Authors: Sophie Dash
“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.”