Dear Future Husband

35. You Are An Absolute Rogue

Of course, I am certain that our wedding day would proceed far more smoothly. At least, that would be my hope. I know it is common–or rather I have been informed, from Austen's novels and from my friends–that it is common for young women to dream of matrimony and their wedding day. I suppose young men are not in possession of similar fascinations, but I do wonder...

Oh, well, never mind that. I do pray you are doing well. Hopefully your social calendar is well-stocked, though I do hope you are not dancing more than two dances with any young ladies if that is the case.

As for me, I have just been invited to a ball that I am certain shall be all the rage soon and make me the envy of all my friends–not, of course, that that is my sole reason for attending it. I have been invited to a masquerade! It is sure to be quite exciting. The older sister of one of my friends, Lily, is throwing it, and she has kindly and most graciously allowed Lily to invite her friends as well. Sadly Emma cannot attend as she is busying herself with prenuptial preparations such as shopping for her trousseau–it is still so difficult to believe she will be marrying! She has only properly come out in society, to my knowledge, a few months ago. However, Lily, Mary and I will be sure to have a grand time.

I have already picked out the most perfect gown and a matching mask! Fear not, I shall only dance one dance each with any eligible gentlemen who ask me to.

Oh, and how could I have forgotten? Anna Carver and I are friends once more! We reconciled after the wedding–or the failed wedding, I suppose–and we are now as thick as thieves once more. I do pray you have such lovely friendships that are not soiled by the stain of such scandal and mistrust, but I do feel that now, our bond is stronger than it ever was before.

I remain,

Sincerely Yours,

Rosalie Winthrop

Rosalie put the letter away, then looked up across the library where Anna was on the brink of teetering off of a ladder to reach a book. She ran across the room to steady the ladder.

"Thank you," Anna said as she retrieved the tome and pulled it down to show Rosalie. "This is the book I wished to show you."

Rosalie's brows pulled together. "Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. In which a noblewoman dresses up as a maid, correct?"

"Is that the only part of it which you recognize?" Anna said with a laugh. "What about the romance?"

She shrugged, the class differences more intriguing to her than anything else. "How many have Shakespeare's plays have you read?"

Anna listed them off on her fingers, ticking off each one. "Macbeth, a truly ghastly play... Then there was Romeo and Juliet, far too tragic for my taste. Oh, and Taming of the Shrew! I didn't particularly like that one. I found All's Well That Ends Well to be my favourite, really."

Rosalie avoided mentioning that All's Well contained a poor physician's daughter who managed to finagle her way into marrying the Count. Their conversation delved into talk of literature, but she could not stop thinking of the wedding that had been called off and the thought of... the thought of a boy she had known, once upon a time. It had been so long ago, yet it seemed like no time at all. What would it be like if Maximilian were here now?

Perhaps theirs had been a friendship meant to remain in the Orient, in that place of strange foods and exotic sights and scenes. Perhaps they were not suited to the staid confines of London. Or perhaps they had never been meant to even leave that ship as friends. On a ship, to be sure, everything was only temporary, transitory. Their friendship, perhaps, had been the same.

After all, she was so much higher than him in station. He was two years older than her–surely not a great gap by now, yet it still felt like a lot even when she thought of Alonzo and Emma's relationship. They were so very different, yet in the ways that mattered, they had seemed the same. Rosalie expressed longings to travel the world, yet she also wished for an anchor to root her to her home, and remind her of where her heart lay. Maximilian had spent his young life drifting here and there, but he longed for a home. He was not a boy who scorned her dreams as impossible or mocked her for being too rambunctious, but instead someone who had, in their brief time together, proven himself more than capable of keeping up with her wild adventures.

No, if she was honest with herself, she knew she would always harbour a place for him in her heart, a tendre, even. Yet she would not admit it, for she would in all likelihood never see him again, never speak with him again, and, even if she were to, what good would come of it? She could not marry him, not with her father looking over her shoulder and the things that Samuel Winthrop had said. She could not befriend him, for how could a fine lady ever associate with someone of his 'rank'? Never mind that he was a noble and honourable friend even if he had hurt her in the end. Never mind any of it.

"Rosalie!" Anna said, and Rosalie jumped, snapping to attention. "Come on, the mare is foaling and your father assures me that the first one of us to the stables will be allowed to name the new filly!"

Breaking into a run, the two girls raced toward the stables, giggling and shoving one another light-heartedly, all thoughts of sorrow forgotten.