The Rake and The Rose (A Rake's Mistake) (2 page)

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01

The women on the first floor drawing room bustled with nervousness, all twittered and quacked very much like a squadron of ducks about a pond. What would Lord Cromwell look like, if he had to gather women? Was he hideous? Deformities? Either way the estate was very grand. So most did not really care for his features- or rather their families didn’t when money came into it. The women had all come with a couple of relatives and or ladies in waiting. Some prattled about how lovely the estate was; others primped themselves like flustered birds.

Giselle, Alexander’s aunt and stepmother, was not a favorite of the staff or anyone who resided at Cromwell estate for long.
   She had been dubbed “The Dragon” in regard to how nasty she could be. Giselle flitted about the room making sure all the ladies looked their best, for this was most important.

Her goal to get Alexander a wife had to work, but for her own reasons of course.

She glanced at a black corkscrew-curly haired girl whom she had brought there by personal invitation and smiled at her. This girl had no family or maid with her, but she sat demurely on a sofa facing a window, looking rather unhappy, her eyes dark storm clouds.

Everything would work out perfectly. It had to. Much of Giselle’s future well being relied on the success of this plan, and she would take every pain and measure to make sure it worked in her favor.

When her sister- the former Lady Cromwell- Evelyn had passed away, Giselle had been working in a textile mill. She knew the stress of poverty and looked again at the curly haired beauty with sky eyes. “Lottie.” She said nodding her head. The other women chatted around them but did not seem to care for their conversation.

“Good afternoon Lady Cromwell.” The young woman had a dimpled smile. Quite fetching.

“I hope your father is well.” She gave her a soft smile of welcome. For Lottie was her prized horse in this race to catch the Lord  Cromwell.

“He is, but I worry that I will not catch Lord Cromwell’s eye…” the girl was gangly and awkward, but even Giselle could see the beauty she would grow up to be.

“Child listen to me…my adopted sister Evelyn would dress as a commoner and visit me when I worked in the textile mills.” Lottie looked startled and her mouth dropped open.

Giselle exhaled quickly, “That did not stop Benjamin Cromwell from seeing my sister in the street, wearing rags- she was sneaking out of the house you see- and falling madly in love, with her green eyes and dark hair.” Giselle felt a bitter note come into her voice. “I had been left behind and thrown out of my adoptive home with Evelyn's parents after my adopted sister married.”

What Giselle failed to state was although given money by her all too caring sister, and having deep feelings of love for Evelyn it did not stop her from taking notice of Lord Cromwell when he was free of his year in mourning. She cleared her throat and continued. “When Evelyn died, yes I had been forlorn; but I also knew that I needed to survive-”

“I didn’t think one could marry their brother in law.” Lottie seemed to muse, Giselle happily cleared that up with a wave of her hand.

“Technically we were not siblings by paper, which is why I was thrown out…but the late Lord Cromwell had been lonely, and I was worried I would not catch his eye... I was younger than Evelyn and even though not as pretty, still a sight to behold if I do say so. He whisked me away from the hand-to-mouth lifestyle I had been living, Benjamin transported me into the decadence of upscale society.”

Lottie looked confused “What does this tale have to do with me?”

“Like myself I think you’d take to high society like a duck to water and I will do everything in my power to ensure that you get your chance. As your father would want.”

“But I don’t want-” But Giselle was waving her hand.

“Not now my dear one, I need to get all the others ready.”

The young woman looked resigned, “Of course Ma’am…”

She sighed inwardly as she walked along, her grey eyes glancing across from girl to girl yet again. One of them had to do; especially that black haired Lottie.

Speaking of which, she had to get Alexander and the ladies’ fathers ready for their hunting trip this afternoon, a few foxes had been seen earlier.

A few miles from the estate, deep in the surrounding woods and ravines, her feet scrambled for purchase along the riverbank’s rocks covered in moss. Charlotte clung to the edge of a sprouting tree root and dragged herself out of the wet and cold. She was freezing, and her night rail had long since been torn at the bottom. Charlotte had no idea how she had come to be where she was, nor how she had gotten where she woke up a few days ago. All she knew was she kept heading west!

Her head ached and throbbed in protest to her getting up slowly and leaning against a great oak tree. She proceeded to take stock of her injuries and found that the gash in her scalp did not feel any better. Blood still smeared on her hand when pressed against it, for the scab had cracked when she had slid down a hill a few miles back. “I need shelter…” she whimpered, her feelings of hope in finding someone to help were shattered with every person that chased her off. Charlotte shook of the impending dread that always came with seeing people through the trees.

She thought that the gash might be the reason for her lack of memory. Her fear of people at this point was great, though she had no idea what she was afraid of.  She did not have very much to go on, except for her name on a locket, and a vague recollection that it was indeed herself.

Charlotte exhaled and tried to remember; anything at all would do! But whenever the thoughts lingered within her grasp, a terrible headache came on. She looked around and tried to find a road, something, but failing; had to continue on. She winced as her bleeding feet stepped on the stones, pebbles, throbbing till they finally found soft grass.

She felt weak and woozy. It was a miracle she had gotten so far to begin with. She had managed to have water supplied by streams and the little bit of bread given to her by some children who were fishing by a river had kept her from passing out. But even then finding a clean water source was rare, wells suited just fine when she stumbled upon a small town or village, but she did not risk it until nightfall.

“Maybe I can do some work for food,” she pondered aloud, but fear kept her standing against the tree.

Suddenly, she heard voices off in the distance, and spotted a red fox speeding past her. The yelps of hunting dogs could be heard and a gentleman’s voice.

“Lord Cromwell! He’s heading that way, not east!” the men laughed as a black horse skidded to a halt on the wet floor.

“Yes, have a laugh chaps, but I swore the creature headed this way.”

The voice sounded like thunder, and the horse saw her before his rider did. She froze in terror as the owner spotted her and she saw glinting green lock onto her eyes. “What the devil?”

His horse spun nervously breaking the connection. She darted toward the smell of food, easily bursting through the pathway like a bat out of hell. She did not hear hooves behind her, and assumed she was safe- at least for the moment. When she nearly rolled down a small hill she stopped; panting and hurting from what seemed every fiber of her being. She glanced up and exhaled; forgotten were all her worries at the beauty of the house before her.

Charlotte had seen plenty of homes through the trees as she followed the road from the woods and trees, but this one was the most beautiful home she had ever seen before.

Georgian remnants clung to the architecture in the neoclassical designs, with exposed sash boxes, and the gibbs surrounds, but it had been retouched with the new Regency architectural details as well. The fanlights were more elaborate and it looked like there were bay windows on the second floor.

The stairs
into the estate, led up to the first floor of the house, and the ground floor had to be where the kitchen and pantry were, as there were only a couple easy to open windows on the very bottom floor. She looked up to see gothic windows on the fourth, which was meant for servants, and more regal curtains and windows on the second and the third had heavy curtains drawn. She wondered why.

It would have intrigued her to look at the house some more, but that enticing smell wafted against her nose again. Charlotte quickly scrambled up and limped to down the slope to the right side of the house, a Dutch door was open on the top and she sniffed again. Her stomach agreed loudly, that it would not hurt to ask for a piece of bread at least.

“What was that? Titan, easy…” Alexander spun his horse back around, but the apparition was gone. He had seen a young woman clothed in a torn white dress that barely kept her covered.

Her pale skin, almost visible beneath it showing a torn chemise that floated with a haunting air. He’d have sworn he'd seen a fairy, but fairies didn’t bleed. He gulped and shook his head; the eyes were unnatural, black. But all the other features he could not tell.

“What’s wrong My Lord? See a ghost?”

His dear friend Kade, who was the adopted son of the Duke of Lincoln, rode up alongside him along with the Marquess of Devon, the Duke of and Marquess Carlisle and Devon. It irritated him that Kade did not call him Alexander, but he knew that it was not proper unless with family who were also allowed to call him such.

The Gentlemen had all accompanied their daughters to meet the wealthy Lord Cromwell, who with being a unmarried man, their daughters would have to be protected. Alexander had brought them on a foxhunt, since the early spring had them out looking for food. He shook his head as they all laughed at him good-naturedly, and he chuckled

“My Lord, do come along, the fox shall be long gone by now!” Devon called, he turned his horse in a circle to calm the steed down and continued on his way.

Francesca and Sophie, the house cook were in the kitchens getting food ready for the Ladies’ afternoon tea. Sophie pounded away at the scone dough that had dried currants in it. She had lain out a couple loaves of bread on the open windowsill to cool, and was reflecting about the household. Nothing went on that she didn’t know about, having lived with the Cromwell’s for more than thirty years. She was not worried about her position in the house even with The Dragon.

Francesca bustled in from the first floor and sighed, “I swear those Ladies are dafter than a drunk in Bedlam at moments.” Sophie sighed and her friend chuckled. 

As if remembering something, "Did you hear that they're moving it again?" Francesca said. 

"Where'd you hear that from?"

"A donator apparently was talking about it, and Mrs. Jenkins heard her." she shrugged. 

The cook tilted her head "The seamstress? Whatever would she know about that?" she seemed surprised at first. “Though now that I think of it…the staff members do know everything!”

Francesca nodded setting a tray down to put cups and plates upon it "Yes, apparently the building was crumbling and there aren't enough rooms for all the loons they have there...though I have to say not all are loons." They both shook their heads in sad agreement. 

"When are they moving it?"

"Haven't the slightest clue, but I hope it's far away from here!" Francesca nodded affirming her hope. 

Sophie laughed and went to shake the towel out that had flour still on it from wiping the cutting board off. As she shook the towel out the Dutch door, she started when she saw a face peeking out from behind the hedges of the kitchen garden.

“Oh!” Sophie cried putting a hand to her face. "Speaking of Bedlam, Good heavens Francesca, come quickly!"

“What is it?” Francesca rushed over.

“I don’t know. There is someone in the garden…Hello!” Sophie waved. “I think it is a girl,” she whispered.

Charlotte huddled behind the hedges and spooked when the woman called her. She timidly poked her head out again, and realized there was more than one.
Will they chase me way?
She saw both women’s faces go through a strange range of emotions. First they were startled, and then confused, and then it was something she couldn’t place. "Do you think she's insane?" Francesca whispered.