To Wed A Rebel. Sophie Dash
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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 A dress that fit her shape, that flattered all she had, rather than burying it under drab colours and frumpy, outdated designs.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.”
Isaac
The ballroom was sweltering. Clothes stuck to skin. Perspiration drew lines in the thick powder worn by older women (and a few dandified men). Only the most determined couples danced,