To Do With Love - After re-watching all of Downton and seeing Season 3 I really began to ponder what I want to see happen in Season 4. Watching this time around I was struck by Aunt Rosamund, a character I never really paid attention to before. I would love a follow up story to her husband searching after the Lord Hepworth incident, so I started writing it. Then, this story took on a life of its own. If you bear with it for the first few chapters, I promise to get Lady Rosamund to Downton where all of our favorite characters are. Hope you enjoy! :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Downton Abbey, but I love it!
The steady downpour of afternoon rain covered the pale London sidewalks with a sheen of glassy puddles. Lady Rosamund Painswick successfully navigated the slippery spots, despite fashionable heels and an armful of parcels. She reached her automobile, parked along the busy London street, and handed her bundle to the chauffeur. He took them with a bow, then opened the door. Lady Rosamund settled into the backseat of her maroon vehicle with all the inbred refinement of her class.
Accustom to her usual routine after a day of shopping, Rosamund let out a small cry of surprise when a total stranger slipped into the seat beside her. He inclined his head toward her and his fingers touched the brim of his dreadful tweed driver cap. The bow obscured part of his chiseled face. When he lifted his head, a boyish grin, with a hint of egoistical charm, danced over his lips. Lady Rosamund succumbed to a moment of catatonic discomfort at the sight of his slightly graying temples.
"Lady Painswick?"
His American accent was as bold as his dark eyes, which he briefly directed down at a briefcase that rested on his lap. Rosamund swallowed.
"It is Lady Painswick, isn't it?"
She stared at him in perfect confusion.
"Forgive the intrusion, but I was told you might help me. My connections in society have not been able to match my business needs."
The strange man unlatched the gold clasps of the brown case.
"I am considering a loan with your late husband's bank and-"
Rosamund straightened her posture, until no part of her body touched the seatback. The momentary shock of his appearance wore off, and she regained full command of her senses. Had the stranger known her better, he would have understood the sign and embarked on a hasty retreat.
"How dare you!"
Rosamund inhaled deeply. She needed a large intake of air to force out the diatribe which boiled up to her lips.
"An utterly contemptible violation of privacy. Get out!"
"But Lady Painswick-"
His unbelievable gall caused Rosamund to lift her chin.
"Get out, before I call a policeman."
"If you would just let me-"
"Pull the cotton from your ears, fool-born simpleton. I said get out!"
The stranger shook his head, and the obnoxious grin returned to his flawless lips. He looked up at her from under unyielding brows.
"They said you would either help me, or you would be a pain in the ass. How unfortunate to find you the latter."
He grumbled, latched shut his briefcase and removed himself from the backseat. In all her years Lady Rosamund could not recall ever being so affronted.
"Americans!"
As the stranger stormed down the wet street, Rosamund's chauffeur slipped into the front seat.
"Giles, who was that man?"
"What man, My Lady?" Giles inadvertently answered Rosamund's question as to why he failed to come to her rescue.
Rosamund watched the stranger's angry steps down the sidewalk until he disappeared around a corner.
"Never mind." Rosamund kept her focus out the window. "I have the appointment at the bank. Drive on."
Marmaduke Painswick never did anything subtly. From his manners, to his marriage, to his shrewd business deals, every part of Marmaduke Painswick was upfront, audacious and, at times, loud. Even the building that housed the bank he oversaw stood out in coarse contrast to the pleasant little shops that cowered in its shadow.
Rosamund never liked the building itself, nor did she like the location. Giles stopped the car and Rosamund glanced up the garish landmark as she waited for the door to open. With a heavy sigh she prepared herself for whatever bothersome business prompted the president of the bank to summon her.
The rain tapped on the metal roof of the auto, and Giles held the umbrella for Rosamund as she stepped outside. He gave her the umbrella and she entered the building. Though Marmaduke spent a great deal of time at his bank, Rosamund made very few visits to the place, even when he was alive. When she passed by the rows of desks none of the young accountants acknowledged her. A face or two might have been familiar, but the affairs of the bank and its employees had always fallen outside her realm of importance.
She approached the receptionist desk, and a tidy looking girl gave her a polite nod.
"I am Lady Rosamund. I have an appointment with Mr. Blacklock."
The receptionist nodded once more and disappeared behind the office door. The silent room offered little distraction, and Rosamund found herself re-evaluating the experience in the car. The stranger not only accosted her, but insulted her with such fowl language. Rosamund clenched her hand around the umbrella handle. She lifted her chest, and attempted to push the unpleasant experience from her mind.
"My dear Lady Rosamund," Abel Blacklock said as he emerged from his office.
He walked with a funny little gait that made his broad shoulders and round face seem disproportionate. Rosamund always felt his jolly manner veiled something slightly unscrupulous in his small eyes. For years she ignored her instincts because Mr. Blacklock had been a long time friend and business associate of Marmaduke's.
Mr. Blacklock crossed the room and kissed Rosamund on the cheek, an action she allowed, however unenthusiastically. As of late Mr. Blacklock not so subtly showed an eagerness to change the nature of their relationship. When she realized his intent, she quickly limited the number of their meetings, but she feared that had not be enough to dissuade him.
"Please step into my office."
Mr. Blacklock outstretched his pink skinned hand and Rosamund passed by him. She sat across from his desk, and waited a little impatiently until he returned to his chair behind the oak furniture.
"My dear, Rosamund."
He folded his hands together on top of his desk. For some reason Rosamund's intuition prompted her to run for the nearest exit. She laid her hands symmetrically in her lap, and masked her discomfort with gentility.
"I think you have guessed the reason for my calling on you so often."
A small flinch tugged at Rosamund's right shoulder. Mr. Blacklock leaned forward, until his elbows rested fully on the desk.
"I admit I haven't called recently because..." His eyes roved over Rosamund and she swallowed her repulsion.
"I'm afraid you will think me a bit of a coward, but I had to arrange some things first."
"Things?"
She avoided eye contact with him, in hope he might be put off from the coarse he travelled.
"Of course. One could hardly expect a woman like you to..."
Rosamund brought her focused eyes back to his gaze.
"My dear, dear Rosamund," he said again. This time the endearment caused a twinge of unpleasantness that made Rosamund adjust her position in the chair.
"I feel now I can make you a proper proposal. I have reviewed all your business holdings, and I think together we can succeed."
Rosamund tilted her head slightly. Her mama once told her, in a pinch, a woman's prerogative was to play dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
"Together?"
"Yes, in marriage." Mr. Blacklock's patchy neck colored and he momentarily averted his gaze.
"You must know that I have admired you for some time. Your beauty is..." Mr. Blacklock's small eyes widened and Rosamund shifted in the chair again.
For years Abel Blacklock's eyes wandered over her, and more than once Rosamund silently chided Marmaduke for being ignorant of such subtleties. A time or two Rosamund wished for some physical action on Marmaduke's part, or at very least a verbal reprimand for the ogling.
"Marmaduke charged me with your care, I think it's time for an official union."
Rosamund pressed her lips together tightly. She strained the muscles of her torso in order to keep her tone civil and her expression unruffled.
"I am flattered Mr. Blacklock, but I am afraid I cannot accept. I am not ready to consider another marriage."
Lord Hepworth's face flashed across her mind, followed by his activities with her maid. She hated to admit to herself she considered marriage then. In Mr. Blacklock's case, however, Rosamund prided herself on her ability to... How would her mama put it? Lie was much too ugly a word.
"Oh dear, you called me Mr. Blacklock." Abel sat in silence for an excruciatingly long moment. He placed his pink fingers to his chin, and they roamed over the flat square surface. Rosamund rested her eyes on everything in the office but him.
"It may not be a question of your readiness," he finally said, and lowered his fingers back to the desk.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I don't think you realize the changing times, Lady Rosamund. Women with the vote, and all kinds of new ideas. The bank board is very worried. Very worried, indeed."
The abrupt change in subject caused Rosamund to dropped her hands to her sides.
"Why should they be worried?" She asked.
Abel Blacklock excitedly moved forward in his seat.
"You do have controlling interest in this bank. The board is afraid you might do something drastic."
Rosamund scoffed and finally relaxed her tightened muscles.
"Don't be ridiculous. I've never taken an interest in business matters."
"Nevertheless, I fear the board may take action." Mr. Blacklock spoke very slowly.
"What do you mean?" Rosamund turned her head sideways as she studied the way his fingers drummed together over a pile of papers on the desk.
"I mean," he took one great inhale, "they may vote to freeze your assets. You'd still have your allowance, but the bulk of your fortune would be tied up."
Rosamund remained perfectly still in the chair across from his desk. Her only response came in the slow, disgusted gaze she directed at his form.
"Unless..."
"Unless I take a husband," she finished for him.
He stopped drumming his fingers, and beamed at her with a look that resembled some nearsighted underground rodent.
"I could ensure your fortune, your house, this bank, remain safe."
Rosamund stood up so quickly the chair beneath her slid backward across the wood floor.
"Mr. Blacklock if you think blackmail will induce me to accept you, you are seriously mistaken. Anything less despicable and I might have felt guilt when I assure you no world in Einstein's universe exists in which we would ever marry. As it is, I feel no remorse whatsoever. Good-bye."
She left the office without a single glance back.
Rosamund entered the ballroom, but after the events of the day she was not in the mood for a party. From across the room, Mrs. Pross waived to her; a wild, boorish flick of the wrist that Rosamund ignored. She liked her Eaton Street neighbor well enough, but Mrs. Pross lacked a sense of decorum and any significant familial connections. Being the wealthy daughter of two working class citizens left the poor widow with almost no sophistication.
Rosamund had only been induced to say yes to the party because she knew Mrs. Pross and her social circle were enamored with the idea of the daughter of an Earl as the guest of honor. Rosamund was not too proud to admit to herself the association flattered her vanity. Mrs. Pross did possess a kind of bumpkin charm.
Upon her return home from the bank, Rosamund wanted to give in to her splitting headache and retire to bed early. The thought of all of Mrs. Pross' hard work and dashing the hopes of Mrs. Pross' friends prevailed upon Rosamund's better nature.
The music and chatter around the room worsened Rosamund's headache instantly, and she wondered at her decision to attend. Mrs. Pross' circle of gossiping wives and wealthy businessmen rushed to Rosamund as soon as she entered. After the pleasantries were exchanged, and a fair amount of gushing about Rosamund's attractiveness, which she did not altogether mind, Mrs. Pross pulled her aside.
"Oh my dear, guess who else decided to come to my little gathering?"
The tall, gangly woman led Rosamund across the ballroom by the arm.
"I can't imagine," Rosamund replied. Mrs. Pross was conveniently ignorant of sarcasm. Probably why she remained friends with Rosamund.
"Regene Cadenza! Can you imagine? A famous actress, all the way from America, here in my house. They say she once performed for the queen. I must introduce you."
Mrs. Pross stood on her tip toes and her eyes swept over the room. Rosamund lifted her chin, in attempt to shake off her irritation at being bested by another guest.
Mrs. Pross came down from her toes and towed Rosamund with her to a wall of men in dark suit tails. Rosamund waited patiently for a break in the crowd, but Mrs. Pross tapped one of the men on the shoulder. Rosamund shook her head, but let yet another social misstep pass unnoticed.
The men parted, and Rosamund found a small pixie like creature inside the center of the circle. Mrs. Pross wisped the tiny woman away from the men and Rosamund found herself face to face with undeniable beauty.
"This is Regene Cadenza. Miss Cadenza, may I present Lady Rosamund Painswick," Mrs. Pross announced proudly.
Regene smiled, a funny motion for her stung lips, though even Rosamund could not deny the woman's ageless attractiveness. Her porcelain skin served as a milky white frame to her dark eyes and impressively styled hair.
Her rouged face, which Rosamund utterly detested, set her apart from the rest of the women in the room. Rosamund expected nothing less from a woman of her breeding, designed to stick out in the most appalling of ways.
"It is an honor to meet the daughter of the Earl of Grantham. He was a wonderful man," Regene said, and gave Rosamund a proper bow. Rosamund squared her shoulders, a little alarmed by the education and etiquette of someone from such a vulgar profession.
"You knew my papa?" Rosamund scolded herself for even talking to the creature. Regene reached to her left and latched onto the arm of a tall, handsome escort.
"Mrs. Pross, Lady Painswick, may I introduce Mr. Drake Wolfe."
Rosamund's mouth dropped open for a split second.
"How do you do, Mr. Wolfe," Mrs. Pross began but Rosamund cut her off.
"You!"
Mr. Wolfe nodded his head ever so slightly, as if he expected the outburst. His unperturbed grin infuriated Rosamund even more.
"I'm sorry Mrs. Pross, but I will not remain here in the company of doghearted halfwits!"
Rosamund did not necessarily mean Regene, but she cared not when she saw her words wounded the actress.
"I never suspected the English Gentry would be so similar to fluttering pigeons in a cage. Overreacting seems to be-" Mr. Wolfe began but Rosamund was already in full stride toward the exit.
She quickly retrieved her coat and ordered her car, preferring to wait in the study away from the party. After only a few seconds of reprieve, Mr. Wolfe joined her. Rosamund furiously pulled on her gloves.
"Typically American. You don't know when to quit."
"I'm sorry about the car incident," he grumbled.
Rosamund pulled each of her fingers into her glove and completely ignored him.
"I hoped you would find me charming, instead of rude."
She looked up at him.
"Rude? Dear Mr. Wolfe, you surpassed rude before you even opened that vile mouth."
Her clipped tone finally seemed to penetrate his thick skull. Rosamund saw the car pull up the street and she moved past him to the front door. He gently stopped her by placing his hand on her bare arm. Rosamund attributed the chill down her back to a surge of anger at the liberty he once again took, and not to the warmth of his hand.
"I know you are bodily attached to your high horse, but if you could come down for a moment, I think we can help each other," he whispered in her ear. His low tone was not as gentle as his touch. She pulled back and narrowed her eyes at him.
"The only way you can help me is by permanently submerging yourself in the Thames."
Rosamund ripped her arm free of his hand and left him in the study.
As was her normal routine, Rosamund took breakfast alone in the morning room, then went to the study to read a few chapters of a book. In the last few years, Rosamund decided to read everything in Marmaduke's library. She was currently in the E's, and found herself thumbing through yet another encyclopedia when she heard the ring of the front door.
She looked up from the pages, and her butler announced the arrival of George Murray. The short, nearly hairless solicitor appeared shortly their after. Rosamund gestured toward the oak rimmed chair across from the sofa in the study. They sat at the same time.
"Murray, what brings you here today?" Her mood usually improved with the arrival of unexpected but welcome visitors. Beneath that great mustache, Rosamund suspected Murray frowned. Of course, the man never seemed to smile, so Rosamund refrained from worry.
"Lady Rosamund..." He avoided eye contact.
Rosamund worried.
"Several weeks ago you asked me to find out whether Mr. Blacklock and the board could," Murray brought his eyes up to hers, "put you in a difficult financial situation."
"And?" Rosamund placed her clasped hands on her lap.
"I am afraid he can, and he has."
"I don't understand. Marmaduke-"
"He left you everything, Lady Rosamund, but through the various dealings of Mr. Blacklock, the bulk of your fortune has been tied up, as it were."
"Mr. Blacklock again and again. He is surprisingly vindictive. I'm afraid I'm only now beginning to realize the depths of his manipulation."
Murray's eyes widened but he said nothing. Rosamund inhaled and moved to the edge of the sofa.
"Come now Murray, don't hold back. Say what you think," Rosamund encouraged.
"I was just…." Murray hesitated until Rosamund tilted her head.
"I am relieved you have realized it, My Lady. For some time I've wanted to speak of it, but I never quiet knew how. You would not be wrong to blame me for holding my tongue."
"Of course I don't blame you. I've been the stupid one," Rosamund haughtily admitted. "But now the question is, what do we do about it?"
"Without the board to back us, I'm afraid there is nothing to do. Mr. Blacklock has threatened to take your house as collateral against your outstanding debts."
"What debts?" Rosamund stood up and paced across the room. Anger threatened to creep through her resolve and she did not want Murray to see her distress.
"The servant's salaries, the regular expenses of running a house like this. On the allowance you still have, you will not be able to meet the costs."
Rosamund put her hand over the mantle of the fireplace. She studied the floor for a few minutes, then turned to Murray, who remained uncomfortably positioned in the chair.
"What you are really saying is, I'm ruined."
"Not ruined, Lady Rosamund, but until this business with the bank is sorted out, you will have to make some changes."
Rosamund remained at the mantel. She took a few deep, calming breaths before she trusted herself to speak.
"And there is nothing to be done? I could go to the board directly."
She looked across the room to Murray, and felt angry tears on the brink of formation.
"No, I don't think that would be wise. They are uncomfortable enough with you as it is. No, there is only one option I see at the moment."
Murray shifted his position on the chair and looked even more uncomfortable. Rosamund clung to the glimmer of hope, but she sensed Murray's reluctance to mention it.
"This afternoon I was approached by an American business man."
"Drake Wolfe." Rosamund clenched her hand into a fist as she sputtered his name.
"Yes," Murray replied, the surprise was evident in his tone, and his eyebrows lifted. "You are acquainted with the gentleman?"
"Gentleman? Ha! I've met him," Rosamund spat.
"He is aware of your situation, though how he came to discover the facts, I do not know. He said he could help, and asked if I could arrange a meeting with you."
"Did he? How very American of him." Rosamund frowned and tapped her fingers on the mantel.
"How should I respond, My Lady?"
Rosamund laid her hand flat on the mantel and turned to her solicitor.
"Do you think he can help?"
"He did know the facts, which leads me to believe he may have an advantage or know of some avenue I have not explored."
"Then I suppose I have no choice. Tell him tomorrow, noon, and to be punctual or he will not be admitted." Rosamund gave Murray a harsh glare to emphasize her point.
Rosamund Painswick received Mr. Wolfe into the drawing room with less civility than she bestowed upon beggars in the London streets. He removed his tweet driver cap, to reveal a slightly receding hair line. The feature surprised Rosamund, because his square jaw and slightly graying temples hinted at extreme physical perfection. Rosamund never liked balding men, so to see his slight follicle deficiency caused her a moment of reprieve.
She clasped her hands in front of her, and regarded him with contempt.
"Well?"
Mr. Wolfe tossed his cap on the desk near the doorway and put his hands in his pockets.
"Nice house."
He casually strolled about the room. Rosamund fought the desire to dismiss him then and there. She never could abide the lackadaisical American attitude.
"I'm a very busy woman, Mr. Wolfe. If you have a point please arrive at it."
He picked up a priceless vase Marmaduke gave to her upon his return from Africa and then glanced up at her.
"I came over here from America to save one of my manufacturing plants. Automobiles."
Rosamund watched him like a hawk until he placed the vase gently back on the table. She clenched her teeth as she watched him meander toward the window.
"Most plants here are shutting down. The war hit hard, but I can save mine."
Rosamund rested her hands on the top of the sofa in the drawing room.
"Problem is..." Mr. Wolfe turned to face her. The sunlight from the window behind him cast shadows over his face that accentuated the Grecian attributes of his form.
"Every time I begin to make progress I hit a wall. I need an in to society for the sake of the business."
"Yes, you mentioned this before, when you attacked me in the car."
Mr. Wolfe moved away from the window and to the bookshelf, where the overflow of Marmaduke's library was kept.
"Attacked is a harsh word. I only wanted to talk."
He studied each title, and put his hands back in his pockets. Rosamund relaxed slightly when his hands disappeared, because it meant he would not touch any more of her valuable belongings.
"Then talk." Rosamund lifted her brows, but Mr. Wolfe continued to avert his gaze.
He took his time as he looked at each title on the shelf, and his slow deliberate manner aggravated Rosamund to no end. She finally folded her arms, in an effort to keep herself from throwing something at his head.
"I have a daughter, sixteen years old," Mr. Wolfe said out of the blue.
He removed his focus from the bookshelf and faced her. Rosamund turned her head to the side and narrowed her eyes at him.
"Her mother died when she was three. I hated moving her here, but I wanted to keep her with me. She hasn't made many friends. She is shy, beautiful but very sheltered. She needs a protector and advocate. You know better than I do, how English society is. Much worse than in America." Mr. Wolfe wandered a few steps toward Rosamund, then stopped to give the revolving world globe map a spin.
"How unfortunate for her," Rosamund said, with impatience in her tone.
She wondered if Mr. Wolfe would ever get to the point, or if he even had a point. Maybe he just wanted admittance to her house in order to put his hands all over her possessions to satisfy some vulgar American whim.
"You don't have a title, but you are the daughter of an Earl. Even after our first meeting Regene continued to insist that you might be more open to help me than the others."
"Oh, the actress."
Rosamund, like her mother before her, could, on occasion, conjure up some very cruel thoughts about the behaviors of people. The way Mr. Wolfe spoke of the actress stirred the more vicious side of Rosamund's nature, and caused her to clam up even more. She found she could not even look at his handsome form in her drawing room without wanting to cringe.
"So, I did some digging. I went to your late husband's bank and met Mr. Blacklock. I knew right away he was in love with you."
Rosamund snapped her attention back to Mr. Wolfe, more than a little put out he had uncovered that particular tidbit.
"How did you come to that conclusion?"
"The way he spoke of you, I don't know, it was just a hunch. I'm a good business man, and I pay attention to anything that might be useful," Mr. Wolfe explained.
"Then you're just like Mr. Blacklock," Rosamund retorted. Mr. Wolfe ducked his head and chuckled softly. The grin he wore was incredibly attractive and inviting. Rosamund tightened her lips into a thin line.
"I'm definitely not like Mr. Blacklock. I don't blackmail people into marrying me through shady business dealings. At least, I assume that is why he froze your assets and convinced the board you are dangerous."
Rosamund unfolded her arms and once more gripped the back of the sofa.
"My solicitor told me you might be able to help. I don't see how, and if you don't arrive at your point soon then I ask that you leave."
Mr. Wolfe nodded, picked up his hat and started for the exit. When he reached the doorway he turned around.
"I can help you. If the gentry were forced to accept me, I could undo Mr. Blacklock's silver-tongued deceits. Though it might take some time." Mr. Wolfe's dark eyes pinned to her.
"And in return you want me to help you meet the proper people," Rosamund concluded.
She moved toward him, leaving her position behind the sofa. She did not like the idea of spending so much time with him, but she believed he was sincere.
"No." Mr. Wolfe shook his head and looked down at his cap for an instant. "I don't think that can happen quickly enough for either of us. I have to act now to save my factory, and you must act now to keep your house."
"Then what are you suggesting?" Rosamund asked.
Mr. Wolfe met her eyes, and the laid back expression usually upon his features vanished.
"Marriage."
A surprised gasp slipped from Rosamund's lips.
"I don't even know you," Rosamund said with legitimate astonishment.
"I'm not suggesting anything more than a business arrangement. I doubt I'm your type, and you are certainly not mine."
He lingered in the doorway, but Rosamund did not look at him. She leaned on the desk to recover from the shock of his bold solution.
"I am only suggesting, if we were married, the board could not object to your majority interest, I would have a high reference to carry with me everywhere, and..." Mr. Wolfe put his hand to the back of his neck. Rosamund regarded him as if he had grown an extra head.
"You could help my daughter meet the right people."
Rosamund looked out the window, as a million different thoughts raced through her mind.
"A marriage in name only?"
"Precisely." Mr. Wolfe put his cap back on. "I might be an American, but I am a gentleman. And I think it is safe to say we repulse each other in just about every way, so let me put your mind at ease on that score."
"You are sure you can save my fortune and my home?" Rosamund asked, still avoiding eye contact.
"I already have a plan," Mr. Wolfe assured, and Rosamund turned to watch him. He was full of surprises, if nothing else.
"I will have to think about it," she answered.
"Of course."
Mr. Wolfe backed out of the room a little disheveled.
"Goodbye."
He bowed slightly and then took his leave. Rosamund inhaled deeply and then rang for the butler. When he appeared in the doorway Rosamund spoke.
"Please order the car. I have to pay a few calls, then I'm going to visit mama."