Rags to Romance

by Killarney Sheffield

  “There you are my darling.” Finny affected the prettiest pout she could muster. “I have been so lonely without cha—you over there in the corner.”

  Lord Dowell’s eyebrows rose to attention. “You … have?”

  “Of course, darling.” Finny tipped her head and looked to the gentleman standing beside him. “My husband has been away so long, you know. We’ve lots of time to make up for, you know what I mean?”

  The gentleman blanched and let out a nervous giggle so unlike anything one would expect from a male of his stature. “I … I’m sure … I do….” He glanced at Lord Dowell, whose eyes were huge. “If you will excuse me, I suppose I should not monopolize your time any further so you may … dance with your lovely bride.” With a slight bow in Finny’s direction he hurried off.

  “What were you thinking?” Lord Dowell growled.

  Puzzled as to why he seemed angry her smile slipped a little. “I—well, I want to dance. I’m bored sittin’ over there all by myself.”

  He glanced around and Finny noted many curious looks directed at them. His shoulders squared. “Fine.” He took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. “I hope to God you know how to dance.”

  She grinned at him. “Of course I do. Why I tol’ ye—you, when I wrote—”

  “Uh huh,” he answered glancing around the room and picking up the steps to a simple dance.

  Finny gave him a smug look when the tension softened in his arm and he raised an eyebrow in astonishment as she followed his direction with grace and sureness. “See? Lady Swanson made a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, just like she promised.”

  Lord Dowell frowned and then the corner of his lips twitched into a grin. “I see that.”

  He does love me! Finny looked into his eyes. “I knew I could make you fall in love with me just like you made me fall in love with you.”

  He faltered and then recomposed himself. “Our marriage was a mistake. I married you to still my stepmother’s tongue. I am not in love with you. I am in love with another. I’m sorry.”

  It was as if he plunged a knife deep into Finny’s chest. The air whooshed from her lungs, replaced by pain so startling she clutched her chest. With a smothered cry she wrenched from him and bolted through the crowd.

  “Wait!”

  In blind despair she ignored Lord Dowell’s call, found a doorway and exited amid gasps from the watching partygoers. She ran down the stairs and out into the street beyond. A shout from a startled hackney driver went unheeded as she darted into the street. One delicate slipper came undone and dropped into a puddle but she carried on in a lopsided, one shoe run. Before long a pain in her side matched the one in her chest and she slowed to a walk. Gasping pants mixed with hiccupping sobs when she stopped and sat down on the sidewalk.

  “There you are.”

  She looked up through her tears to spy Lord Dowell jogging down the street toward her. “Go ’way!”

  “I’m sorry.” Lord Dowell stopped before her and dug in his waistcoat pocket. He produced the handkerchief she had given him earlier and held it out to her. “I never meant to hurt you, honest. I had no idea you felt—feel—that way about me.”

  With a sniffle she snatched the delicate scrap of material from him and wiped her face. “Aye, well, you’re a big ol’ … sack of horse plop.”

  He scowled at her. “Did you just call me horse excrement?”

  She sniffed again and cast him a watery glare. “Yer damned rights I did.”

  He chuckled and then sat beside her with his legs jutting out into the street. “I suppose I deserve that.”

  Finny shrugged and wadded the material up in her hands.

  Lord Dowell sighed. “You must agree this whole notion of you being in love with me is just … silly.”

  “‘Tis not!”

  A group of rough looking men approached. “Hey! You there. You bothering the lady?” one of them asked.

  “No, we are just talking, good sir. Be on your way,” Lord Dowell replied.

  The tallest one stepped forward. “It don’t look like yer talkin’, looks to me like the lady is cryin’.”

  Finny piped up, “It’s nothin’. I jus’ tol’ him I love him and he said he doesn’t love me.”

  “The lecher used you and broke yer heart, eh?”

  Lord Dowell stood. “Now see here—”

  Without warning the tall man balled up his fist and punched Lord Dowell in the face.

  Lord Dowell staggered backward, tripped over the curb and landed flat on his back. “Son of a whore!” he howled, cupping his bleeding nose.

  Finny scrambled to her feet.

  “You calling me the son of a whore?” The tall man advanced on Lord Dowell.

  With a screech rivaling any banshee’s, Finny launched herself at the stranger. Wrapping her arms around his neck she clung to his back like an angry monkey. “Ye let ’im be, ye blackguard!”

  “Wot the hell?” The man flailed trying to free himself while his two buddies looked on with shocked expressions. Finally he managed to pry loose her arms and she tumbled to the cobblestones. “Ye noddy wench! I outta’ knock yer block off!”

  “Excuse me?” Lord Dowell lurched to his feet, blood dripping from his nose onto his pristine white shirt. “That is my wife you are insulting!” Before he could say anything else Finny scrambled to her feet with an enraged shriek and punched the man right in the face when he bent down to retrieve his fallen hat. With a howl he stumbled backward.

  “Call me noddy will ye?” Finny advanced on him in a lopsided limp. “I’ll show you! No one calls Finny noddy!”

  Whistles echoed down the street followed by the sound of running feet.

  Lord Dowell wrapped one arm around Finny’s waist and hauled her off her feet in an attempt to stop her assault as a pair of bobbies arrived on the scene.

  “See here! What is the meaning of this?” the older officer asked.

  “It is nothing, officer, just a simple misunderstanding,” Lord Dowell offered, tucking Finny against his side. “These men happened upon an argument between my wife and myself and thought to lend their aide to the lady.”

  “I see.” The officer looked both parties up and down. “And who might you be?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m Lord Dowell.” Lord Dowell reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his calling cards which he handed to the officer.

  The man glanced at it as a crowd of party goers began to gather. “Right then. You best be on your way and keep your marital woes confined to your own home from now on.”

  “Yes, officer, thank you.” Lord Dowell picked up his hat, grasped Finny by the hand and towed her through the crowd back in the direction of the party. She stalked along beside him with uncharacteristic silence. “Well, that ought to keep tongues wagging a while.” Finny’s only response was a sniffle. He paused to scoop up her lost shoe and handed it to her. “I believe this is yours.”

  She snatched it from him with a sour look and stuffed it back on her foot. As they carried on down the street she offered up the soggy, crumpled handkerchief.

  With a half-smile he took it and pressed it to his nose. “Thank you.” After requesting their carriage brought around he helped her in and climbed in opposite her. The conveyance rumbled through the streets. Without warning, Lord Dowell’s shoulders began to shake and then his chuckles grew louder and louder until they filled the carriage.

  Finny squinted at him. Had he lost his marbles? “Wot’s so amusin’?”

  “You … should have seen … the look on his face … when you jumped on him.” Lord Dowell howled with laughter. “I thought his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets.”

  Finny giggled. “Aye, well he deserved it, hittin’ you like that.”

  Lord Dowell shook his head. “What am I going to do with you?”

  She shrugged and looked out the window at the darkened streets beyond. Despite the fact that they were married and the marriage was consummated he still wanted to get rid of her.
Could he?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Finny tossed the blankets over her head when the maid announced Lady Swanson had arrived and was awaiting her downstairs in the parlor. “Tell her I’m not here.”

  “Yes, miss.” The door closed with a soft thud and the maid’s footsteps retreated.

  With a groan she rolled over. The evening before had been a disaster. Even in her bedchamber she heard the dowager’s howls of indignation when she returned from the ball less than an hour after Finny and Lord Dowell did. Instead of making her husband fall in love with her all she had done was make him the laughing stock of London.

  The door opened and footsteps marched across the carpet. The sheet was snatched from her hands and she looked up at Lady Swanson’s frowning face.

  “Finny, you get out of that bed right this minute.” She dropped the sheet and placed her hands on her hips. “Come on.”

  Finny rolled over and hid her face in her pillow. “Uh uh. I’m stayin’ here ’til I die.”

  “Oh no you’re not.” Lady Swanson sighed. “You have worked far too hard to just sit here in your room and sulk.”

  “I’m not sulkin’, I’m waiting to die.”

  “That is not the type of thing the Finny I know would do.”

  She grimaced into her pillow. “Yes it is.”

  The bed dipped. “Finny, it’s not that bad. So a few tongues are wagging. Trust me, something far more scandalous will happen in a few days and everyone will forget about the brawl.”

  Finny sat up with a scowl. “Sure, I’ll fall down the stairs and into a punch bowl so those old biddies’ll have somethin’ else to gossip about.”

  “I meant someone else will do something equally scandalous.”

  “I doubt it.”

  When Finny made to lay back down Lady Swanson took her pillow and tossed it to the foot of the bed. “Get out of bed. Come on, you have packing to do.”

  Finny’s heart leaped into her throat. “I knew it. Lord Dowell is sending me back to Whitechapel.”

  “He is doing no such thing.” Lady Swanson stood with a smile. “My brother has fled to Candlewick and you are going to follow him.”

  “What for?”

  Lady Swanson crossed to the wardrobe and flung open the doors. “Well, for starters I am to go back to the country to start my lying-in period and you promised to keep me company, and second of all I think you and Devon need to get to know each other better.”

  “Devon?”

  “My brother, your husband, Finny.”

  “Oh.” Finny frowned. “Why go all the way to the country for that?”

  Lady Swanson began to pull garments from the wardrobe and toss them onto the bed. “Well, it has occurred to me that perhaps trying to make you a lady was the wrong approach to the problem.”

  Finny caught the day dress she was tossed and laid it beside her. “It was?”

  “Um … I think so.” Lady Swanson crossed to the chest of drawers and opened the top one. “You see, perhaps it would be far easier to get my brother to fall in love with the real Finny, a slightly more polished one, but essentially you as you are.”

  “No one likes the real me.”

  “Oh pish, of course they do. I like you.” Lady Swanson jerked the bell pull by the bed to summon the maid. “Just get packed and I will be around in my carriage after lunch to pick you up. You’ll love the countryside. It is lovely this time of year with the trees all leafed up and the grass so green. Even though I miss the excitement of a London season there are many things I do enjoy about the summers at Candlewick. Wait until you see it. In its early days it was a home everyone talked about. My brother is just putting the finishing touches on the renovations that will make it once again the most lavish mansion in England.”

  “I’ve never been to the country before.”

  “Then you will be sure to love it.” Lady Swanson crossed to the door as it opened and the maid arrived. “I will see you in a couple hours.”

  Finny shed her night dress as her friend exited. Perhaps all was not lost yet. After all, if Lord Dowell was in the countryside, then he could not possibly meet with the lady he claimed to have fallen in love with. Unless of course one of the reasons he went to the country was to see the woman. In that case Finny had better make haste to get there and fight for what was hers by marriage, before it was too late. With a renewed sense of purpose, she set about getting dressed and packed.

  * * *

  Finny leaned out the carriage window and gaped open-mouthed at the monstrous building as it came into view. “Well I’ll be damned! It’s a right proper village it is.”

  Lady Swanson giggled. “Finny, do have care you do not fall out now.”

  With a last look Finny eased back inside. “Who all lives in there?”

  “Just my brother. Our stepmother deplores the country and prefers to spend every season in London or traveling abroad. I spend plenty of time there as well when my husband is away on business. We do have our own smaller place right down the road, but I find it lonely rattling around there all by myself. Besides, this is my childhood home. I thought it only fitting I come here for my lying-in and to bear my first child. Dowells have been born here for centuries.”

  The idea of a home passed down from generation to generation was a strange one to Finny, but she found it pleasing. “So, my children and their children will be born here too?”

  “Most likely.”

  Finny peered out the window as they turned in the long elm-shaded drive. “I’d like that.” Two wide expanses of lawn flanked the drive dotted here and there with carefully manicured flowering shrubs. She took a deep breath and savored the floral perfume of the air. “Ye can’t even smell the gutters out here.”

  Lady Swanson laughed. “Indeed not. The fresh air of the country is most wonderful for a healthy constitution.”

  Whether it was healthy or not to a person mattered little to Finny, but the fresh air was definitely something she could get used to. The carriage turned around a large fountain in the driveway roundabout and the came to a stop in front of a set of wide stone steps. A young man in tan breeches and a white shirt hurried down them to set the step for them to alight. “Where’s his fancy clothes?”

  “Oh, we are much more informal here in the country, Finny. The servants wear plain clothes in the summer instead of uniforms unless we have a party or a social gathering.” Lady Swanson climbed down from the carriage and nodded to the young man. “Good day, George, how is the wife and new baby?”

  “Very well, my lady, thank you. Little Elizabeth is crawling now.” The young man beamed.

  “Lovely! Be sure to bring her around to see me.”

  The young man nodded and helped Finny down. “That I will, my lady. I believe Dunston said there is tea awaiting you in the garden.”

  “Wonderful!” Lady Swanson turned to Finny. “George, may I introduce Lord Dowell’s new wife.”

  The man’s eyes grew round. With a bow he acknowledged her. “Pleased to be of service, Lady Dowell. I did hear his lordship got married. Welcome to Candlewick.”

  Finny glanced at her friend and then smiled. “Thanks.” When he lifted a brow she shrugged and followed Lady Swanson up the steps. Addressing the servants was something she never had to do at her husband’s London home, except to give orders to Mary, her maid, and in that circumstance she just plain told her what she wanted without using the girl’s name. The girl, to her knowledge, had never addressed her beyond a ‘yes’ or ‘no my lady’ in reply to her questions. Was it because Mary knew Finny came from an even lower class than herself? Most likely. Here however, none of the servants would suspect she was anything other than Lady Dowell, if she took care with her speech and mannerisms. So much for being myself….

  On the threshold of the foyer Finny froze with a gasp. The massive entrance room was decorated in cream colored titles, which complimented the sandstone walls. Everything from the picturesque oriental-style paintings on the walls to the grandiose split,
curving staircase were edged in gold. Even the red carpet on the stairs was bordered by gold braiding. As she stepped tentatively into the room a tall vase in the corner caught her eye; beautiful brilliantly colored birds with flowing tails decorated the outside of it. “Oh … my, is this a castle?”

  Lady Swanson giggled. “It does kind of remind me of the palace.”

  Finny swallowed. “You’ve been to the palace?”

  “On occasion.” She smiled. “Come along, Finny. Wait until you see the gardens.”

  In mute awe Finny trailed along behind through the foyer, down a long corridor lined by doors between the twin staircases to the back of the house. There a set of double doors stood open to a massive room with wall to ceiling windows looking outside. In the corner on a raised platform sat a large pianoforte. This room was decorated in the same color and manner as the entrance way. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling that depicted what she gathered was an evening sky full of stars. Finny turned in a circle to see it all in its glory. This ballroom by far eclipsed the one at the party she attended the evening before. “Who would have ever though I, Finny Donelly, would ever be standing in a room this grand,” she breathed.

  Lady Swanson giggled. “The gardens are this way.” Without waiting she opened one of the glass doors Finny had mistaken for a floor to ceiling window and stepped out onto an adjacent tile patio.

  In a trance, Finny followed. A table flanked with comfortable looking chairs took up much of the space and the gold-painted oriental-designed railing was bordered by long planters full of red and white flowers that lent a sweet fragrance to the air. A serving girl in a modest cotton frock pulled out two chairs at the table already set with dainty tea sandwiches, pastries, silver tea service and lacy golden napkins.