To Wed A Rebel. Sophie Dash

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      “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 – СКАЧАТЬ