Rags to Romance

by Killarney Sheffield

  “I am pretty sure you are right about that, Finny.” Devon chuckled. “Come on, I will take you for a ride down to the creek. The water is low enough right now we can go across to the meadow on the other side and see the deer there.”

  Finny didn’t care where they rode; she was content to go anywhere as long as it was at Devon’s side. They rode along in silence for a bit. Finally Finny asked, “All those things in your house … are they from this China place you went to?”

  Devon nodded as he studied the ground. “Yes, I love the Orient. It is quite a remarkable place.”

  “I’d like to go on a ship somewhere someday.”

  He looked over at her and lifted an inquiring brow. “Where would you like to go?”

  Finny shrugged. “I dunno. Someplace far away. My pa said there is a place filled with little chilla creatures like mine. I’d like to see all them running around all cute like.” She made a face. “But I guess ladies don’t do stuff like that, adventuring and such.”

  “Not very many of them do. I did hear a tale once about a female pirate who sails the seas. They call her the Sea Witch.”

  Wide-eyed she stared at him. “Is she a real witch?”

  “I doubt it. They just call her that because she likes to plunder ships and sink them.”

  “That’s not very nice.”

  He grinned. “No, it isn’t.” They rode in silence across a meadow. “Tell me about your lessons.”

  She brightened at the chance to tell him of all the things she’d learned. “Well, Lady Swanson, Kat I mean, she taught me how to talk proper, walk like a lady and sip tea. She got me this funny little man who showed me how to dance. I love dancing.”

  “That is something we have in common. I too enjoying dancing.”

  “You’re very good at it too,” Finny complimented.

  He snickered. “Why thank you, you are pretty skilled at dancing yourself.”

  Finny basked in his praise. “I love painting most of all. It makes me feel all warm and special, like I can do somethin’—something, no one else can, you know?”

  “You are special, Finny. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  She glanced at him from under her lashes and could detect no falseness on his part. They came upon a bubbling brook. “Oh, I want to paint this.” The brook wound through a flower-studded meadow like a shiny serpent. Butterflies danced here and there, and then Finny spied the delicate spotted deer. They grazed in a small group right in the middle of the field. When they saw the horses their heads shot up and they stared with their big ears flicking back and forth. The largest of the dozen took a step and then was off with a bound and a flick of his fluffy white tail, the rest of the herd on his heels. “Oh no! They ran away.”

  Devon touched his heels to his horse’s flanks and walked on. “I’ll tell you what. Tomorrow while Kat is napping I will give you another riding lesson in the corral and then we can bring a picnic lunch and your drawing materials to the meadow for the afternoon.”

  “We can? And the deer will come back?” Finny tapped the dozing Percy with her stick to encourage him to follow Devon’s horse.

  Devon grinned over his shoulder. “Yes, the deer will come back.”

  ç

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Kat, you will never guess what I did this morning,” Finny gushed when she returned from her ride and spied her friend lounging on the patio in the shade. She trotted ahead, leaving Devon to stroll along at a much more leisurely pace. “I rode a horse, and I didn’t even fall off.”

  Kat laughed and then sobered at the dirty smudge on the skirt of Finny’s morning dress. “Oh, Finny, you must never ride in such a delicate muslin.”

  Finny smoothed the skirt. “Devon promised it wouldn’t get torn and it didn’t. Percy was most careful not to tear it.”

  “Well, if you are to ride, then we must order you a habit or two. In fact, I believe I left one here last time I visited that should fit you.” Kat patted Finny’s hand. “After the babe is born we shall have to ride together and I will take you to the hunt course.”

  Sobered by the thought she wouldn’t be at Candlewick in the fall since the divorce would be through before then, Finny turned away. “I better go change for tea.” She trudged inside and upstairs to her room.

  * * *

  Devon entered the parlor and poured himself a glass of sherry, his mind on the outing with Finny. If he must admit it to himself, he did enjoy her company. Her honest reactions and delight in every little thing around her amused him.

  The butler entered. “My lord, there is a Lord Tromley and a Lord Ravenfeild here to see you.”

  “Ah, show them in and make sure there are two more places set at the dining table.” Devon poured two more glasses of sherry.

  His two former school chums entered and he handed them each a drink with his greeting. “Marcus, Fredrick, good to see you again. What brings you to the country during the off season?”

  Marcus clapped Devon on the back before taking a seat on one of the two armchairs. “I might ask you the same thing old friend. I heard you are hiding away here after a scandalous encounter in London with none other than a supposed wife.”

  Fredrick sat on the settee. “Yes, do tell. How is it you have come to be married, yet your best friends did not receive a wedding invite, eh?”

  Devon grimaced and waved away their comments, “It was all a big misunderstanding, I assure you. I was only defending a lady’s honor, nothing more.”

  “Ah, but what of the rumors you have married?” Marcus asked on the edge of his seat.

  Clearing his throat Devon sought an explanation that didn’t sound shallow or insipid. “A simple mistake … you see, my stepmother was pressuring me to marry, worried about my inheritance, and well I thought to play a little trick on her for her meddling and did drop a Whitechapel girl on her as my wife. The ploy succeeded in making her refrain from meddling in my affairs since.”

  Fredrick’s eyes grew as big as saucers. “You are jesting, right? An honest to goodness unwashed wench as your wife?”

  Devon tried to shrug it off. “It was meant to be a jest, nothing more, but you know Kat. She sought to turn the tables on me and turn the girl into a lady befitting the title.”

  “Good Lord, man!” Marcus exclaimed. “I bet the old girl was fit to be tied! What a coup! What I wouldn’t have given to be a fly on the wall the day you dropped that scandalous bit of muslin on her door.”

  Fredrick snickered. “So, where is this wench now?”

  Devon took a sip of his sherry to delay the inevitable for at least a moment or two. “She’s upstairs.”

  Marcus let out a hoot. “I always said you had brass, man! Woo-hoo, what a story! Did she really knock out a street thug?”

  “No, she did give him quite the black eye though.” Devon couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Are you starting a new trend for the marriage mart then?” Fredrick teased. “Should we all scour the gutters for a dowdy bit of muslin to transform into swans?”

  “I wouldn’t recommend it. Turns out no sooner did I drop the girl off at my townhouse than I meet a most remarkable lady who has made me reconsider my rash decision.”

  Marcus leaned forward. “Do tell.”

  Devon shrugged. “A very refreshing young lady began to write me on my voyage, some friend of Kat’s or something, and I find myself very foolishly smitten by her.”

  “Oh dear.” Marcus frowned. “And she’s the marrying type?”

  “Most definitely.”

  “Hum … a devil of a pickle then….” Marcus took a swig of his drink. “What now?”

  “There is only one recourse, I am afraid. I applied for a divorce.”

  Fredrick choked on his mouthful of sherry. “You don’t say! You will be all dished up in polite society, my friend. Is this lady worth that?”

  “I believe she is,” Devon replied with a grim smile.

  “Ah, but will she consider matrimony once the scanda
l of divorce dies down?” Marcus asked.

  “I certainly hope so. I’ll have risked everything for her.” A rustle of silk caught his attention and he looked to the open door. Finny stood there, her face white and drawn. How much of the conversation had she heard? Enough it appeared. Clearing his throat, he stood. “Gentlemen, may I introduce my wife, Lady Dowell.” Both men turned to the door and their mouths dropped open. Devon almost laughed at their comical though ungentlemanly expressions.

  Marcus was the first to gather his wits. Jumping to his feet he hurried across to take Finny’s hand and bow low over it. “Lady Dowell, what a pleasure it is to meet you and if you will permit me in saying what a vision of loveliness you are.”

  Finny’s cheeks turned a becoming shade of red as Fredrick rushed over to greet her and offer his praise of her beauty himself. “Thank you, I am pleased to meet ye—you.”

  She was nervous, Devon could tell by the slip in her speech. The only time she slid back into her native slang was when she was exceptionally nervous or very excited. Guilt needled him and he crossed to rescue her from the fawning men. “These are my childhood chums, Marcus and Fredrick. We don’t stand on ceremony with each other.”

  Finny offered up a small smile. “Then please call me Finny, everyone else does.”

  It appeared she regained her composure and Devon silently applauded her smooth recovery. If she plied her charms his friends would never believe she was a Whitechapel chit. “I have asked for extra place settings to be added to the table tonight.”

  Surprise and a little unease flashed in her eyes before she favored them with a bright smile. “How lovely it will be to have some company. Though I do so enjoy my husband’s company, it will be entertaining to have guests tonight. I’m afraid Kat—I mean Lady Swanson, is….” she faltered and looked to Devon.

  “Is she indisposed this evening?” Devon supplied.

  “Yes,” she gave him a brilliant smile that took his breath away. “Yes, she is indisposed tonight. She is going to have a babe in a few months’ time.”

  “I had heard rumors she was with child. How wonderful for her and Lord Swanson,” Fredrick remarked.

  The butler poked his head around the corner of the door. “Excuse me, my lords, but dinner is served in the dining room.”

  Before Devon could offer his arm to escort Finny to dinner, both Fredrick and Marcus rushed to offer theirs. With a light giggle Finny placed a hand on each of their arms, flashed Devon a triumphant look and sailed off to the dining room with her two already smitten admirers. Devon tried to ignore the pang of jealousy which rose in him at the sight. There was no reason to be jealous, he scolded himself. Finny was his wife. It wasn’t as if she was going anywhere, at least not for a little while….

  Devon sat back and listened to the conversation at the dining table. Finny held her own with remarkable ease offering questions, well thought out replies, and delicate laughter. Indeed, except for the odd slight mistake in diction, she was the epitome of a lady. It wasn’t long before, he suspected she had Marcus and Fredrick completely smitten and willing to be lead like bulls by their proverbial nose rings. Again the unwelcome stab of jealousy had him catch his breath.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Finny pressed her face against the window pane and sighed. Two days of rain made her melancholy and restless. She enjoyed the last week, riding each day with Devon and painting the deer while they picnicked by the stream. Since the rain started however, he had been hiding away in his study all day and into the wee hours of the morning. The only time they seemed to see each other was at meals or afternoon tea, and Lady Swanson’s presence made them both tense.

  She turned back to study her latest painting on the easel before her. It was hard to finish the cheery scene of a doe grazing under a tree with her fawn when the rain was falling so hard outside. Uninspired, she set down the paintbrush and wandered from the ballroom, which was her favorite place to paint for the light, and into the hall. Bored, she strolled along looking at the various oriental paintings and artifacts displayed on the walls. Voices coming from behind the door to Devon’s study made her pause.

  “Please see that this letter is delivered to the lady’s London house.”

  Finny frowned when she recognized Devon’s voice.

  “Yes, my lord. Why do you pen letters to the lady when you could speak with her first hand?”

  “I have yet to gather the courage to ask the question I desire to as of yet.”

  “I understand, my lord. I will see your missive gets delivered right away.”

  As the door opened, Finny hurried back in the direction of the ballroom, tears stinging her eyes. It was hopeless. No matter how hard she tried to get Devon to like her he still only saw her as the little guttersnipe he rescued so long ago. By the time she reached the music room, tears flowed down her cheeks and her sobs echoed. In her haste to be free of her despair she fled out the glass doors and across the patio out into the rain. Why did she ever think she could win Devon’s love away from a real lady? Heart aching, she ran across the lawn, soaking her delicate slippers. Blindly she sprinted up a path and found herself at the stable. Drenched by the rain, her hair, once curled and piled atop her head, now hung in soggy locks about her face as she stepped into the barn.

  Percy stood tied in the isle, his saddle and bridle shiny with rain drops as if he had just been ridden. He nickered when he saw her, no doubt hoping for the carrot she made a habit of bringing him each time she rode. In need of comfort she crossed to him and put her arms around his neck, burying her face in his damp mane. “Oh, Percy, I’m such a ninny. Why did I ever think anyone could love me? I’m just a Whitechapel stray. Ain’t nobody ever gonna love Finny Donelly, even my papa didn’t.” Percy nickered and rubbed his head against her, as if to comfort her. “I want to go home. I don’t belong here.”

  Drawing back, she untied Percy and climbed aboard the strange saddle. Instead of perching with both legs to one side she found herself straddling the fat pony, her skits bunched unceremoniously up around her thighs. She turned the pony’s head and kicked him with both feet. Percy ambled from the barn, across the stable yard and down the path to the creek they had taken so often with Devon and his big gray. Once on the path Finny urged Percy into a rough trot, holding desperately to the front of the saddle as she tried to balance. Without warning the rain began to come down harder and harder until she couldn’t see two feet in front of her. Before long she came to the edge of the creek. Wiping the rain from her face, she squinted at the rushing water. For some reason it looked rougher than all the times she and Devon picnicked on its banks. Despite that, she urged the pony forward. He balked and danced on the bank.

  “Move it, Percy, you stubborn beast!” Finny kicked and kicked but the pony refused to step into the water they had crossed so many times before. She unhooked the riding stick from the saddle and smacked him with it. He jumped forward into the water. With a screech she dropped the stick and the reins, wrapping her arms around his neck to keep from falling off. The pony stumbled and slipped on the rocky bottom wading deeper and deeper into the churning mass. Before she knew it the water was past Percy’s knees, then it rose higher than she had ever seen, to his chest and then up to the top of the saddle. The icy cold creek soaking her skirts made Finny gasp. Without warning the pony seemed to drop out from under her until all that remained above the water was his head. He snorted, eyes rolling in fear, and tried to turn back for the bank. Finny lost her grip and slipped off the side, going under the rushing current.

  Pure terror and panic took hold as she flailed beneath the water. She bobbed to the surface only to be pulled back under and dashed against a log tumbling down stream. Coughing and sputtering she again breached the surface and gulped for air. “He-elp!” she managed before taking in a mouthful of muddy water and sinking back under. I’m gonna die! With a jerk she shot back up to the surface and collided with a solid shape.

  “I’ve got you, hold on!”

 
She was hauled face down across a wet horse’s neck. Too cold and terrified to move, she lay there, clutching the rider’s leg, gagging up mouthful after mouthful of gritty water. The horse lurched and floundered until it finally staggered up the opposite bank. It came to a halt beside poor Percy, who stood, soggy and exhausted under a big oak tree.

  “Are you all right, Finny?”

  “No,” she whimpered and then promptly unloaded the contents of her stomach on the ground at the horse’s feet.

  “I would offer you my handkerchief but it’s rather soggy.”

  Turning her head, she glared up at Devon and wiped her mouth with her wet sleeve.

  Wrapping an arm about her waist, he hoisted her into a sitting position across his lap. “You could have drowned. What were you thinking riding out in a storm by yourself, not to mention trying to cross such a bloated stream?”

  Lips quivering as she tried not to burst into tears, she looked down at her hands clutching the silver mane of his horse. “I wanted to go home.”

  “Home is in the opposite direction.” Devon leaned forward and snatched up Percy’s reins. Leading the pony in one hand and steering his own with the other, he urged the animals along a muddy path into the forest bordering the meadow. “There is an old sheep herder’s shack in the woods. We’ll go there for the night and get a fire started to warm up. It is getting dark and is too dangerous to try and ford the creek to get back home tonight.”

  The lure of a hot fire to Finny’s shaking limbs and chattering teeth was too great to protest, so she nodded instead.

  Before long they came across a little clearing, wherein stood a cottage not much bigger than the little pagoda in the garden. Devon drew the horses up to a large leafy elm tree and lowered Finny to the ground before dismounting and securing both horses beneath the shelter of its limbs. He then crossed to the door and gave it a shove. It opened with a squeal of rusty hinges. Devon stepped aside and gestured to her to enter. She walked in and surveyed their shelter from the rain. A hearth took up most of the space along the one wall, with an old black pot still hanging on the hook above it and a stack of wood beside it. Across from that was a narrow cot with a tick which leaked straw from one torn corner. A scarred table and a dusty three-legged stool sat beneath the only window, which was flanked by crude burlap curtains.