10 May 1892
Rosalie watched in shock and some mild pleasure as Anna marched down the aisle, every inch a dignified yet righteously angry young lady. "You, Sterling Bennett, are an absolute rogue. You have used and treated many women horribly!"
The minister's mouth was agape. He did not seem to be handling this interruption to his ceremony very well. "Young lady, I beseech you to sit down–"
"Why should I? You have just asked us for any reasons why this young man and woman might not be wed, and I am giving you one. He first courted me three years ago, and then, he kissed my friend, most forcibly, in an act that she did not agree to. Afterward, he attempted to convince her father that her reputation would be ruined if she did not marry him," Anna said emphatically, and Rosalie felt a warm glow of affection for her. "Yet that is not the worst. I have heard rumours of him consorting with... with ladies of the night."
A collective gasp rose around the parish. Emilia Livingston jerked her hands free from Sterling's and tore off her veil. Her delicate features were now inflamed by fury. "Say it isn't so!"
"Yet it is," Anna said. "I come now, not as a woman scorned as Shakespeare might say, but as a woman who seeks to speak the truth about this man. He is a most horrid rake, libertine, and fortune-hunter."
"How dare you tell such slanderous lies against my son," came the booming voice of George Bennett. "He is nothing but an upstanding gentleman."
"Your son is a social climber who would do absolutely anything to achieve his goals in life, even if they hurt others. Tell me, does that sound like the mark of a fine, upstanding gentleman to you, Mr. Bennett?" Anna asked, her voice unwavering in her declaration.
"You have no proof for your words," Sterling Bennett spoke at last, but his voice sounded strangled, his face reddening with anger. "You spew these empty lies to slander me. As the bard once said, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."
Rosalie stood from her seat, unable to be still for any longer. "It is not mere libel! I, Rosalie Winthrop, can attest to this matter! Sterling Bennett did indeed make unwanted advances upon my person three years ago, forcing me to be sent away to boarding school."
Now, murmuring accompanied the gasps. Anna and Rosalie locked eyes. It had been many years since they had spoken in person or communicated properly at all, but now Rosalie felt the urge to defend her old friend, who had believed in her at last. She didn't care if it stained her reputation. She would speak the truth, as God had intended for them to do. As He had called them to.
At her side, her father squeezed her hand before standing next to her. Her shoulders sagged in relief, afraid that he might scold her for making a scene. Or, well, escalating a scene that had already been created. Or worse, that he might tell her that her reputation was ruined by her admission. "It is true. Sterling Bennett is a rather despicable person, and I only regret not telling that to him sooner."
Emilia was at this point in tears, her fair skin now blotched with weeping. She shoved Sterling away from her and ran down the church aisle in a flurry of white.
Anna met Rosalie's gaze over the shoulders of all in attendance and at last, Rosalie knew that they were friends once more.
17 May 1892
Dear future husband,
Allow me to enlighten you of all that has occurred in the past week! I have witnessed Sterling Bennet's fiancee, Emilia Livingston, throw a bouquet of flowers in his face before tearing off her veil and stomping down the aisle. I really do feel for the poor girl. I can't imagine discovering one's fiance's true colours on their wedding day, and to have the truth revealed by a complete stranger to boot! Truly a horrid tale only fit for a penny dreadful, I must say.
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.