – an afterthought.
“I – I don’t understand these people,” she stuttered, after taking a deep breath, fighting to find her calm. “They all stood and watched. I heard them laughing.”
Mocking ghouls, monstrous smiles, masked intentions.
“No one even tried to help until you – you – I – I, you’re – forgive me, I haven’t even thanked you,” she forced out, dragging her eyes up to meet the stranger and losing any other words she might have offered.
This man was not like Albert. Where her future husband was circular, puffy and flappable, this man was the exact opposite: broad shoulders, hard features, dark eyes and tanned skin. There was nothing ridiculous or comical about him at all. No faults, no failings, no foppish tendencies.
She had not known men could look like that, like the ones from her books. The legends about knights and brave warriors had been fiction, a lie, non-existent, with crumbling illustrations in old yellow tomes. No one real, no one in existence had ever stirred the deeper, darker places in her core. Yet the figure who stood before her was very much flesh and blood.
A warmth curled in Ruth’s stomach. She felt a blush rise up her neck, and once she knew she was blushing, she blushed further.
“No thanks are necessary.” The way he stood, shadowed by the fading sun, made it hard for her to see his face. “You were far from danger; the creature was harmless.”
His clothes were dark and heavy with canal water. They clung to him and invited her gaze.
He spoke again, disrupting her thoughts – and she was glad for it – for that chance to find her composure. “You have the same expression you wore when confronted with the snake,” he said, his low laugh only adding to the warmth in her cheeks. “Surely I am not that frightening?”
Lips parted, she shook her head and averted her gaze. Frightening? No, yes, a little, but in all the right ways.
She needed to speak. It was her turn; it was only polite. Ruth was bad at this. She’d had no practice. She didn’t know what to say. “You have ruined your clothes,” she told him, hating how meek she sounded.
“I can get new ones.”
Another silence, further words needed, a space to fill. “We’ve rather ruined the party for you, haven’t we?”
“There’ll be others.”
“You shouldn’t have done it. We would have managed, and – and what if you catch a cold?”
“It will have been worth it,” he remarked, with a curve to his mouth that made her glad she was a small distance from him, for she wanted to lean into it. “Though I had thought you’d be more grateful.”
“Oh,” she grew pinker still. “Of course, I am entirely—”
“Forgive me, it was a poor attempt at humour and like I said, you were in no danger.”
“But you did keep Lottie from knocking the boat over and I cannot swim.”
“The canal isn’t deep.”
“Then you saved us from humiliation at least,” she told him, before clamming up entirely, realising she was almost bickering with him, when she had never argued with anyone in her life. And he was – this man, he was – well, quite unlike any other she had ever seen. He was not over fifty, he was not overweight, and he was no straggly youth trying to put worms down her dress. Not like…
“I need to find Albert,” she remembered, alert, alarmed.
The thought turned her stomach.
“Let me help you,” he said, extending a hand that she would not take. If she touched him again… God, she would never want to stop touching him. A mutinous thought crept into her skull: was this what it was meant to be like between a man and a woman?
“No, I can manage, I—”
“Ruthie!” On Lottie’s lips, her name sounded like an accusation. The young woman’s red hair was back to its casually coifed place, with her fan wafting feverishly as she breezed towards them. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to our dashing hero?” The question was asked without giving Ruth any time to reply, for Lottie instantly turned to the gentleman in question, her lips pressed together in a wide smile. “Sir, you saved our lives. We are quite in your debt.”
An odd feeling, akin to envy, lined Ruth’s stomach. It was unwelcome, unwanted and unfamiliar, as she listened in on the conversation she no longer felt a part of. And yet, the stranger met Ruth’s eyes and hers alone, mouth quirking up at the edge: their own secret communication. Though he was attentive enough as he considered Lottie’s words.
“The rumour is that you are a viscount, while others say you are the mysterious fellow who put this entire evening together. Which is it? You must tell me! Who are you?”
“Isaac Roscoe.” He inclined his head towards her. “And I am neither, more’s the pity.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce me, Ruth?” Though the long gown hid Lottie’s shoes, Ruth could have sworn she stamped her feet. “You cannot keep him all to yourself, especially not when you are already engaged.” She emphasized those last two words. The remark was made purely to shame her and she knew it. Mrs Pembroke. That was her future, her unhappiness.
“I – yes,” mumbled Ruth, almost tripping in her haste to stand up. “This – uh, is my friend Miss Charlotte Griswell.” Isaac’s eyes were a darker brown than Ruth’s own and once she caught them, she knew he’d guessed the paths her imagination had ventured down. A smirk found him, a mocking one that would have been cruel were it not for the mischief there, for the suggestion.
“What have you done to my dress, Ruthie?” Lottie came between the pair. “It’s beyond stained. It will have to be thrown out.” With a breathy sigh, the redhead angled herself towards the gentleman, conscious as to which position flattered her assets most. “You will have to forgive my friend, Mr Roscoe. This is her first big outing and she’s clearly overwhelmed.”
“I did not mean to…” interjected Ruth, before she was talked over once more.
“Unlike myself, she is not used to high society and now I fear we will have scared her off altogether, what with snakes falling from the sky,” continued Lottie, her fan fluttering faster, as though it could bat the other woman away. “We can only be thankful that such dashing individuals are always here to save the day.”
Isaac’s amusement was all too readable. “On the contrary, I think Miss Osbourne handled herself rather well. Better than others, in fact.”
Lottie’s smile grew more strained. “Well, we cannot all be so lifeless and stoic, can we? Now, where have I met you before, Mr Roscoe? The O’Neills’ ball? No, the Westcotts’ gathering last December? Wait, I am sure it will come to me…”
“I fear you are mistaken, madam,” he replied coolly. “Last December I was away on family business and before that I was serving as a lieutenant in His Majesty’s Royal Navy.”
Credit where it’s due, Lottie’s warm expression only wavered a fraction. “But I am sure you are coming to Lady Winston’s tomorrow night?”
“I did find my way to an invitation.”
“That’s splendid! I shall tell all my friends; they will be terribly excited to hear my rescuer will be in attendance.”
“Indeed.”
Lottie opened her eager mouth to speak once more and never got the chance.
“Do forgive me, but I should go in search of a change in clothes…” said Isaac, singling Ruth out, as though her friend did not exist all, as though a secret lay between them. “I shall look forward to tomorrow.”
Ruth shook her head, offering a garbled apology combined with another “thank you” that rolled into one word resembling nothing in the English language. Tomorrow. The man only smiled, bowed and took his leave, entirely aware of the pairs of eyes that followed him.
“I cannot believe it.”
“Yes, it is odd,” said Ruth quietly, her hands bunched together. “I am sure I never told him my surname and yet he already seemed to know it.”
“Never mind all that. It’s not fair,” huffed Lottie, snapping her fan closed with a slap against her palm. “You have already secured yourself a husband and now you are snatching up all the handsome men here too, even in that ugly gown?”
“You lent me this dress.”
“Did I? God, that snake was ghastly.” She flinched at the memory. “At least it proved that Albert is good at one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“He’s going to make sure someone gets punished for what happened, of course.”
“I am certain it was an accident—”
“Only the wealthy have accidents. In the lower classes it’s almost always carelessness. Now, come along, let’s eat.” Lottie hooked her arm around Ruth’s. “You will have to try the foreign dishes in case they’re spicy. I wouldn’t want to make a fool of myself.”
“And I do?”
“Don’t fuss so much, Ruthie.” Lottie patted her sharply, as one would a dog. “Tell me everything that Mr Roscoe said to you after you stole him away. He’s far too attractive and he clearly knows it. I am sure I’ve heard that name before. Someone here has to know him. I won’t rest until I’ve found out. I bet he’s rich – single too. The handsome ones always are. Can you imagine being engaged to him?”
“No,” said Ruth, too quickly. “I can’t.”
Though her mind had already spun a different tale. A wedding night, where it was not the sweaty, sallow Albert she lay with, but Isaac and his dark eyes and his strong hands and his warm mouth…
***
Lady Winston’s orangery was a much-admired structure in Richmond. It contained a whole variety of exotic plants and was only one small corner of the elderly woman’s newly renovated grounds. Londoners were keen to bask in anything that resembled rural life, especially if it was far easier to access than the actual countryside, contained no wild animals or commoners (“I don’t think there’s a difference,” Lottie had once commented), and still held all the delights of town. A late-afternoon garden tour had been arranged for a select few – an hour before a ball was due to begin – and Ruth found herself invited by chance due to her friendship with the Griswells. She had stayed with the family the night before and thankfully had her own room.
While at the academy, she and Lottie had shared everything and few nights went by without her room-mate keeping her up with incessant talk, snide gossip and belittling remarks. Theirs was a friendship borne of necessity, the pair being the two girls closest in age during their education and therefore thrust together. Despite their small clashes, Ruth had a fondness for Lottie. She admired her boldness and how quickly she brushed off minor mistakes, while Ruth, on the other hand, would dwell on them for days. Today they had even dressed alike, in pale pastels with straw bonnets, though Lottie’s garb was far flashier, with a red sash that matched her hair. Envy was not an emotion Ruth knew well, for she had always been grateful for what she possessed. But once – just once – she wanted something new. A dress that fit her shape, that flattered all she had, rather than burying it under drab colours and frumpy, outdated designs.
The air within the great glasshouse was sickly-sweet and humid. Servants flitted past them, making last-minute preparations before the dancing began. Albert was in attendance and Ruth was pushed towards him, forced to take his arm and contemplate her rapidly approaching future. He did not bring up the incident in the canal the night before, nor his embarrassing conduct, as though it had never happened. He chose instead to moan about the heat, the weather, and all the walking. When those subjects were exhausted, he complained that the birds were too loud, the ground too hard, and the sun too bright.
Ruth was lucky to be engaged. Everyone said so and took pains to remind her. Marrying a man like Albert Pembroke was more security than she could have ever dreamt of. He had a house in London, a country estate, and was incredibly wealthy. It was not like she would never have her own privacy, her space, her solace, a chance to escape the threat of his company. There would be a library, wouldn’t there? Books, a chair by a fire, peace and quiet?
There has to be. Or else I’ll go mad.
Ruth kept her head down, eyes on her skirts, for fear that he would somehow guess her mood. She was lucky, terribly lucky, terrible…
Ruth’s uncle, who had looked after the Pembrokes’ financial affairs loyally for years, had arranged the pairing. This was a smart match made by smart people who were smart with their money – and would continue to be so, with each other’s assistance.
“It’s all too green,” said Albert, nose running.
“You mean the grass?”
“I don’t see the appeal.”
“I suppose it is rather…green,” Ruth agreed, for the sake of regenerating their dwindling conversation. She did not want to disagree with him. She knew better than to do so – she remembered her instruction. It was never proper for a woman to speak her mind or – God forbid – give voice to her own opinions where they disagreed with a gentleman’s. “I did like the garden at the academy,” said Ruth as neutrally as she could manage. She sounded clumsy and mousey to her own ears. “Miss Lamont’s brother was a botanist, you see. He collected many plants and brought a few back.”
Albert did not reply, his expression sulky, and so Ruth kept speaking.
“Although I hardly have his flair for cultivation, I do like to hope the grounds looked far smarter when I left than before I arrived.”
Albert sniffed and eyed the fruit trees warily. “Didn’t they have gardeners for all that?”
Silence strung itself around them again and this time Ruth did not try to cast it away.
Sleepy sunlight gave the orangery a soft glow as the tour meandered back outside, led by Lady Winston, who firmly believed in the benefits of fresh air and would not let the gathering rest until a walk had been undertaken.
“It will aid digestion,” she had informed them all, marching off into the distance and compelling the small group to follow.
When at last all possible topics had been visited by Ruth and even Albert had run out of things to say, Lottie found them, excusing Albert with a curt smile and grabbing her friend’s arm.
“I spoke to Mrs Howe and she heard from Lady Frederickson that our snake charmer, Isaac Roscoe, had a minor disagreement with the Navy; a connection to a mutineer – it’s very scandalous,” said Lottie in hushed tones. “Now, I’ve the highest regard for those who’ve sailed, but you have to keep in mind Lord Nelson and his conduct. That being said, I’ve heard Mr Roscoe will be here tonight and I have to dance with him. You must make sure it happens. If you don’t, I will never forgive you.”
“I cannot make anyone dance with anyone,” replied Ruth. “Besides, you are the one who’s good at getting people to do what they wouldn’t do otherwise.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
The redhead hummed, but let the comment slide as the tour continued and the air grew cooler.
“I thought we came to London to avoid such excursions. Give me plays, balls and culture, not another country estate that looks exactly like all the others I’ve ever seen,” scoffed Lottie, leaning heavily against Ruth as they plodded along. “I suppose you like all this, don’t you?”
“It is a marvellous evening to be outside,” said Ruth quietly, not eager to upset her friend.
“And it would be equally marvellous if the ball could begin and we were dancing, rather than trekking across the wilderness. Then I could be in Mr Roscoe’s arms and make everyone else jealous of me, as they should be.”
“It’s hardly wilderness,” said Ruth. “Can you smell the honeysuckle? I should like a house with honeysuckle growing up the side and lavender by the gate.”
“You will be able to have whatever you want when you’re Mrs Pembroke and stolen away from me.” The self-pitying tone she took was enough to stir up guilt within Ruth. “Heaven knows the family’s rich enough to give you all you could ever want.”
“I am certain that Albert will let you stay with us often,” said Ruth quickly, squeezing Lottie’s hand. “You needn’t worry, there will always be room for you.”
“Wonderful.” Her friend beamed in response, spinning her parasol, morose mood entirely gone. “Perhaps I shall visit the fortnight after your wedding, you know, if I am not intruding.”
“I will have to ask Albert.”
“A man like him must have wealthy friends,” said Lottie. “You can find me one and write to me. It will be a hobby for you, won’t it? I know you won’t let me down; you never do. Look, there.” She sheltered her eyes with her hand, squinting into the distance, to where a late supper had been prepared for them. “I am utterly famished. If I do not eat I will faint on the spot and won’t be able to dance at all. Hold my parasol, would you?”
“I cannot carry both and eat too—”
“Just don’t scuff it. Hold it properly, like – yes, that’s it.” She smiled. “You are such a darling, Ruthie.”
