5: Muddied Waters

Rosemary accepted a teacup from the footman with a soft smile, raising the steaming liquid to her chin and inhaling deeply. It was fruity and light, the perfect brew for the overcast picnic. For the time being, she lowered the cup to her lap and let her gaze run across the guests gathered on the lawn. Rugs were laid out haphazardly across the grass, with pillows, cushions, and parasols littered across them. Large plates filled with fresh fruit and delicate pastries were let in the middle of each, with young ladies perched around them, their skirts cast elegantly out to the sides as they picked at the food before them.

A few minutes earlier, many of the gentleman had risen and moved off to the left, set on a game of croquet that occasionally heralded a round of raucous laughter. The bolder of the young misses had ventured closer to observe, hiding behind their fans as the men peacocked back and forth. It was ridiculous, Rosemary thought, shaking her head as she raised the tea to her lips.

"Croquet does not amuse you, Mrs Albright?"

The sudden question came from above her, and Rosemary hurried to swallow the hot liquid as she looked up. Lord DeGeorge towered over her, his hands clasped behind his back as he smiled down at her.

"Not at all, Lord DeGeorge," she said, inclining her head briefly in greeting, "I find it very amusing indeed."

He glanced towards the game, a strand of hair escaping from his slicked-back style and brushing across his forehead. In the light of day, Rosemary could see the grey that danced through his hair, and wondered if he was older than she had assumed.

"Then perhaps you'd join me for a round?"

It was such as innocent question, but as he turned his gaze back to her, Rosemary saw an interest there she hadn't expected. There was... hope. Greer's words the previous night came back to her, accompanied by a sudden dryness in her mouth and a weight in her stomach. For nigh on a year now, her mother had been making subtle introductions to eligible men, and Rosemary had allowed it to continue only because she was certain that none of them were actually considering her as a bride. Not when she turned down dances and still wore a black armband over her sombre dresses. Not when her marriage had stained her reputation.

But DeGeorge was not looking at her clothes or making subtle inquiries about her husband. And rather than the butterflies her mother might have hoped for, his gaze sent a wave of dread up Rosemary's spine.

Thankfully, she did not have time to form a response.

"Goodness!" The exclamation, though soft, carried across the lawn, and more than one lady present turned to look at the Marchioness of Westley. Lucinda's gloved hand covered her mouth, her head turned away from the house, and Rosemary welcomed the opportunity to but DeGeorge at her back as she looked for what had startled the woman so.

Despite the clouds in the sky, Rosemary's eyes ached within moments of staring into the distance, and she held a hand to her forehead to shield what little of the glare she could. There were three horses with riders astride – men, she assumed from the square set of their shoulders – approaching from the other side of a low stone fence at a walk. Two of the men had bright hair, glinting golden in the wan daylight, and the other was much darker in contrast.

From the next picnic rug over, Rosemary heard a heavy sigh. "Goodness me."

Recognising Delia's voice, Rose tossed her head in the woman's direction. Her dark tresses were bound up tightly in a complicated braid and they did not dare come loose, even as the woman shook her head.

Glancing back at the men, Rosemary could recognise them for the Delia's husband and elder sons now. Lord Lucas was at the lead, pulling his horse to a halt as he drew close to the wall, and offering a wave of greeting to his guests.

"Good day all," he called, his smile polite. "I hope your morning has been less eventful than ours." He gestured down at himself with a weak shrug of his shoulders.

Rosemary followed his movement with her eyes, feeling her brows raise as she finally noticed the mud which caked him from boot to hip. From the ladylike gasps around her, she was not the only one who had failed to notice their distressed state, though once she'd seen it she wondered that she'd missed it. The mud was a rich brown, darker at the boots, and lighter where it was thinning and cracking around the waist of his pants. Her gaze flicked to Lord Peter, finding him in a similar state, and finally James Kilroy who appeared completely unmarked.

He was also grinning like a man who had avoided the mud.

Rosemary dropped her head to hide her own smile. Despite their worn appearances, they all seemed in good spirits, and whatever had befallen them could not have been so troubling.

Greer, who sat to her left with a half-nibbled tart clutched in one hand, leant closer to her. "Do you think they wrestled? It's not exactly couth, but I'm sure it did them some good."

It was only by pressing her gloved fingers to her mouth that Rose held in a bubble of laughter. "Do you suppose the Lords Quentin fought whilst Mister Kilroy stood over as adjudicator?"

Her friend's smile faded at the edges, turning puzzled as her brow puckered lightly. "Not the Lords Quentin against each other, but the Lords Quentin," she dipped her head at the two blondes, who now addressed their approaching wives with chagrined smiles, "against Mister Alexander Kilroy." She inclined her head to the right, and Rosemary followed at such a pace that she felt the movement reverberate down her spine.

There was a fourth horse and rider that she had not noticed, off to the side and half cast in the shadow of the house. Along with the rest of the gathered guests, Alex's attention was on his brothers, and Rosemary might have almost said he was smiling. But then again, it may have been a trick of the shadows.

Rose skimmed him quickly, but she could see no med beyond what covered his boots. The calves of his riding breeches were a shade darker than the rest, and the hair that was drawn back from his face was damp, but with sweat or water she couldn't tell. If the brothers had fought, Alex had most certainly come out of top. Something not unlike pride bloomed in her chest at the thought.

Without taking her eyes off of Alex, she angled her head back to Greer. "I'm sure they did not fight."

She felt the woman's shrug, the edge of her sleeve rubbing against Rose's own. "A pity. It might do them some good."

At that comment, Rosemary tore her eyes off Alex, turning her attention abruptly to Greer. In turn, the younger woman's attention was back on her tart, brushing a few fallen crumbs off her peach day dress.

"What do you mean by that?"

Her question came out more harshly than she'd intended, but thankfully her whisper kept the words between them. Greer raised her pale brows at Rose, the tart sinking, forgotten, to her lap.

"Forgive me, Rosemary, I did not mean to speak out of turn." The apology was laced with surprise.

"No, forgive me, I..." Rose swallowed, her gaze flicking across all four men on horseback, falling lastly to Alex who still sat at a distance, shadowed and separate. It amazed her, sometimes, how good he was at setting himself to the side. She turned a deliberately soft smile back to Greer. "I only wondered what you meant."

A wisp of blond hair escaped Greer's coiffure, carried by the breeze, and she tucked it behind her ear. "The..." She chose her words carefully. "... tension between the younger Mister Kilroy and his family is not a well-kept secret," she said, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. "I do not think it would hurt to put some of those feelings out in the open, even if it meant a minor squabble."

Greer had been an astute woman since Rose had known her, but in the last twenty-four hours she had come to appreciate just how much the younger woman knew of the world around her without letting on.

Rosemary looked away to hide the wave of feelings her friend's comment had arisen in her. It shouldn't have surprised her that the Ton knew of Alex's 'tension', as Greer put it. The years he'd turned twenty he'd all but disappeared overnight, putting distance between himself and his family that no one had expected – nor, as far as Rosemary could tell, wanted. Of course the Ton had gossiped, and no doubt there was all manner of rumours about the family. It set a sour taste in her mouth.

There was a noise above her, the clearing of a throat, and again Rosemary startled, looking up to find DeGeorge waiting patiently with a placid smile on his face. She'd clear forgotten he was there!

"May I interest you in that game of croquet, Mrs Albright?"

That was the last thing she wanted to do in that moment.

"Forgive me, Lord DeGeorge," she said, lowering her now tepid cup of tea to the rug and sliding the china out of harms reach. "I find that I need to go confer with a friend."

She swung her legs out to the side, accepting DeGeroge's hand when it was offered to her. His palm was warm in hers, even through the glove, and for a moment she waited for a thrill or a shiver at the touch. It was arguably the most intimate way a man had touched her in many years, and yet she felt... nothing.

"If you'll excuse me." She dipped a quick curtsey at the man, smiling a farewell as Greer, before she turned and made her way across the lawn. A few curious eyes caught her as she passed, but the young wives scolding their mud-drenched husbands was much richer fodder, and they quickly lost interest in her.

It wasn't until she reached the edge of the building that Alex's gaze turned to her, a frown fallen into place as if by habit before receding as he recognised her. He dismounted, looping the reins over his horse's head and drawing the animal with him to the fence. He leant against it, elbows against the firm stone, as he waited for her.

"You've set off quite a stir," she commented as she reached him. The mare ambled forwards, drawn by her voice, and she stroked her nose with a slight laugh as Alex barely avoided being trodden on. He pushed the horse back firmly, offering a stern look to both females.

Then he resumed his position, glancing at his brothers and their incensed wives. "You'd think they were the ones doing the laundering for all the fuss they're making." He almost sounded irritated, but the shine in his eyes betrayed him: he was enjoying this.

Rosemary smiled as well. "I'm sure Lucinda and Helena are just worried."

He let out a soft grunt. He may have said more, but the nosey mare butted her head against his shoulder, and he shook her off with a glare Rosemary didn't quite believe.

"I should return her to the stables before she starts causing trouble," he said, tossing his head as the horse was considering the cuff of his sleeve with interest.

Rose glanced back at the picnic, where attention had finally turned about from the Lords Quentin and back to the croquet. She looked back to Alex.

"Would you care for some company?"

He seemed surprised, but shrugged. "The stables are on this side." He jerked his chin at the wall between them. "I can help you cross?"

Rosemary was still very aware of the collection of gentlemen and ladies behind them. "Perhaps when we are further out of view."

Alex nodded easily at that, and turned away from the picnic, moving the mare to his outer shoulder. Despite the wall between them, they fell into step easily enough, Alex's attention on the wooden buildings a few hundred metres away and Rosemary eyed the grass she walked on.

"So," she said after a quiet moment, looking over at his profile. "Will you tell me what happened?"

Alex shrugged, dragging his dark hair back from his face. "Nothing notable. We rode the estate, shifted a log in a stream, and Lucas lost his footing."

"And Peter?"

The corners of his mouth twitched, fighting to stay downturned. "He went down in sympathy."

Rosemary's laughter escaped her in a burst, finally drawing his grin free, and she shook her head. "You must have enjoyed that immensely."

"It would be ungentlemanly of me to say that."

She chuckled again. "It would be," she agreed, "but I did mean riding the estate. You always enjoyed spending time outside."

He drew to a stop then, his brow creasing slightly as he fixed her with his dark gaze. "You remember that?"

Rosemary stilled as well, turning to face him and bringing her hands to rest on the wall between them. The stone was cold, sending a chill up her arms as she met his furrowed stare. "Of course! How many marches across the countryside did you lead me and Beth on as children, pointing out every tree and flower you knew by name. How many times were we scolded when you brought us back after supper had already been served?" She did not hold a grudge, but she still settled her fists on her hips, raising a brow at the man who had once been a little boy with a love of frolicking in fields.

For a moment, she wondered that he had not heard the teasing in her voice; he stood there, still and unwavering, with a heavy frown meeting her own. And then, suddenly, like the break of rain in the middle of a humid night, his expression softened, leaving a tiny, sincere smile in his mouth and perhaps the slightest flush of red in his cheeks.

After a moment, he turned away, eyeing the stables which had drawn considerably closer. "Will you join me on this side of the fence now?"

Rosemary glanced over her shoulder, happy to find all the other guests hidden from view. She nodded, stepping slightly away from the wall to look for a foothold. One stone, about a third of the way up the wall, protruded out far enough to give her boot purchase, and she set one hand on top of the wall and caught up the front of her skirts with the other. As she stepped up, she wobbled slightly, but Alex caught her gently by the upper arm and held her steady.

Then, a third of the way up the wall as she was, she encountered a spot of trouble. She could no longer see where to put her feet, and at the same time she was still too low to consider swinging a leg over the fence. As it was, the top of the wall came to about the middle of her thigh – she'd be all but mounting it if she tried to cross it as she was.

She let out a huff of air and locked eyes with Alex. "I believe I'm stuck."

He was grinning. "Between a rock and a hard place, as it were."

She held in her giggle with difficulty, fixing him with the sternest glare she could muster. "I'm stranded here, and you're telling jo-"

Rosemary was cut off by her own gasp of surprise.

Smile still in place, Alex leant forward and gripped her waist, his broad hands seeming to scald her through the layers of her dress.

"Don't forget to lift your feet," he murmured, his face little more than a handspan from hers.

She meant to protest, to ask questions, to remind him that holding her like that was hardly proper, but she couldn't. She could not find the words.

Her only warning that he was about to move was the press of his fingers into her hips. She gasped, first at the sensation, and then again as she was suddenly lifted up and over the wall. At the last moment, she remembered to kick her feet up and out of the way, feeling one slipper graze across the stones, before she forced them back into place beneath her as she was just as suddenly lowered back towards the ground.

The first thing she noticed, on the other side of the wall, was the distance between them. Or rather, the lack thereof. As he'd lifted her, he'd turned them slightly, putting his back to the looming house and swinging her free and clear of the wall. The motion had brought her down immediately in front of him, so close that she could feel his heat through the front of her dress. She looked up into his face, his eyes near enough that she could see the flecks of grey in his irises, and felt her breath hitch. Except it wasn't hers, it was his, and she felt it through the space between them.

She watched Alex swallow, the swelling of his Adam's apple bobbing in place, and saw a heavy frown settle on his brow. She thought to wipe it away, but it was his hands that moved, slipping into the groove of her waist with his fingers splayed against the bottom of her rib cage. He held her, his grip gentle, and she knew that she could step out of his hold at any moment.

But she did not want to.

It was deeply unsettling.

A flash of movement, just to the side of his right eye, caught her attention, and Rosemary's gaze flicked to the house. In one of the upper windows, partially hidden by a curtain, there was the distinct outline of a woman, her chin angled down and her gaze inarguably set on them.

Finally, sense returned to her, and Rosemary stepped back quickly. Alex's hands jerked away from her waist, stilling in the space before him as if he wasn't quite sure where to put them. He seemed just as confused by the position they'd found themselves in as she was, and Rose cleared her throat quickly, clasping her hands together at her waist, where her dress suddenly felt too thin to keep out the chill of the day.

"Shall we return this horse?"

If hervoice sounded strained, they both had the good sense not to comment on it.

~~~

Hello Lovely Readers!

I think (perhaps) I have realised why I do not usually write novellas... welcome to 1/3 of a chapter that quickly became a whole chapter oops! BUT woo, this officially puts A Happy Union over the second milestone for the #ONC24 - it's now sitting at approximately 10'000 words - yay! My aim for this novella is 12 chapters + an epilogue (any guesses what /whose major event that epilogue might be set around haha?) which should bring the story to 28'000 words total. That's my guess, but please do not hold me to it!

In more exciting news, Alex and Rosemary had their first ~moment~ - did you guys enjoy it? How do you feel about this potential couple, are they well suited to each other?

As always, please remember to vote and comment - I so appreciate your support!

xx Flo