The fellow had seen enough of her, thank you very much.
Thankfully, her pelisse, gloves, and undergarments had taken the brunt of the fall—if the squish of mud in her pantalettes were anything to judge by. Rosanna ran her hands down her front and only succeeded in smearing the dirt into the fabric. Shoulders drooping, she sighed. She would be in the maids’ black books for this mess, for it was their poor hands that would scrub it, and it was likely a loss at any rate, though they would have to make the attempt.
Rosanna supposed it was fitting, as the only talent she seemed to possess was causing trouble for others.
“I apologize. Had I listened instead of ignoring you, neither of us would be in this situation,” she mumbled. Then, glancing at the fellow’s worn and equally ruined clothes, Rosanna sighed. “And I apologize for the mess. If your things are ruined, I would be happy to replace them.”
“Think nothing of it, miss.” There was a laugh in his tone that drew her gaze to his. Bright blue eyes met hers, gleaming with mirth as his lips tried (and failed) to suppress a smile. His entire expression lightened, the strength of his smile growing until Rosanna couldn’t help but match it. This only made him grin all the more, bringing with it a long dimple in either of his cheeks, which enhanced the square cut of his jaw.
Despite boasting seven and twenty years to her credit and quite the history with men, Rosanna had never truly swooned before. Not in the literary or literal sense. Certainly, she had appreciated a handsome face, but then, most of the men she met were gentlemen, dressed in their finest as they preened and pranced about parties and balls. Perhaps she would’ve felt like swooning sooner had they been dressed like her attempted rescuer.
Rosanna’s cheeks heated as she realized he had no jacket and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, but beyond his disheveled state, the grit and grime marring the fabric gave him a rugged air. Perhaps that was why she hadn’t found a proper beau: laborers were more to her liking.
“Yes. Well…” Rosanna turned this way and that, searching for her reticule—only to find it hanging from her wrist. “I am grateful for your assistance.”
“Such as it was,” he replied in a dry tone.
“You did your best to keep a pigheaded lady from falling into the creek.”
His blond brows lifted. “If that was my best, then I’d best not attempt it again.”
Rosanna glanced around, but the thicket of trees and shrubs around the creek blocked them from view. As she couldn’t decide whether that was a good or bad thing, she bobbed a curtsy (as seemed right) and mumbled another apology before going on her way. But he drew up beside her, matching her pace.
Pausing, Rosanna turned and stared at him, trying to cover her confusion with a smile. “Your master must be wondering where you are. Surely, you have somewhere to be.”
The fellow’s brows furrowed, but still, his eyes lit with laughter. “I do, but as it happens, it is in the same direction as you. Would you rather I walk a few paces behind?”
Rosanna opened her mouth, though no words emerged. Then, drawing in a deep breath, she continued on her way. Boxwood Manor boasted fine grounds, but then that was to be expected when it included the loveliest scenery surrounding Greater Edgerton. Though the manicured gardens next to the house were quite lovely, Rosanna thought this empty stretch of country far more appealing.
The creek wove through patches of grass, the thickets edging the strip. Like the swipe of the watercolor brush, they bled into each other, at times blending so completely that one could not tell where the grass ended and the creek bed began; the trees reached over them with their long branches, blocking out the midday sun as it journeyed through the sky above.
Silver and green foliage shivered, though the breeze drew no closer for Rosanna to feel its cooling fingers across her skin. And she desperately needed it, for although her gown and skirts were quite thoroughly muddy, the water had not been high enough to give her enough of a soak to cool her flushed skin, and her cheeks were quite pink.
As much from the stranger at her side as from the tumble.
An introduction was in order, but Rosanna had little experience with laborers and the like. It felt strange to stand on ceremony yet unnatural to do without it. Servants did not speak without being spoken to, and perhaps he awaited her to do so first. But a man ought to be the one to petition a lady for her acquaintance. For all that Rosanna wracked her brain, she couldn’t think of a single etiquette lesson that had included how to speak to a working man who had just fallen into a creek whilst attempting to save her from her own stupidity.
Clearly, her education was quite lacking.
“Do you work on the estate?” That seemed an innocuous enough question.
The fellow’s brows rose. “The estate?”
“Boxwood Manor.” Rosanna motioned to the ground upon which they stood. “I understand there is a new master residing there.”
“Ah, Mr. Tate,” he said with a frown.
Rosanna peeked at the fellow from the corner of her eye. “Is he not a good master?”
And there his wicked grin returned. “I couldn’t ask for a better one. He allows me to care for his horses, despite my having lost one just now.”
Rosanna straightened, her brows rising at that, but as he did not elaborate on the subject and she didn’t know what to say to a groom, she allowed her thoughts to wander.
Gaze dropping to the ground, Rosanna studied the vibrant grass; hidden amongst the blades were little flowers, hardly more than purple freckles amongst the green, and then a butterfly, disturbed by their passing, took flight from a tuft to her right. Her foot hit an uneven patch, and though she managed to keep herself from anything more than a mild stumble, the scrapes along her calf and thigh twinged at the sudden movement. It served her right for not paying attention to where she was walking.
Then the fellow offered his arm, and Rosanna stared at the limb. His shirtsleeves were still tucked up to his elbow, and streaks of dirt discolored the skin and linen. But just as she was about to politely refuse, she glanced at her own hand and arm and realized that her own was no better. There was little point in avoiding more mess, so she accepted his offer of assistance.
And ignored how very strong that appendage was. Quite firm.
