Page 28 of Falling for a Forsaken Marquess
“Think of it as a game, Fanny. I shall say you are my friend should anyone ask, and if they believe me, then it is proof that clothes really do maketh the man.”
“I do not wish to be in trouble for acting high and mighty, miss,” Fanny argued.
“Oh, do not fuss over such things,” Agnes insisted. “Everyone will be none the wiser. Shall we go?”
Fanny still appeared a tad distressed, but she opened the door and let Agnes go through first. The pair set off for the shops less than a mile from the house, chatting along the way about what the town had to offer and how it compared to Lydney.
“This must be one of the most well-known towns in the whole of England,” Agnes commented. “Everyone must come here for the waters. Do you think they work?”
“I do not know, miss. I have never tried the waters, but I have heard of many others who have. I have yet to see a change in them, though.”
Agnes shrugged. “Perhaps it works for some. Mrs Mellors told me that she regularly takes the waters and believes it keeps her young. However, she is not too fond of the taste.”
“To tell the truth, Mrs Mellors always looks rather green whenever she returns from the Pittville Pump Room,” Fanny revealed.
“Oh, dear. That does not sound good at all. Does anyone know what is in the waters? I do not think I have ever heard anyone mention it.”
“I’m afraid I am none the wiser, miss,” Fanny admitted. “What colour ribbon do you wish to purchase for your sister?”
“I think a lovely bright blue,” Agnes replied. “Livvy has beautiful fair hair that looks almost white if not for the few golden strands that glimmer under sunlight. It is much prettier than my straw-coloured hair.”
Agnes had once asked her mother if she could dye her hair after reading how Roman women had made their hair lighter using Batavian foam or a bar of special soap. Her mother had quickly talked her out of it, stating that the use of cosmetics to alter her appearance was not in keeping with the virtues of a well-bred woman. Agnes had wanted to point out that people did not seem to care about morals but money, but she had wisely held her tongue.
“Oh, but your hair is lovely, miss!” Fanny insisted. “It is both fair and dark and looks as though threads of gold were woven into the strands. I would exchange my dull-coloured brown hair for yours if I could.”
Agnes inspected Fanny’s hair, reaching out to hold a strand between her fingers. “This is not dull at all, but a light brown. You need only brush it until it gleams to make the colour more noticeable.”
Fanny beamed, her cheeks turning bright pink. “Do you truly think so, miss?”
“I know so,” Agnes asserted. “I have an extra brush in my room. I shall give you one to use once we return to the house.”
“Oh, thank you, miss!” Fanny exclaimed. “I shall cherish it always.”
Agnes chuckled. “’Tis only a brush, Fanny. Not a chest full of gold.”
The sound of a galloping horse caught Agnes’ attention, making her turn to see a man urging his horse to move faster as he drove his phaeton.
“What does he suppose he is doing?” Agnes complained angrily. “He is likely to knock someone with his reckless driving!”
“That is Lord Sheffield, miss,” Fanny informed her. “He always rides like this through town. I heard he turned over a poor vendor’s vegetable cart just last week, but he was never reprimanded. His father simply paid the vendor for his damaged goods, and all was made well again.”
Agnes shook her head. “Well, I think him a foolish man! I despise those who have no consideration for others.”
The phaeton disappeared, only to reappear moments later as though it were going round in circles. Agnes watched in horror as the phaeton took a corner far too quickly, dangerously swerving to one side as the driver fought to keep it from tipping over.
The manoeuvre caused a young boy crossing the street to jump back in fright and lose his footing before falling backwards and hitting his head on the pavement. Agnes was momentarily paralysed with horror but seeing the little boy lying helpless and unconscious on the road prompted her to take off at a run, startling Fanny.
“Miss!” the maid cried. “Where are you going?”
Agnes didn’t say a word as she made her way to where the boy lay and knelt beside him, lifting his head to place it on her lap.
“Can you hear me?” she asked the boy, wiping dirt off his face.
Some of it looked like it had been there for days, as though the child did not get regular baths. He was from the lower class judging from his modest clothing and likely made a living stealing from the wealthy. The child remained motionless in her arms, his face pale and worrisome. The gentleman driving the phaeton jumped down and approached her, his annoyance showing on his face.
“Did you see what this child did?” the man demanded, shaking his fist. “How dare he jump in front of me like that? These filthy pickpocketers are all the same! A nuisance to society!”
“I ask you kindly to keep your mouth closed!” Agnes yelled at him, seething with anger. “Can you not see he is injured? I witnessed how recklessly you were driving that stupid contraption; thus, it was a matter of time before you hurt someone.”
