The morning after the affair was not different from any other for Caroline. Although the sun was not shining at all, the sight of a white sky and white grass brought a small smile to her face. It was like a scene from a fairytale, where the withered trees with black branches still had beauty in them, where snowflakes were dancing gracefully in all directions and painting a masterpiece on the glass, where children ran across the streets with laughter that resembled birdsong, seeing nothing but good in the world and knowing nothing of the future, and where flowers lay to rest with a thick blanket stifling them, robbing them of their presence until spring, which she had always much preferred. Still, in every season, there was something magical to be witnessed.
She was lost in her thoughts until Rosemary lightly nudged her shoulder. After turning around, she noticed that the young lady was holding a porcelain cup of chamomile tea in it with a frown on her face. It caused her smile to fade as she wrapped her arm around the other woman's neck, pulling her closer. Rosemary's jaw dropped at that gesture, but Caroline spoke before she could say anything.
"What is the matter that torments your heart, my dear?" she asked in a gentle voice. "Whatever it may be, and however much it may hurt, you must remember that, with time, the pain will pass, and a while after that, the memory of it will pass as well."
Rosemary let out a deep sigh. "My secret admirer has sent forth another lovely letter that engulfed my heart with mirth last night, but not long after dawn, my father announced that my future husband is coming over for our first meeting. My body is too feeble to bear my distress, and if things go on this way, I will have died of it. What do I do, madam? Please do tell me, for you are far more experienced than I."
Caroline beamed at her. "There will never arrive distress strong enough for you to have died of it. As to what the secret of enduring in society as harsh as this one is, it is not a riddle whatsoever. Act as though nothing in the world bothers you, and within you, keep the belief that things will improve, for they will in a span of time that is not long. This is all the advice you need, and I hate repeating myself, so for the last time, you are welcome, and I wish you to get better at managing your sensitivities."
Rosemary scowled. "Love will not pass, unless you are suggesting that I leave my admirer behind and break both of our hearts, believing that with enough time, it will seem as if nothing had happened. That is an impossible task."
Caroline shrugged. "Yes, either that or loving him in secret. No other options are available."
Rosemary bent her head down. "I suppose you are in the right. Let us end this conversation at once, for I feel the smell of breakfast in the air. No one else has woken up, and the servants will know well enough to leave us alone, so we can talk about another topic. That would be great, am I right, Madam Proust?"
Caroline nodded eagerly, and with that, they descended the long stairs near them, recently polished and made out of marble, the cold air all around them bringing shivers to their skin. However, they tried not to think of that, especially as they saw a table full of croissants, bowls of pudding and eclairs. Slowly, they drew their chairs and sat down, Rosemary grabbing a pudding and Caroline grabbing a croissant to place onto their porcelain plates with pink flower patterns. While Rosemary was eating nothing, Caroline took her first, tiny bite, savouring it as much as she could.
"I spoke to Mildred while you were sleeping, and she said she heard someone breaking into her house. Would you happen to know anything about that?" Rosemary inquired, which promptly caused Caroline to choke on her food.
"Well, although I have not seen a thing of it, I must say it is rather unfortunate," she responded the moment she regained herself. "I hope it does not happen to the poor woman again."
Rosemary placed two fingers on her chin. "I am still wondering how that strange event came to be in the first place. It is not as if this town was famous for its burglaries, for who could ever have the gall to do such a thing? I have a hunch that the person in question was not looking for a particular object, but instead for a way to disturb the family and the rest of the town. However, the motive still eludes me."
Caroline scowled. "Why would the burglar not have looked for a particular object and fled after their plans were foiled at the moment?"
Rosemary shrugged. "This whole situation is unnatural, but I believe that there was no true burglar in the first place. If there were, Stephen would have been disturbed as well, but it was only Mildred who showed any signs of distress. There must be something that she is hiding, and she was worried that someone could blackmail her, mistaking random noises in the night for the footsteps of a person who intended to do so."
Caroline let out a sigh of relief. "I thought it could have affected any of us for a moment, but come to think of it, I also doubt that a threat ever existed. Let us finish our breakfast at last, shall we?"
Rosemary nodded.
After that, they ate for half an hour, and when they were done, the maid cleaned up the table shortly. Caroline and Rosemary were about to leave the room, but they halted their movement as soon as they saw a familiar figure descend the stairs. The man, known as Elliott Wells, was of tall posture, his way of walking was stiff and his body worn by age, yet on his face, there was a lively and earnest smile, accompanied by red cheeks. He was dressed in his best suit, and he hugged his daughter once he came face to face with her.
Caroline knew he would fail to remember to ask her why she was still there this time, so she smiled and turned to have a good look at them. After all, the family members were known for their enormous generosity and understood the pain of grief perfectly, and she tried her best to repay their kindness, a duty which she did not think of lightly, helping them out in whatever way she could and just being very kind to them overall. She was also incredibly lucky that her ulterior motives were still away from their minds.
Rosemary was visibly still a bit sullen, trying to hide it from her father the best she could, which surprised Caroline a little, but not much. When he glanced at her, she smiled brightly as if nothing had happened. For the following hour, the three of them talked about the most mundane of things while preparing for the grand event, and from time to time, Caroline would still catch a glimpse of the young lady's sorrow.
It seemed to last for an eternity until, at once, the fiance came to their door. It could not have been anyone else knocking due to their refusal to accept other visitors that day, which the father notified the servants about the previous night. The moment he walked in, everyone turned to face him, all forming their best smiles and greeting him with utmost politeness without hesitation.
As was to be expected, Rosemary was the one observing him the most. After silently looking at him for a while, she concluded that her father had found the most suitable match he could have. The white suit with colourful patterns he had on him was truly one that belonged to a gentleman, and even in poorer clothes, him being a gentleman would have been glaringly obvious due to his posture and the rest of his appearance. His thick brown hair was slicked back, but not so much as to make him resemble those arrogant men whose sole purpose in life was to woo women, especially easy ones. His small, bright red lips were part of what made him look as charming and kind as her, accompanied by his gentle blue eyes that gleamed with purity and wonder. He was quite the man she could even come to love the same way some other wives came to love their arranged husbands, if only she could ignore the love she already had inside her, but she had to promise herself that she would at least try, and she did.
"Oliver Burns, sir," he spoke after making direct eye contact with her father, gladly shaking his hand with him, the sound of his voice allowing her to confirm all her positive assumptions about him. "I came here because of your daughter."
Elliott smiled brightly at him. "We would not have allowed anyone but you to come here today, but thank you for confirming your identity anyway, young man. We shall now sit in the dining room and, you know, converse some. Would you like tea, coffee, or any other kind of beverage?"
"Nothing more than water, sir," Oliver responded nonchalantly, causing Elliott's eyes to widen.
"Dahlia!" the old man shouted after a few seconds of silence, instantly drawing the maid's attention. "Would you be so kind as to brew us all a cup of chamomile tea at your best pace, please? It would be much appreciated, thank you."
After Dahlia's usual meek, quiet, affirmative answer, they all sat at the table, which was currently empty excluding the large white tablecloth. It took some time for the conversation to start, but when it did, it was rather lively. Rosemary was the one who started it by asking the following question:
"So, Oliver, what are your interests?"
Oliver placed two fingers on his chin. "That is an intriguing question, my dear. Engaging with other people is not exactly my preferred activity, but do not think that I am one of those austere types who get exhausted after each conversation. It is merely that I prefer to ponder and reflect upon my experiences as opposed to going to social events and getting drunk. My favourite pastime is fishing, which is usually something that old men are wont to do, which means that some would consider this behaviour of mine strange, but to me, it makes perfect sense. Fishing is about spending your days in nature, among the clouds and the trees and the tranquil stream of the nearby river, standing patiently, waiting for the scarce amount of fish there are to arrive, thinking in the meantime for hours on end, going through a great struggle and strengthening your body and mind, and telling yourself to never give up, no matter what happens. After all, it will be worth it, for the taste of a fish and the solemn activity of searching for some is irreplaceable."
Elliott raised an eyebrow. "Well, that is interesting, to say the least, young man. I think I have made the perfect choice, for my daughter is also one of those silent types who like to reflect and all those other things. She is obsessed with books and poems and trying to write them. I do not know who she inherited it from. There has never been an artistic person in our family before. We all did the regular things wealthy people do, like playing golf and cards and hunting and attending social events. I would be more than willing to know what you think about that."
Oliver formed a broad smile. "From what I know about you, you seem quite like the person who would support your daughter no matter what she chooses, and I must say that I am very proud of her, and I want you to keep being proud of her too. She must have already had a tough time with the numerous men who do not consider women intelligent enough to write, and I am glad to hear that she at least has familial support. Speaking of which, where is her brother?"
Elliott shrugged. "He went to visit an old friend, and he was supposed to return last night, but then they told me he got stuck in a snowstorm. However, he should return by tomorrow, so do not fret."
Oliver nodded. "That is understandable. I do not think much of the things you listed, but I engage in them sometimes. If she is willing to respond, I want to ask her what her experience with writing has been like so far."
Rosemary smiled widely. "I have been writing ever since I was a child, and it has been very good for me. I have explored many things I never would have otherwise, and I consider my writing ability to be quite impressive. The number of men who thought of me as some dull-minded creature was not large, and it is more due to the mistakes in my writing I have yet to correct than due to the injustice in the world that no one has published my works yet. My biggest mistake is the tendency to bore the reader to death thanks to a lack of emotional involvement, and I hope to one day find a topic, a way that could really pique their interest."
"I am certain that your writing is nothing short of marvellous," he said softly.
She laughed sweetly. "Now you are flattering me, Oliver."
"Have you heard about the recent arrival of Stephen Rochester?" the father said out of nowhere, and for a while, they talked about that man again, mostly about how all they had fear and pity for how his fate could turn out because he had never stopped gambling, and Caroline talked for a significant amount of the time, which made the conversation much longer, especially with the countless questions Oliver had asked about her, and when the clock ticked two in the afternoon, four minutes appeared to have passed instead of the four hours that have passed in actuality.
Oliver glanced at his watch. "It is time for me to leave. Knowing you all has been nice, even you, Madam Proust, but there is a house I have to take care of and other people I have to meet with, so I bid you farewell, and I cannot wait for us to meet the following time."
After everyone greeted everyone, Rosemary sat at the table for several minutes, staring at the distance, thinking about the future. She was well aware of the fact that she had to halt being as dramatic as she was, seeing that her future with this man would not be painful, feeling ashamed for even doubting her father's choices. Perhaps he could even help her get published with his resources somehow, and they could live happily as many others did, but in her heart, a thorn was still stuck. Freedom and happiness with someone she did not choose seemed nothing but false to her, and with that mindset, she wondered how she would ever make herself agreeable to him in the years to come.