down to a whisper , lucy

[garrett kensington]

HIS PLANS FOR THE DAY had not included running errands for his mother, but that was the course it had followed. Garrett had attempted reason with his mother – a feat he would not venture in the near future – and was met with all of her meticulous rational. Her skills of persuasion had earned her a revered status among society and much annoyance from her sons. Son, he reminded himself with a sigh. Edmund had been better suited as heir, everyone knew it. He had been able to fulfill his duties and responsibilities with a grace Garrett did not possess. He couldn’t recall ever hearing a word of complaint cross his brother’s lips whenever their mother had asked anything of him. Life had been simpler whilst Edmund was alive. But all of that was in the past now.

The carriage continued through the crowded streets of London, jostling the parcels stacked around his feet. With a sharp curse, Garrett lurched forward to rescue a neatly wrapped cake from certain doom as the driver rounded a corner too fast. “Have care, sir!” he shouted over the din. With a roll of his eyes, Garrett settled back against his seat, the cake secure upon his lap. The last thing he wanted was to have to return to the shop tomorrow to fetch another. Beyond the windows, the city was shrouded within a murky twilight. The thick haze from the gas lamps twisted its fingers round the people bustling along the cobblestones, eager for a respite from the rapidly cooling air. They appeared like apparitions from nothingness only to dissolve once more as his carriage raced on.

The streets held little interest to him. There was nothing beyond his carriage that concerned him. He would see his friends at a ball or party soon, and servants were best ignored altogether. If not for their usefulness around the house, Garrett would rather they be banned from London. Children in dirty, ripped clothing, banging upon the sides of his carriage begging for pence in exchange for anything they could offer him – where were their parents? Probably whittling away their meager earnings at pubs.

A loud thump echoed through his carriage. The cake slid from his lap, tipping precariously as it fell to the floor. Ruined, blast! Leaning forward, Garrett stuck his head out to glare at his incompetent driver. How difficult was it to drive a carriage without rendering the passengers disabled? “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

“She came out o’ nowhere, sir,” the driver explained frantically, his eyes wide as they stared past the carriage. “It weren’t me fawlt!”

“She?” Garrett echoed dumbly. Dread clawed at his chest till he could scarcely find air to fill his lungs. His eyes followed the driver’s to where a young girl lay crumpled upon the street. “Bloody hell. Whose fault was it, then, Mr. Richter? The horses, perhaps?” Without waiting for the driver’s reply, Garrett opened the door and hopped lithely onto the streets. Already a curious crowd of onlookers were beginning to form, eager for some salacious story to share with their friends and family. Keeping his eyes affixed on the girl, Garrett strode with purpose toward her. She was moving, a good sign. At least she wasn’t dead.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said stiffly, crouching beside her. “Are you quite all right?”

[lucy merriwether]

SOFT MISTY RAIN blurred the lines of London. From afar it may have appeared mildly romantic; thin delicate church steeples piercing the skyline like needles, the burning windows of Parliament, the hazy outline of a bustling city full of wonder and promise. But the sheer curtain of precipitation could only mask so much. Any person living between these high buildings knew of the god awful stench that could perforate the sense on a passing gust of wind. Beggars, toothless and ragged, clung to life on every corner, living in their own filth. And that awfully charming mist of rain tended to soaked through any and all unprotected garments, slowly but surely seeping coldly through to the skin. This was Lucy Merriwether’s world, her cage. She knew of only one key that would free her from this soiled existence; if she would ever find such a mythical thing was uncertain.

A small wicker basket containing the next couple day’s groceries swung jauntily from her thin forearm. There was scarcely much they could afford –a few undersized turnips and assorted root vegetables, hardened loaf of bread, a ham hock missing most of it’s meat for the purpose of cooking broth, and tea to mask the muddy flavour of their water supply. It would have to do, but Lucy was never pleased with what she brought home. In truth, it was never good enough for her, the things they owned. She wanted more –she wanted to strive for something other than this pathetic excuse for a life. Was that really unfair? Lucy was simply more inclined towards making her displeasure known.

Small shoulders hunched against the weak spray of rain, curling her petite form into itself in feeble protection from the elements as she made her way homewards. As droplets stung her eyes, wet lashes brushed her rosy cheek as she kept her gaze to the muddy ground, watching every sludgy step she took, frowning at the manner in which her boots suctioned into the brown dirt and debris. Lucy became so immersed in the vile truth of the seemingly romantic weather that she did not notice a sound outside her own consciousness, nor did she notice the stomping off great powerful hooves hurdling towards her until it was too late.

There was hardly a moment for any cry of help or a rescue attempt –not that a person in this area of London was likely to help another. Basket went toppling into the mud, sinking dreadfully into the desolate black mud. Lucy was bodily thrown to the ground, wind knocked out of her, fragile as a small bird jumping from the nest too early. She vaguely recognised the stab of pain originating from her ankle, as well as the beating of a sore temple at the crown of her head. She lay crumpled in the mud, rain and dirt creeping into her clothes, turning her hair into long thick ropes. For a brief moment the world was silent and static, and she imagined she’d somehow gone deaf. But the world returned with ferocity once more, the harsh clarity of the noises around her pricking her ears sharply. Lucy struggled to sit up, but to no avail, as her brain was foggy and her body severely unbalanced for the time being.

There was a voice asking about her welfare, which any fool could she was clearly was not in the best of health. A scowl prepared already, Lucy turned her dirt smeared face up to the man looming over her. Eyes widened briefly, her scowl faltering for a moment –he was surely the most handsome man she’d ever seen. But that was hardly Lucy’s current concern. Her aches and pains were becoming more pronounced, and she needed to get home son to receive the beating her father would believe she deserved for losing the family’s food. In a way, she certainly was aware that she deserved such a punishment –if her head hadn’t been in the clouds as it always was, she would have been watching her way. She hadn’t been, though, and look at the bloody mess she was in now!

“Aye, I look awright, don’t I?”

[/color] Lucy snarled, attempting to right herself to her feet, only to trip once more and fall back down with a splat. Her face was a map of queen-like indignation. Pushing her wet hair back from her face with an impatient hand, Lucy scanned her surroundings. Her food was certainly ruined, and a small crowd had curiously gathered to watch. There was no compassion in their faces, only cold hard interest. Carriage accidents were far too common for anyone to work up a fuss over, and even she was guilty for watching the show when she should have been helping. That was just how it went.

Gesturing to her fallen goods with a flick of the wrist, Lucy sent another icy stare of daggers in the direction of the aggravatingly fine-looking man. “An’ look at me food! Gone, aw of it! What are yet gonna do about it, good sir?”[/color] Arsenic dripped from Lucy’s words as she once more went at a failed attempt to right herself. By now she was more mud than human -and under such mortifying circumstances as well. Her blush was not of embarrassment, but of fury.

“Am I gonna spend my day sitting here, or will ye be a gen’leman an’ help me up?”[/color] Lucy asked daintily, holding out a muddy hand. She knew he would slap it away in disgust within seconds, but she wanted to aggravate the bastard as much as possible before she attempted to hobble home.
[/blockquote]

[garrett kensington]

IT WAS THE STENCH Garrett first noted. At his family’s country estate the rain brought with it a fragrant freshness, as though the earth was beginning anew. In the swirling mists the hills appeared ethereal, the greens vibrant against the gray sky. The streets of London were cloaked within a thin film of moisture, like an undusted mantel. There was no rejuvenation within this rain; instead it suspended each smell, each image with the precision of a photograph. Sickly sweet, like over-ripened fruit; stale and musky – the scents assaulted him all at once, making his stomach churn. This was the London he sought to ignore. It was not his world, and he wished to shrug it from his consciousness as quickly as possible.

His lips quirked as he fought back a laugh as he watched the girl struggle to right herself. There was an air of indignation to her features that only seemed to intensify as a fresh spattering of mud smeared across her soft cheeks. Her cerulean eyes sparked with unbridled emotion as she stared up at him and Garrett was certain he saw an angry flush creep across her pallid skin. Her hair clung to her forehead in dark coils, soft curls reaching toward the heavens as they escaped her braid. With a sigh of relief, Garrett’s inspection of the girl stilled his fear – that she had been seriously harmed. “An look at me food! Gone, aw of it! What are ye gonna do about it, good sir?”

Garrett’s eyes narrowed – he should have expected nothing less from someone like her. A sardonic laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head. “And what of my mother’s cake?” he retorted, “I believe we are even.” That was provided the girl even had food at the time of her accident, which, as the seconds passed, Garrett found himself growing increasingly skeptical of. The only food he saw nearby was paltry scraps that were hardly fit to feed a dog much less a girl. For all he knew she had thrown herself at his carriage in hopes of a warm meal at the expense of another. He nudged a turnip with the dirtied toe of his gleaming leather boots as he glowered at her. Even then, the indignation did not leave her eyes.

With a sigh, her eyes shuttered quickly, closing him off from their rich depths. For a moment, he worried that she had fainted – or was pretending to in order to gain his sympathies. Just as he was about to signal to his driver, her eyes opened conveying all the youthful naivety of a graceful debutante. The arsenic in her tone had transformed to the syrupy warmth of honey. “Am I gonna spend my day sitting here, or will you be a gen’leman an’ help me up?” she asked, extending her hand toward him.

Her thick accent and broken enunciation grated upon his nerves. She was nothing more than a fortune-hunter intent on furthering herself through extortion. What he found most appalling was that she acted as though she were entitled to something – as though he owed her something. Mustering all of his charm, he smiled winningly at her. His eyes surveyed the now-thinning crowd for a familiar face, and, upon seeing none he continued. “My apologies for my rudeness, of course I do not expect you to remain sitting there.” He stared at her dirty hand for a moment, as though considering extending his own to lift her from the muck. She had failed in all three of her attempts to right herself – ale, no doubt. Besides, he was rather fond of his gloves and had no intention of sullying them on the account of a gold digger. “Mr. Richter!” he called. “I require your assistance helping this…this…” His voice trailed off as he surveyed the girl once more, deciding against associating her with any proper title as she was far from deserving one. “Her up? After all, you’re the cause of all this, not me.”

Ignoring the muffled curse of his driver, Garrett bowed formally to the crumpled stain of a girl before him. “I am dreadfully relieved you aren’t harmed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am overdue for a pressing engagement.”

[lucy merriwether]

THE BLOODY GIT laughed in her face! As her food dismally sunk into the waste of the London streets, this fool had the bollocks to scoff about it, offering up some half-arsed comment about his obese mother’s cake. She swore she could feel the grit of powder on her tongue from gritting her teeth so severely. Under the circumstances, it was more likely to be gravel or dust. Lolling her head to the side sluggishly, Lucy revelled in the brief day dream of tugging the gentleman into this wretched pile of filth along with her, if not simply for the pleasure of the action but also to privilege him a taste of what her common life consisted of. The flash of imagination was vivid and cut off all too quickly, in Lucy’s opinion, by the man’s painfully ignorant smile and aggravatingly fresh and youthful speech.

Lucy shifted uncomfortably, aiming a weak glare at the obnoxious man in question. He was undoubtedly striking, and he was likely raised to think that was all he was worth in this life. A charming smile and tidy suit. The poor thing would likely faint if he touched a commoner like herself. Little did he or anyone else know, Lucy thought with a wry twitch of lips, that she was anything but common.

An essence of a growl nearly slipped past her lips as the driver warily neared her. She certainly required no hand of help. Her initial enquiry of such was simply to rub the man uncomfortably. Lucy had never had a helping hand in her life and she was hardly about to begin now. True, her life’s dream selfishly revolved around being swept off her feet by a debonair gentleman –unlike the winner crouched curiously before her- and living off his money for the rest of her life; but what dream didn’t bear a scrap of improbable quality to it?

With an unladylike grunt of effort, Lucy pushed off her good foot, pressing her scraped palms into the ground to heft herself up. Her ankle smarted with the slightest touch, but the discomfort was swept away by the rush of resentment swimming through her veins. Following several unpleasant squelches, Lucy righted herself and straightened her skirts, finally pausing to scratch vigorously at her mud-caked cheek. Clearly favouring her healthy ankle, Lucy set her jaw stubbornly, voice ringing clear as day. “First of awl, me names Lucy. Lucy Merriwether. Not her.”

[/color] Pursing her lips, the fuming girl slapped her tiny hands upon her thin hips, causing another unpleasantly soggy sound. “And second, I believe yer in my debt. What am I to eat now? What’s my family to eat? And how am I to get home when I can take nigh a step, good sir?” [/color]

Her eyes, bright and livid, brazenly met the gentleman’s. Lucy knew she would be ignored, but she wouldn’t move on without a fight.
[/blockquote]

[garrett kensington]

“FIRST OF AWL, ME NAMES LUCY. LUCY MERRIWETHER.”

Garrett’s hand froze upon the polished handle of the carriage at the sound of her voice. His teeth ground together as her sardonic words grated against him. “Licey is more suiting,” he grumbled beneath his breath as he turned to face the irritating girl once more. His shoulders tensed unconsciously, preparing for an argument as he took her it. The corners of his lips twitched as his sharp eyes traveled over her. Mud was smeared across her cheeks like the garish makeup of a performer. Her hair fell in large clumps around her shoulders where it had come free from its ribbon. Despite the utter hilarity of her appearance there was one thing Garrett was certain of, she looked entirely unharmed.

Doubt twisted in his stomach, tightening its fist uncomfortably. He was far from a doctor, who was he to say that the girl wasn’t harmed… “And second,” Lucy continued once she was satisfied that she had obtained his attention. “I believe yer in my debt”

Of all the bloody nerve! His eyes rolled as she listed her grievances against him – what she felt she was entitled to. It was entirely ridiculous. This little urchin thinking she deserved anything of his! Why this entire thing was likely a ploy so she would not have to work for the next few days. Anything he gave her would likely purchase ale. Beside him, his driver shifted uncomfortably, anxious to continue back to the Kensington residence and forget about the mishap. Garrett eyed him speculatively, trying to ascertain Mr. Richter’s thoughts about the girl. Edmund would have known what to do, Garrett thought sorrowfully. He would never match his older brother’s practiced grace and intuition. Instead, he would remain a paltry second, a reminder of what his family had lost when Edmund had died.

Pursing his lips, a frustrated sigh swallowed him. He needed to be rid of her, and quickly. The longer he stood here, the more likely she would be to assume she had a just case against him. The entire situation was not even his fault! If she wished to complain, those should all be directed toward the person who had been steering the carriage in the first place. If the girl had a shred of common sense she would belittle Mr. Richter instead of him. After all, Garrett was just as much a victim of the situation as she was. However it was blatantly clear that not only did Lucy lack any reason, but she was intent on extorting whatever she could from him. And Garrett was not about to be made the fool. “My apologies, Lucy. You misled me. I believed you required no further assistance. I would have thought if your ankle was so injured that you would have obliged Mr. Richter’s assistance.”

[/color] His eyes narrowed, daring her to prove him wrong. “Of course, I do not presume to be a doctor, and as such would never dream to give you a prognosis. Perhaps I should send Mr. Richter to fetch the constable. I am certain he would know where we could find someone more apt to”—he waved his hand dismissively toward her—“assess you.”

He would see her in prison before she extorted a single penny of his. [/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]