Don't Rain On My Love Story!

Chapter 2 - I'm no lady, he's no gardener

Violet jumped violently and turned her head. She found her eyes were level with a mouth. A very nice mouth, she thought as her own mouth dried, one that looked ready to break into laughter and smiles at any moment. She had to resist the urge to reach up and touch those lips. The mouth in question quirked slightly and she blinked, and remembered where she was.

Oh, damn her ankle! She couldn't see any more of this mystery person's face without turning her head, and putting weight on that ankle.

"I'm terribly sorry. I thought your shoe was a rock." She said rather lamely and, despite the cold, frigid rain blushed. Maybe being polite was the key; she had already noticed formality was essentially to surviving the claws of London society.

"Oh did you? And here I thought you just enjoyed touching shoes in general." His voice was polite, but it shook. She felt his body shake and suddenly had misgivings. What if he was insane, or worse, pitched a fit?

"Are you alright, sir? You're shaking quite badly." She ventured tentatively.

"I'm fine, but I'm not sure this umbrella is going to keep us dry for long." He said oddly, as if trying to keep something in.

"You brought an umbrella?"

"Usually people don't like getting wet but I see that is not the case with you." he said conversationally, "Do you do this a lot?"

Violet's eyes went wide, and then narrowed. She had a suspicion that he was mocking her. And nobody mocked a Hopewell. Nobody.

"I...yes, as a matter of fact. I like to think here."

 "You like to think in the rain, sitting in a very wet, and from the looks of it, cold puddle. Interesting."

"I'm glad you find it so." She said stiffly. It was all the more annoying that she could not see him properly at all, and had to content herself with observing his horribly attractive mouth. And his very nice jaw.

"And the rocks? Is throwing them a hobby of yours too?" This time there was no mistaking the amusement in his voice.

 She gritted her teeth and vowed she would hit him the moment her arms defrosted. "It's a very important hobby. I also like to swear. You know, it's really quite fascinating to make up your own swear words." she said as sweetly as she could. Hah! That would scare him off - it was so shockingly unladylike and rude. If he was mocking her before, he certainly wouldn't now.

 A long laugh, one that made Violet look up to amazement, contributed to the pattering of the rain.

"I quite agree. Excellent way of releasing your anger. I'd love to hear them one day."

Oh the cheek! Violet was furious and was about to let loose her most wanton of insults, when a shiver rocked through her body, after a particularly fierce gust of wind. She had temporarily forgotten that they were in the middle of a thunderstorm. And now, with the rain buffering her, she suddenly couldn't stop shaking.

 "You're cold. Let's get you inside," the man said, all traces of laughter gone, "can you stand?"

"M-m-my ankle hurts." She chattered. Some things were more important than pride.

"Why the devil didn't you say so earlier? We could have gotten you inside by now!"

She would not give in to this stranger. "Y-you were t-talking about hobbies," Violet reminded him, "And besides, I'm f-fine by myself. You can g-go."

"Stubborn thing, aren't you?" he groaned. "By force it is then."

Without warning, he put his arms under her and Violet felt strong, warm arms suddenly carrying her bridal style.

"Let me go!" she said in a strangled voice, and wiggled.

He cursed. "I can't control you and hold the umbrella at the same time. Stay still, will you?"

"T-then keep the umbrella and let m-me go!" Violet squirmed half-heartedly. She would never admit it, but it was very comfortable and warmer in the arms of this stranger. How on earth could he carry her so easily?

 "But you're much prettier." And abruptly, he dropped the only protection from the rain he had and the wind and rain tore at them once more.

She finally got a good look at the man who was carrying her.

 Cropped, dark, almost black hair that now stuck to a smooth forehead as drops coursed down his face. Dark eyes that look down at her, eyes that were unfathomable. Dangerously deep eyes. She felt dizzy and closed her eyes.

He had a clear complexion and a strong clear-cut jaw with the briefest of shadows. With his cheeky smile, he made a striking combination. Violet flushed. Out of all the young men she had met in London so far, this was easily the most handsome. From the way he was grinning at her, he knew it too.

 But from what she knew, he might possibly be the gardener of this estate, or some similar occupation. The thought horrified her. She was being carried in a most inappropriate manner by a gardener? She could sink no lower than that.

Soon they were both drenched to their skin and still the man soldiered on. With every step her indignation grew and by the time they reached the white front door of the house, her cheeks were flaming. Whoever this man was, she had no place in his arms.

 Even if, for the first time in her life, she had actually felt like a lady in those arms.

 The gardener's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Will you knock please? My hands seem to be full."

She glared at him, and raised the doorknocker and knocked three times. A maid dressed neatly in a cap and apron opened the door. A look of astonishment - and possibly a small hint of glee -  transformed her docile face and she gasped.

Violet braced herself for the outburst of words that was sure to come. She was some hussy, for all the maid knew, carried in the arms of a gardener. Even servants were not immune to disgraceful behavior.

"This lady has had an unfortunate accident. Would you fetch some towels please, Anna?" said the gardener smoothly.

"Of course, my Lord. Come in before you catch a cold."

  ...Wait - My Lord?