Just then, I saw a gentleman climb down from the carriage and walk towards me.
He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with short brown hair and large, expressive eyes. He was dressed simply in tan nankeen pants and a blue broadcloth coat with gilt buttons. As he walked towards me, he leaned upon a cane. Despite his beak of a nose, his was a most pleasing face. It was a face that was strangely familiar—and a tiny bit chubby.
“Sir?” I called, covered in confusion as much as I was in brook water. “Why are they throwing these roses away?”
He laughed. “It is a bit of a guilty secret, mademoiselle.” His words were slow and deliberate.
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