After the events with Lord James and the swan, Rosalie was too excited to return to the house and sit quietly with embroidery or a book. She was relieved when Blanche and Mariah decided to walk into Finchley and invited her to join. Her smile turned into a stifled groan when Lady Olivia determined to join too.
They were an odd quartet, Blanche and Mariah in the lead, walking arm in arm in their brightly patterned frocks, bonnets pressed together, as they giggled. Rosalie walked behind, Lady Olivia strutting at her side. This country lane was a far cry from Hyde Park, but the lady still wore a fashionable silvery promenade dress with a lemon-yellow spencer and matching gloves. A crisp, frilled ruff peeked out around her throat, with matching frills at her wrists.
Rosalie felt quite drab striding next to her in a simple blue frock with a plain brown spencer and gloves. All her clothes were a few seasons old and looking decidedly worn. She hadn’t had a moment to think about ordering a new frock since before her mother’s sickness took its final turn. As if the lady noticed how plainly Rosalie was dressed, Olivia gave a pointed frown and rolled her eyes.
Rosalie typically wasn’t one for feeling envy, not towards someone so far above her socially as the daughter of a marquess. Why should the rabbit envy the owl? But sometimes, she could admit to wanting more from her life, to feeling jealousy…feeling shame. Perhaps if her father had been a better caretaker, like Lord James. Perhaps if he had put the needs of his family first. What might Rosalie’s life look like if Francis Harrow was a good provider? Might Rosalie be wearing a pretty pair of lemon-yellow gloves? Would someone like Lady Olivia Rutledge deign to speak to her with a look less pained?
She took a deep breath, swallowing down all the pain and resentment she tried not to feel. Francis Harrow was dead. Each moment she spent thinking of him was a moment he did not deserve. His debts were paid. She was free. If she accepted the duchess’ offer, she might soon find herself walking into Finchley ready to spend pin money on new bonnet ribbons, art supplies, or even a book of her very own.
Finchley was pretty as a picture. It had a narrow main street that boasted a smithy, a pub, an inn, a small assembly room, a post office, and a few other shopfronts. The muddy street bustled with activity—shoppers hurrying to and fro carrying parcels, children running and laughing. Crates of squawking birds sat stacked next to a pen of pigs in front of the butcher’s shop. A boy stood with a tray by the bakery door, calling out sales on sweet rolls. The clang, clang, clang of a blacksmith’s hammer echoed all around.
Rosalie was nearly pushed aside as a man hurried past with a muttered “scuse me, misses” as he herded a gaggle of geese. She fought a smile, thinking of poor James and his aversion to waterfowl.
“Oh, just look at those pretty laces,” Mariah cried, peering into the display window of the haberdashery with hungry eyes.
“And those buttons,” cooed Blanche. “The military style is quite fashionable now. Epaulettes and double-breasted jackets. Have you seen some of the designs in Town?”
“Miss Harrow, do you prefer the blue or the green?” said Mariah.
“Don’t be silly, Mariah. You know she must say green,” Blanche replied, fluttering her lashes.
“And why must I say green?” said Rosalie.
“Because that green ribbon there is the exact shade of Lord James’ eyes…and we all know how smitten you are,” Blanche replied as both girls twittered into their gloved hands.
“I certainly know nothing of the sort,” Rosalie replied, fighting a blush.
“Oh please, we all saw you from the window this morning,” Mariah jabbed. “He held your hand so tightly as he led you into the shade of the house. Tell me, Miss Harrow, are his lips as soft as they look?”
In any other circumstance, Rosalie might have laughed. “Believe me when I say you did not see what you think you saw. Lord James and I were accosted by a vicious swan. He held my hand merely to lead me away from danger. He dropped it quite forcefully as soon as the threat of danger had passed,” she admitted.
“And why were you in a position of being alone with him in the first place?” asked Lady Olivia, an imperious brow raised in excellent imitation of the duchess.
Rosalie sighed. She didn’t deserve to be interrogated. “I was asked by the duchess to inspect some ornamental trees,” she explained. “Lord James was showing me the way. You can all rest assured that nothing occurred. In fact, he as much as admitted that he dislikes me.”
Olivia snorted. “Because he has taste.”
The younger girls glanced from Rosalie to Olivia, curious to see if Rosalie meant to reply. But she knew better than to start a row on the Finchley high street. It would do her no favors to be accused of tossing the daughter of a marquess into a pigpen.
“Come, girls,” she said, holding out her hand to Blanche and Mariah. “Give me the letters you have, and I’ll post them. You can go shop for your ribbons and baubles.”
The girls reached into their pockets, eagerly placing letters into her open hand, jostling each other to be the first through the door of the haberdashery.
With a haughty sniff, Lady Olivia reached into her own pocket and produced a letter. “I want this posted express,” she said, placing it in Rosalie’s hand.
Before Rosalie could move away, Olivia closed her yellow-gloved hand around her wrist, holding her still. She was taller than Rosalie by a few inches, which meant she could quite literally look down her nose at her. “Who are you?”
“Excuse me?”
Olivia sneered. “I asked who exactly you think you are.”
Rosalie sighed. Perhaps this lady was going to see the view from inside a pigpen before the day was done. “I am plain Rosalie Harrow. I have neither fortune nor title.”
“That’s right,” Olivia hissed. “You are nobody. Like an irksome flea, you’ve been buzzing about our party, trying to catch the attention of the men. Do you really think they could ever care for you? That the attention they show you is anything more than wanton lust? They see you quite the same as any slattern in a London alley.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “They will use you and discard you faster than a pair of worn-out stockings.”
Rage and shame warred within Rosalie.
“You may look and talk like a lady, even if these clothes are cheap,” Olivia scoffed, gesturing to Rosalie’s worn spencer with its fraying cloth buttons. “You may reel them in, but you will never deserve them…and they will never be yours.”
The wretched woman still held tight to her wrist. A muscle ticked in Rosalie’s jaw as she fought the urge to slap her hand away. Her palm itched with it. But Rosalie knew how to handle a bully. She put on her best forced smile. “What a relief it is to be understood,” she said. “You have me painted exact, Lady Olivia.”
Olivia’s eyes flashed as her hand on Rosalie’s wrist tightened. Before she could respond, a deep voice called from just behind them.
“Good afternoon, ladies.”
Rosalie turned, heart pounding, to see Lieutenant Renley standing mere feet away. His deep blue eyes were thunderous. She had no idea how much he’d heard of their exchange, but he’d heard enough. Olivia dropped her hand away.
Lieutenant Renley stepped to Rosalie’s side, looking as imposing as ever with those broad shoulders framed by his burgundy coat. “Lady Olivia, I believe a widow and her young children are selling flowers over by the smithy. Why don’t you do us all a favor and go spit on them? Best leave no one in doubt of your ugliness.”
Rosalie blinked in surprise as the lady gasped.
“You dare speak to me that way—”
“You broke the rules of civility first,” he replied, leveling a leather-gloved finger in her face. “I will speak to you in whatever manner I see fit.”
“I shall tell the duke—”
He scoffed. “You do that. Spare me the trouble of telling him myself how you so roundly abused his guest. Say what you will about George Corbin, but he doesn’t take kindly to anyone who punches down.”
Olivia’s cheeks flamed crimson. “You cannot—I won’t—you’re a beast!”
“Aye, and so are you. Don’t think I didn’t hear you just now.” He stepped closer, lowering his face to hers. “Mark me, my lady,” the word dripped with disdain. “Sharpen your claws on Miss Harrow again, and you will see the beast I can be. Dare to insult her, and you will feel my bite.”
Olivia blinked twice, then snatched the letters out of Rosalie’s hand. “Give me those,” she shrieked. “They need to be posted at once!” Not waiting another second, she stormed off, letters clutched in her fist.
Rosalie watched her leave, chest heaving as she took a few deep breaths. “I wish you hadn’t done that,” she murmured.
“She deserved it.” His voice simmered with anger, but he softened as he glanced down at her. “You would have done the same.”
She turned, letting herself look at him. He was so beautiful. She wanted to sketch the fall of his curls over his forehead, his prominent cheek bones, the line of his jaw. He noticed her staring with a raised brow and she blinked.
“Are we even now?” she said with a smile. “I stood up for your honor, now you have championed mine?”
“Don’t think of it as a solitary trade,” he replied. “I meant what I said. If she bothers you again, you come to me, understood? I will put that gorgon in her place. No one deserves to be spoken to as she just spoke to you. If James knew of it, he’d probably send her packing.”
“Oh, please don’t tell him. I don’t want any trouble on my account.”
He held her gaze for a moment before nodding. Then he glanced around. “Did anyone else accompany you?”
“Blanche and Mariah,” she replied.
“Christ, well hurry then and take my arm,” he said, holding it out for her. “I’ll not get caught walking them home for anything. Let’s cut round behind the inn and cross over the field back to the lane.”
She took his arm, letting him lead her behind the inn. A little field sat beyond, just large enough for a few piebald sheep to graze. They both laughed as they stomped their way through the tall grass, cutting through a thin stand of trees that led back to the lane.
“What brought you into the village?” she asked.
“My evening coat is too tight in the shoulders,” he replied. “I’m having them let out the seams.”
She smiled, thinking how well he looked in that blue and white coat. Blanche was right, the military style was quite fashionable.
“Why do you smile?” he said, looking down at her.
She cast around for something to say that wouldn’t give away her true thoughts. “I must admit, you’re not quite what I expected from a naval officer.”
“Oh, yes? And what did you expect?”
“Well…most of the officers I’ve met all had rather high opinions of themselves. Hard-jawed, no-nonsense types who would care little for interfering in the petty squabbles of ladies.”
He laughed. “Aye, we can be an insufferable breed.”
“I sense an air of duty about you,” she added. “But there is a playfulness too. I’ve seen it…when you’re alone with Mr. Burke.” She raised a brow, seeking confirmation, and he smiled. “I imagine your men must adore you.”
His smile fell. “I do my best to do right by them,” he admitted. “Everything feels so much easier on a ship. Every man has a place. No one man is more important than the others. Sure, the heart has a greater function than the hands for keeping the body alive, but when it comes time to load the cannons, or mend what is broken, I’m mighty grateful for strong, hardworking hands.”
“Those are very fine words, sir,” she replied. “And I can tell you mean them.”
“Aye, I do. But when I’m back in society…” He groaned, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m all twisted like a sheet in the wind. A lady like Olivia Rutledge has never had to learn the importance of being part of a greater whole. She has no respect for the servants who trim her flowers or the maid who ties her laces. I can’t tolerate such people.”
Rosalie mused on his words, taking in the view of Alcott, framed in on both sides by trees as they ventured up the lane, still arm in arm. “I take it you won’t be asking Lady Olivia for her hand then?”
His arm tensed as he glanced her way. “Do I seem like the type that would choose a life of misery just for the chance to claim a title?”
She considered her next words carefully. “But to gain your captaincy, will you not be setting all thoughts of love aside to marry a lady of wealth…and all to claim a title? True, it is not an aristocratic title…but ‘captain’ is a title all the same.”
He blinked, his steps pausing. “Christ,” he muttered, lowering his arm away from hers. “You must think me the worst kind of hypocrite.”
“No,” she said quickly. “You are a second son making his way in the world. It is too easy to think we can all marry happily and stay happy. Marriage is so tricky,” she replied. “So hard to get right…so disastrous when it goes wrong. And the suffering a bad marriage creates…” She sniffed, trying to control the memories that sought to invade her mind. “I think it’s fair that you set conditions for yourself. You seek a business partner, not a wife. Surely you will make a more sensible choice.”
He stopped there in the lane, using his body to block the sun as he looked down at her. Slowly, he lifted a hand and gently touched her cheek.
She stilled, torn between fleeing, and leaning in.
“I would gladly kill the man who hurt you,” he said, his voice somehow soft, even as he threatened violence.
She swallowed, heart racing as those deep blue eyes looked into her soul and saw her for the frail, wounded thing she was. But his heart still belonged to another. It was his goodness, his need to protect others that made him speak these words now.
“I believe you,” she whispered, raising her hand to wrap around his. She gave it a gentle squeeze before she pulled it away from her face. “But I am not yours to protect.”
He blinked, dropping his hand away. “Miss Harrow—”
“We will be friends, Lieutenant,” she pressed, her eyes pleading. “I know we both like to flirt, and there is no harm in it,” she added. “And I sincerely hope you don’t stop. But we will be friends…or we will be nothing. Push me on this, and you will push me away.”
His eyes flashed and a long moment passed between them, but at last he nodded. “Friends it is then.”
