Living London

chapter Three



"Jocelyn! Wake up!" I heard the words, as I smelled a strong ammonia odor that made me flinch and open my eyes.

"For pity's sake, girl! You have thoroughly scared us all! Are you all right?"

Searching the face only a few inches from my own, I didn't know quite how to respond. Her curly brown hair escaped some sort of cap on her head. She wore no makeup, but she smelled like lilacs. Her concern for me appeared genuine as she patted my hand and then cupped my cheek.

"Hello," I said, unsure of what else to do.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Will you please cease speaking in that atrocious accent? Merciful heavens! Your American cousins come visiting, and you decide you're a colonial! Such vulgar tones!"

Pausing, I decided I might as well play along for the moment and see where it took me. "Yes'm," I said in my truest British accent, knowing I'd be making Nanna proud with my perfect delivery.

Appeased, the woman leaned back. "Much better. If your mother were alive, she would have never let you carry on so." The tenderness in her eyes softened the woman's scolding tone as she observed me.

As I regarded the room, I noticed two young women standing behind the older one. Both wore long black dresses with white aprons and caps as well. They stood with their hands behind their backs, watching the older woman as if waiting for a cue. Closing my eyes, I wondered what I was supposed do. This was too much to take in. I just wanted wake up at home, in my bed.

"Jocelyn? Oh dear, I think she swooned again!" the older woman exclaimed. "Where are the smelling salts?"

As soon as I heard "smelling salts" I opened my eyes, not wanting to repeat that experience. "I'm fine!" I spoke a little too loudly.

"Fine?" A look of disbelief crossed her features before she schooled them into a stern expression.

"Yes, well…" Though complete honesty would certainly convince them of my worthiness of Bedlam, I still needed to stick to some form of the truth. "Well, I seem a bit… confused." There, that was honest. "Um, if I may ask, who are you?"

Her eyes widened in shock and horror as she gasped and placed a wrinkled hand to her large chest. "Dearie! Oh, here I am thinking you're up to one of your shenanigans, and you're really hurt, aren't you? I didn't know what to think when the Marquess brought you home… said you had swooned. It didn't help with those two nitwit Dannberry brothers behind him trying to explain how you fell off your horse, but you hadn't been out riding, so I didn't give any credit to their ramblings! Afterall, those two are known for their stories. I thought, perhaps… never mind. I should have known better. You are not one to swoon in order to gain attentions from a gentleman. Forgive me."

Marquess? What's that all about? I remembered the two older gentlemen who had introduced themselves as Dannberry, and their story about how I'd fallen off my horse. But who was the Marquess? I searched my memory for a third person. A faint flicker of someone calling my name passed through my mind. Was that he? And why was this woman implying that I wanted his attention in the first place? Did she believe that I was reckless enough to playact this whole thing in order to get some attention? That didn't sound like something I would do… I sincerely hoped.

I wanted to scream for them to take me home, but the note from Nanna kept me from opening my mouth. Instinctively I knew this was somehow real. The note she'd left had implied this would happen, but now that I was experiencing it, her vague words snapped together in my mind. The waltzing and dancing, tea and scones, and speaking in the British accent were all ways of her training me for this. Only now that I was experiencing it did I finally understand what she'd been talking about. But she had prepared me and, for some reason, I was here. Taking a deep breath, I started to close my eyes again, but I stopped before the smelling salts came out for an encore.

"Mrs. Trimbleton. Maybelle Trimbleton." She spoke indignantly, as if I had shown great disrespect in forgetting her. "Your housekeeper, and more importantly, the one who has kept you out of trouble for the past twenty-three years."

"I apologize, Mrs. Trimbleton. I don't seem to remember much. Could you please tell me about my family?" As it turned out, the whole falling-off-my-horse story had given me a perfectly valid excuse for knowing nothing. At least now I could ask the most basic questions and find out answers without them committing me for insanity.

Mrs. Trimbleton's eyes crinkled on the edges as she leaned forward and stroked my face in a motherly fashion. "Dearie, your parents are with the Lord, and have been for near eighteen years now. When you reached your majority, you moved back to London and are currently the youngest Westin. While you're not a titled Miss, your family's extensive fortune is renowned, as well as your parents' good name. You have a few American cousins that visit from time to time, but I'm afraid that's it." Her eyes were sad, as if unwilling to give me such a large burden to bear.

Alone here as well. I closed my eyes as tears left warm trails down my cheeks. I'd traded one lonely place for another. Fantastic.

Mrs. Trimbleton pressed a hankie into my palm, and I used it to wipe away my tears. The hankie was much nicer than a tissue and had a subtle smell of lemon. The scent cheered me for some reason. Collecting myself, I tried to sift through the questions swirling in my head and gather the most important information. As my brain worked, I glanced down. Soon Mrs. Trimbleton bent down enough to see my face, an anxious expression on her own. When I glanced up she straightened once again. The light flickered, and I noticed it came from a few candles and a fireplace.

"Is this my house?" I asked, curious as to my living situation, especially if I was heiress to a large fortune. Plus I needed information, any type of information.

"Yes! It's a beautiful home situated just on the edge of Hyde Park on Mayfair. This home has been in your family for generations and is only part of your holdings. You also have a country home near Bath."

"Wow," I whispered, feeling overwhelmed and also thankful I wasn't lost and destitute. "Who is the marquess you referred to earlier?" I remembered her mentioning his title and was curious. Why would she imply that I orchestrated a fall to gain his attention? This is so confusing!

"Ah, the Marquess of Ashby." Her eyes twinkled, and she smiled secretively, piquing my curiosity further. "Mr. Morgan Ansley, the marquess of Ashby has caught your fancy for some time now, Jocelyn. I about swooned myself when I saw him carry you in. Handsome, that one, and acts so heroic. Why if he were about twenty five years younger...." She gazed at the fire and sighed heavily with a wistful smile. I cleared my throat delicately, and she seemed to remember herself. "But when you didn't stir I became concerned and all but ignored him and the Dannberry’s in seeing to you, Jocelyn. I do hope Wains took care of them. Wouldn't want to offend any of them, especially the Ansleys’…regardless of their financial situation." She shook her head soberly.

"Financial situation?" I asked, wondering why that would have any effect on how they were treated.

"Indeed! The Ansleys are an old, titled family, good people. But a bit…" She paused as if trying to be delicate in her wording. "…light in the purse, you might say."

"They're poor?" I asked, curious.

"Oh, no, not poor." She frowned. "Just not as well off as someone such as yourself," she added, giving me a meaningful look.

I lowered my chin and raised my eyebrows in question. "Meaning?"

With a shake of her head she sat down on the bed next to me and explained, "Meaning that as much as the marquess may find you enticing, dear, he's never approached you before today because although he's titled, he's not one to marry for money."

"And that's what people would think?" How depressing.

"Of course. Happens all the time." She spoke as if the idea of not marrying for money was unheard of.

"Then why would he be against it? If it happens all the time, why would he have avoided me since I'm supposed to be an heiress of some sort?" As the wheels turned, I had an idea. "I'm not titled," I interjected before Mrs. Trimbleton could answer. "That's the reason. Right?" Wait a minute; I don't even know this man. Why am I asking these questions!

"No, Miss, you're not titled, but that wouldn't stop most anyone from seeking your hand, or fortune for that matter. But the Marquess of Ashby wouldn't pursue your attentions because he's one of the few good ones. His parents… ah." Her expression softened, and I prepared for a good story. "His parents, that was a love match if I ever saw one. Married a month after meeting, and not because they had to, either." She gave me a stern look. "Neither family had much of a fortune to speak of. Took a bit of criticism from their respective families, but stayed strong. Married at Gretna Green, was quite the scandal."

Her eyebrows lifted, and she smiled. "But I'm getting off track. To answer your question…" She tilted her head and smoothed the blankets around me. "The Marquess won't pursue just anyone now. He's had his eye on you, or so the gossip says, but from what you and I have discussed, the idea of him pursuing you is difficult because, well…" Would she ever get to the point? "Because he'd be afraid you'd think he was after your money, like so many others, and he'd rather not have you at all than you think him a fortune hunter."

"Oh." I hadn't expected that, but the thought warmed me from the inside out. No wonder I had a crush on this guy. "And you said he carried me home?" I asked again, just to make sure.

"Yes." She nodded emphatically.

My head began to pound with a fierce intensity from the overload of information. I hadn't had enough time to process it. Leaning back, I closed my eyes and rested for a while. The room was silent except for the crackling of the wood burning in the hearth and Mrs. Trimbleton's even breathing. I opened my eyes to find her looking me over intently.

"You're never this quiet or this still." Disbelief colored Mrs. Trimbleton's words. I looked up at her, confused. Hadn't I just asked her a million questions?

"Libby? Tell Wains to send for the physician. This is worse than I thought." Mrs. Trimbleton stood and began to pace restlessly across the room, mumbling prayers. I didn't have a chance to get a word in. I could only wonder why my falling off a horse hadn't prompted her to call a doctor, but my silence and stillness was the real emergency. I couldn't help but wonder— Who am I?