21 April 1894
Dear future husband,
I write to you on the eve of my official coming out into society! I am so excited that I can scarcely sleep; though my eyelids, to be sure, are slowly drooping, and my hands barely hold this quill with which I write, I find myself unable to go to bed and find rest. Thus, I decided I might quiet my mind of the traversing thoughts that filter through it, by speaking with you. Or rather, writing to you. Or really, simply putting my thoughts down on a sheet of paper.
Seeing as you are the only refuge I might find, and the only semblance of privacy with which I might have the freedom to express these notions that have ravaged my brain and left me incapable of diving into slumber, I come to you now. Though I wish to believe you shall not fail me, I realize also that only Christ can possibly be the one who never fails us. Thus, ignore my minor digression.
How are you faring? Surely, you are out in society already and doing all sorts of grand things such as watching the horses race at Tattersall (though hopefully not losing all your money and going into debt to bet on the horses, as many a young man has done in my social circle).
Oh, speaking of men who have the most terrible habits, I must mention to you! Sterling Bennett–do you recall him? He was a rather horrid rake and a mot incorrigible, unredeemable–no, no, I mustn't write such things, for he could very well be redeemed by God's love, yet certainly not by human hands–and now he has fled to join the Navy. Last I heard of him, he was on the Indian subcontinent, doing whatever it is that soldiers do. Anyways, hopefully, he will not disturb the women there overly much.
Where was I? Oh, yes. Tattersall, horses, and society. I am sure you are out and about drinking in coffeehouses, dining at Pall Mall or some other gentlemen's club, and all manner of activities that young gentlemen do. Hopefully, you are enjoying yourself far more than I, who have had to passively watch Lily and my other friends have their grand balls and wear white dresses for their debuts. Nonetheless, I shall aspire to remain cheerful during this time. Though of late, Papa has been extremely protective of me, even more so than usual.
Of course, I need a chaperone with me wherever I go, so he has brought back my governess, Anne Wilson, and I do enjoy her company now, even if she has recently married and is only spending time with me because her husband is often away on business. Soon enough, someone else shall need to be my chaperone, in order to protect my reputation, as Father puts it. When I asked him why young men had no such things, he could not respond to me.
But I digress once more! It has been quite fun, actually, to hear all the stories that Lily and Mary are telling me of all the gentleman callers who arrive at their houses the day after a ball. Stories of their grand dances with gentlemen, the irritating earls or dashing dukes, the landed gentry, and the lovely ballgowns that they are allowed to commission from the modiste and wear to dance the night away. Are you dancing with many young ladies this Season?
Of course, my jealousy ought to be tamped down, especially concerning a man I have still yet to meet. Thus, I shall conclude with a prayer. I pray to our Heavenly Father that you would be safe, that though you may be buffeted by trials and tribulations, His love would sustain you. May you remain on the path of righteousness, for no other path can truly deliver you to Heaven or to anywhere good. I pray this in His Name, Amen.
I remain,
Sincerely Yours,
Rosalie Winthrop
"Rosalie, I thought I had told you to get to bed," Papa scolded, but his chastisement fell on deaf ears. She was almost now soundly asleep, as she did her best to tuck away the writing implements, dripping ink onto her letter.
"You did," she said softly, her yawn nearly engulfing her words as she stood, smoothing out the wrinkles in her nightgown before she nearly collapsed to the floor. "And I am getting to bed."
"Good, good. Tomorrow is a very big day, after all," he said, his tone almost wistful. "You shall enter society and be the belle of the ball, to be sure."
"Thank you, Papa." She felt the bed dip as he sat down, stroking her hair away from her face. The dark hid her smile, the gesture of affection making her feel like a little girl again. "Papa, why did you come in here?"
"I only saw your candlelight beneath the door and wished to blow it out, of course." His voice was unconvincing.
Her dulled senses were alert once more. "You are hiding something."
"Now is hardly the time for this, my dear." He bent down to press a kiss to her forehead. "You ought to sleep."
"Do you have news of him?" she asked softly, somehow knowing, despite everything, that it was Maximilian. It would always be him.
"If I did have anything that concerned you, my dear, I would inform you immediately." The bed returned to its normal position when he stood again. Suspicion slithered beneath her skin, soon overcome by fatigue. "Sweet dreams now, Rosalie."
***
"I now present to you, the earl of Grenledge, Lord Winthrop, and his daughter, Miss Rosalie Winthrop!" The announcement fell upon many quite intrigued sets of ears as the voice echoed throughout the ballroom.
Several heads turned toward them. She refrained from fidgeting with her clothing, though the lace that trimmed her gown was rather itchy and her gloves felt too loose, leaving pockets of empty fabric at the fingertips.
"Might I introduce Lord Malcolm, earl of..." someplace or another, she presumed. All the men's faces and names were beginning to blur into each other.
"'Tis a pleasure to meet you, Miss Winthrop," said one of such men before asking her to dance.
She could hardly refuse, she supposed, so she found herself being swept away into many such stilted, awkward dances. These were, of course, accompanied by conversations about the weather, whether or not she enjoyed staying in Town, peppered with compliments on her appearance and questions about why her father would not have brought her around to any dinner parties or poetry recitations before. She did her best to answer in a polite and ladylike manner, though she found that was at times hindered by a man who would step on her toe or attempt to dance twice with her in the same night–which, she had been informed by her governess, was one of the worst social faux pas a lady could commit.
"I must admit, this dancing has quite tired me out. Would you care for a glass of lemonade?" said a voice that, despite everything, she thought she might recognize anywhere. Yet it could not be... Could it be...
She almost dared not to turn around, but she stood her ground and did. It was Maximilian Walker... in the flesh. His dark hair curled over his forehead, and he wore a three-piece suit, complete with tails, and looked every bit grown-up and handsome as she had imagined he might in all the years that they had been apart. His eyes looked at her with such intensity, such care, such tenderness, that her heart tightened in her chest. But what was he doing here, at a ball, on the very first night of her very first Season? Did her father know he was here? Was he the one who had brought him here? After all, Maximilian Walker was, as far as she knew, no gentleman, landed or otherwise.
When the shock subsided and her questions faded, she spoke with decorum, pulling herself upright to her meagre height of five-foot-three compared to his five-foot-ten."I do not have lemonade with men to whom I have not been introduced."
He smiled but there was something sad about the expression. "I would expect nothing less from a lady of your breeding and calibre."
"And what do you know of my breeding, sir?" She tucked her hands behind her back, gazing up at him with expectant eyes.
Maximilian's hands were scarred, calloused, when his right one reached toward her in a most forward and ungentlemanly fashion, one that she could not resist. He tucked a golden ringlet back into place. "I assume it must be very fine, considering all the noblemen who seem to be vying for your attention amidst the crush."
"And are you one of those noblemen?" she asked, twisting her gloved fingers against one another, fighting off an enormous smile at the way his thumb brushed against her cheek as he brought it back down to his side. "Who is vying for my attention?"
"No," he said, and his countenance remained the same as he confessed the simplicity of the denial. "I am neither a gentleman, you will find, nor do I need to vie for what I have already so easily obtained."
Her mouth dropped open. "You are clearly some sort of rake, then, to take such liberties with me."
"Rosalie, please," he said, and then, she thought he might be begging. "It's me, Maximilian."
The words he spoke were both a dream confirmed and a curse dropping in the pit of her stomach. He was here. Yet he was no gentleman, so she could never be his. Still, she plowed on, knowing the bridge between them would give way and send her tumbling to the bottom of a very steep ravine. "I know. I knew it, from the minute you opened your mouth. But tell me, Mr. Walker... did you ever go by the name of Marcus Wakefield?"
"I may have, but only if you once went under the alias of Rosemary Williams," he responded, a coy grin on his face.
Relief and giddiness and bittersweet joy rushed through her body all at once. She really did need a cup of lemonade, now. "How is it that you came to be here, Max?"
Had he come into some great inheritance from a distant aunt? The last time she had seen him...
That thought sent a frisson of fury through her. "And how is it that you dare to show your face, after the way that we left things in Hong Kong all those years ago?"
He held up both hands as though in a sign of surrender. "I assure you, Rosalie... Well, I have nothing to say. I have no excuses for how I behaved, half a decade ago in the Orient. But I can tell you that what I did was what I believed to be best for your family. I had heard rumours that day that your father... there were problems with his business, because of his associations with me. It was bad for his reputation. I did not want to burden the two of you any more than I already had, and so I left. It was what I believed to be the best course of action, then, but looking back, I see that it was only a mistake."
She folded her arms across her chest, staring up at him with a pout. As much as she wished to hold onto her anger, it was rapidly dissipating in his presence. She wished to throw herself into his arms in a most unladylike fashion, but she knew it would scandalize everyone present, especially her father, who was somewhere conversing with a business colleague. "I almost wish to forgive you."
"Well, I would hope so. Though you do seem excellent at holding grudges," he responded, barely giving her time to process his remark. "Not to change the subject, but is that red-haired girl walking over here a friend of yours?"
Anna was here?
Rosalie turned so quickly, she nearly lost her balance in her dancing slippers, and Maximilian's steadying hand was the cause of what she felt sure to be another bout of dizziness. She blushed, excused herself, and ran toward her friend, a flurry of emotions swirling within her chest.