Roslyn was scoffing down a tremendously large chocolate muffin when her parents had sent out the butler to retrieve her. It seemed they had in fact noticed her lack of presence in the library and requested a meeting with her in the drawing room. Roslyn knew it was bad when the servant mentioned that. It so happened that in most situations, her parents would call upon her to meet in the drawing room when she had done something of calamitous importance.
Like that time, she’d unintentionally severed one of the servants arms off using a shovel. Or that time she’d broken her mother’s most precious vase. Or even that time in which she had presumably ‘embarrassed her parents in front of the house guests by walking down the stairs to greet them in men’s attire. She too had been skeptical, though not due to a lack of reputable behavior, but rather in accordance to having forgotten to change and being afraid her parents would figure out what she’d been up to; they however, thinking it was merely a purposeful tact in which to scare off their company, cared little aside from the stern discipline they had given her the day following. Thus, she now feared she’d tried their patience one too many times.
“Very well, I will come,” she agreed pleasantly, “Though I know not why.” Roslyn followed the man dutifully up the stairs and into the drawing room, though purposely walking at a steady pace, making excuses as she strategically tripped over her own feet and as a last resort as they neared the door, wrapped her arms unrelentingly around a pillar and begun screaming, “I will not go!!” whereby a small group of servants gathered in attempt to pull her from it.
By the time they’d finally arrived, her parents had grown mildly annoyed and had no difficulty voicing it to the entirety of the room. They shot her frowns of disapproval almost immediately upon her entering; blatantly examining her outward appearance and snarling in disgust. Roslyn’s arms were bruised from the fight she’d put up, her hair was askew and her dress crinkled exceedingly. Nevertheless, she stood there in mock innocence and curtsied politely, whispering profanities beneath her breathe.
A cough interrupted her insistent murmuring and she looked up from where she’d been glaring intently at the ground to find that her parents had not, in fact, been the only ones in the room. Beside them stood a tall but young man, whose fiery red hair was neatly combed back and clothes bore the most civil of appearances, unlike those of which she’d last seen him in.
The shock of seeing him at all startled her to take a step backward.
“What on…”
“I’m pleased you’ve at long last succeeded in finding your way here Roslyn dear.” Her mother exclaimed before she could continue, “We’d begun to think you’d run away, what with your not being in class and all.” She accentuated the word, as though it were imperative that both herself and their visitor understood that she was in the wrong, and that moreover, that what she had done wrong had been so severe that it had been worthy of receiving every inclination of embarrassment possible. Next, Roslyn knew, her Mother would be weeping for the death of her beloved daughter of which marriage was no longer considerable; Roslyn had not the discipline to fancy a decent and respectable education as was so imperative in her mother’s wise judgment, that the judgment of no other would be equal to it.
“It’s perfectly fine Mrs. Dosett,” Mr. Wolf interrupted, bequeathing Roslyn an unwelcome look of reassurance, “It need not matter. She’s here now and all is forgiven.”
“Oh, how courteous young man are these days, such pleasant manners, don’t you think so dear?” she remarked, consulting her husband before turning reprovingly to her daughter, who bleakly stood beside Mr. Wolf, “Though I’d struggle to say the same of our Roslyn.”
Mr. Dosset said little, his face stoned in a look of indifference, but nodded to most of what his wife said. His silence was no less frightening to Roslyn, and she found his unnervingly discreet fury far the more unpleasant than her mother’s forward reprove. By the look on his expression, Roslyn could tell Mr. Wolf was deliberating this too.
Unwilling to let the scene continue, Roslyn stepped forward in protest.
“Mother, I do apologize for interrupting you so, however I fear you have forgotten my reason for being here. You had something to tell me no? Perchance, regarding this man?”
The genuine surprise in her realization was so completely foolish, it was almost humorous, and Roslyn was unsure as to whether she wanted to weep or hoot at its absurdity.
“Ah yes, indeed.” Mrs. Dosset begun, once more present in the room, or so Roslyn hoped.
In the corner of her eye, she pondered the likeliness of having spotted the glimmer of a liquor bottle stashed hurriedly within the cushion pillows of her Mother’s armchair.
“This young man, have you met him? No, I don’t presume you would have, his name is obscure within society my love. OBSURE. A word I’ve only come into recent light of, did you know it?”
“Yes Mother.”
“Nevertheless, his name is Sir Johnathon Wolf of… who’s house I’m afraid I have no clue.”
At this she laughed so heavily, that Roslyn was now entirely convinced that she’d been drinking. That said, it was hard to say; a humorous remark of one’s own accord was often more pleasing to one’s own self than to the ears of the company kept.
Mrs. Dosset cleared his throat loudly as to cover up for the silence and begun again speaking, “The fact is, darling Roslyn, your father and I have noticed you have become exceedingly idle over the months past. We too recognize your inability to remain engaged in study, therefore we’ve come to an agreement as to how we might assist you in ways other than that of… shall we say, punishment?”
Roslyn, having stood away, cautious as to where the conversation had been steered, now felt herself begin to lighten, and she dared to smile at the hope of not receiving so steep a penalty.
A question entered her mind then with great vigor, and the hope and cheerfulness previously felt, vanished indefinitely.
“What have you failed to tell me? What must I do in return?” Roslyn asked wearily, crossing her arms over her chest, looking very little as a woman might.
‘Though in my current state it matters not so much,’ she conceded grimly, taking momentary notice of her crumpled skirts and unruly locks.
“In exchange for your not being punished, Mr. Wolf shall take the place of your Governess… oh what was her name?”
“Ms. Gardenia,” she answered, rolling her eyes before coming to a halt.“Pardon me mother, I do not believe I heard you right. It sounded as though you said that Mr Wolf is to become my governess.”
“Yes my dear, it is true. Though I suppose that 'governess' is somewhat inappropriate. Call him instead, 'tutor',” her mother annouced, her fingers clasped gladly. Roslyn was once more struck by the peculiarity of the situation.
“He is but a child as I am! What use to me will his education be?” she bellowed, her arms flailing about in a most unladylike fashion. How becoming she was today, what with her disheveled appearance and discourteous conduct. No doubt she had a line of suitors waiting outside.
“My dear! Mr. Wolf is at a mature age of two and twenty,” her mother exclaimed in disbelief, pointing and waving her arms about as though his appearance were evidence enough.
“NO. I do not believe it.” Roslyn declared impassively, drawing herself closer to him for inspection, “He is certainly no older than seventeen!”
“That is quite enough!,” her father roared, finally stirred from his un-deterred silence. “He is of the age your mother says and you are not to doubt her word. A respectable young man as Mr. Wolf would not lie to an equally respectable family. Now you shall both leave immediately for the library, am I clear?” he bellowed in a frightfully low tone. Both Roslyn and Jonathan nodded their heads in union.
“And take Mrs. Gardenia with you as a chaperone.” He added, almost as an afterthought. As though the dangers of a man and woman alone in a room together never even crossed his mind.
“I assure you Miss Dosset,” her Mrs. Gardenia said, addressing Roslyn in a friendly voice, “I will be of no bother. I shall embroider and be entirely scarce, just you see.” She added, smiling reassuringly, seizing her needle and thread from one of the many desks in the room.
Contrary to her reassurance, Roslyn was feeling quite willing to allow her the abandon of a bad temperament, if only so that she’d not be inclined to suffer through such torturous lessons.
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