30 April 1895

Dear future husband,

I am safely returned to England and have been for nearly a week. We are back in Grenledge, for which I am dearly grateful, as this was far too exciting a Season even for my tastes. Thankfully, no word has gotten out that my mother abducted me to Paris, so my reputation shall remain somewhat intact, not that I care what any eligible bachelors think of me.

Meanwhile, I must inform you, that I am on the cusp of becoming engaged! Well, Maximilian has been having long talks with Papa, and Anna tells me that the only reason they would be doing so would be to discuss an impending marriage... And she is a tad more experienced than I am, now being courted by an affable and trustworthy attorney from town. Thus, her counsel does seem quite wise.

Speaking of the attorney, I have met him a few times and he does seem rather lovely. Well-mannered, kind, generous, and he enjoys dancing. Having asked around about him, he does not seem to have any sort of dark reputation as a rake or social climber, and I thus approve of him as a match for Anna.

It will be rather odd to be married, I suppose, and no longer write these letters. I have been writing them for nearly a decade now. Perhaps I shall simply title them "dear husband"? That doesn't quite have the same ring to it, though.

Oh! I must abandon you, unfortunately, for a moment, as Papa has just informed me that afternoon tea is ready and we will be dining with Maximilian and some other guests. On quite short notice, I might add, but I can hardly complain.

Yours always,

Rosalie Winthrop

Signing her name with a flourish, she wondered, with the giddiest of smiles, if soon would come a day when her name would change. Rosalie hopped out of her chair, applied a light dusting of rouge–it was only afternoon tea, after all–and went to join her father.

"Rosalie," he said, waiting outside her chambers when she exited. She nearly stumbled into him, but he caught her.

"Thank you, Papa."

He sighed, but it was a warm sigh, one that spoke of fond exasperation more than dark gloom. "How many times have I told you not to run in the halls?"

"I haven't counted, sir," she said cheekily.

He smiled. "Come along, now, we have some rather important guests for afternoon tea today."

"Oh?" she said as they walked down the spiral staircase toward the dining room. "May I be permitted to know their names?"

The candles flickering in their sconces as they passed seemed to nod in agreement. Outside, a perfect snowy day despite the spring suggested that it was the ideal hour for sledding. "Your curiosity and impatience are a lethal combination, dear. You will see them quite soon enough."

Now it was her turn to let out a sigh, deep and long-suffering. "Must you torture me so, Papa?"

He stopped in front of the suit of armour that guarded the entrance to the dining room. "It is a father's duty to test his daughter's patience, just as it is children's duties to whittle away at their parents' patience."

"Je t'adore, Papa, but your proverbs are rather lacking. I thought you weren't meant to provoke your children to anger?" she teased.

He gave no response, instead smiling and opening the door for her. "After you, my dear."

The dining room seemed more brightly decorated today than usual, swathed in gold silk curtains, the mahogany table polished until it glowed, and the six chairs partially filled with friends and strangers alike. A sumptuous spread–a veritable feast, really–had been laid out on the white lace tablecloth, while the best china in white and blue had been set next to their finest flatware.

Their butler held out her chair for her to the right of her father. "Please take a seat, my lady."

Thanking him, she glanced around the table. Maximilian was seated across from her, and next to him, a motherly-looking woman, and at the foot of the table a young girl with red hair, who looked to be about seven or eight years old, whom she presumed to be the woman's daughter. A man with grey threaded through his reddish hair, whom she supposed was the woman's husband, sat on Rosalie's right.

"Thank you all for accepting my invitation to dine," her father said. "I truly appreciate your presence here, and I am sure my daughter, Rosalie, does, as well. Why don't we introduce ourselves to one another?"

Over cucumber sandwiches, pots of tea, and scones with clotted cream, Rosalie learned that the Wakefields had come to call, and that they had once sheltered Maximilian when he was in a difficult time, right before he had wound up on the RMS Etruria as a stowaway. That was a fact that endeared them to her immediately. Daisy and her fiery hair reminded her of a younger Anna, though she was a good deal shyer than Anna had ever been. Though when Rosalie offered to take her sledding, she perked up immediately.

Caroline Wakefield–or Aunt Caro as she preferred to be called–was lovely, making Rosalie laugh when she half-scolded Maximilan for not eating enough, making no mention of the many years that must have passed since they had last seen him.

Gideon Wakefield, meanwhile, was nothing like his brother. Kind, affable, and exceedingly generous, he was not only the opposite of his dark-haired brother in looks but in character. It made her wonder, frankly, how they were brothers at all.

"So, Rosalie, how did you meet Maximilian?" Aunt Caro asked, leaning forward with a teacup in her hand.

"Well..." She smiled at the memory. "We were on a ship."

"That's all you have to say about it?" Maximilian looked offended. "If I remember correctly, you had lost your dog, Minerva."

At the sound of her name, the dog perked up and began running in circles around Rosalie's feet, giving a yelp.

"I did not lose her... She simply got away from me. She was only a puppy then," Rosalie protested, stirring sugar into her tea.

"One cannot expect puppies to be well-behaved," Aunt Caro said casting a meaningful look at her daughter, Daisy.

Daisy pouted. "I only wanted to see if Artemis–that is, our dog–would ride in the pram like a baby."

"Yes, well, little Artie jumped out of the pram and into the Thames. When we pulled her out, she was filthy," explained Gideon Wakefield with a laugh.

"The dog, or Daisy?" Maximilian said innocently.

Daisy looked affronted as she gazed toward Maximilian Walker with a look of blind adoration that a younger sister only could have, one who believed her older brother could do no wrong. The sight made Rosalie want to laugh. "The dog, silly!"

"She's not such a troublemaker," said Gideon, ruffling his daughter's hair affectionately.

"Though if I do recall, when I stayed with you, Daisy used to bite my ankles," Maximilian said.

"That part is true," Aunt Caro said, pouring more tea for her husband and herself.

"I likely still have the scars to prove it," said Maximilian dryly.

Her heart skipped a beat as she turned to face him. Even with singed-off eyebrows, he somehow managed to look roguishly handsome. She realized with a small amount of horror that she was becoming one of those insensible females who sighed dreamily over a man, even without a promise or commitment. How horrid!

"The puppy ran away into the cargo hold," Rosalie said, clearing her throat. "And that was where I found this stowaway, Maximilian Walker."

"Edgar had just attempted to press-gang me into naval service," he explained, not a trace of bitterness lacing his words. "But I suppose it was all worth it... For I have wound up here, in such good company."

A fraction of her melted, and she tried to fight the blush that tinged her cheeks, glancing down. Focusing on her tea, she finished her buttered muffin, and wiped her fingers on her napkin. As she finished the last of her tea, her father cleared his throat. "Why don't the ladies retire to the sitting room? Gentlemen, I believe there is something we ought to discuss, perhaps over a cigar or two."

She tucked one last crumpet into her napkin for later, and exited the dining room with Mrs. Wakefield and Daisy, who was skipping ahead of her mother rather than waiting to hold her hand. The sight made Rosalie smile, but it was tinged with a bittersweet taint. She was reminded of her own mother and the brief time they'd spent together in Paris.

Would she ever see the woman again? And why did she care?

Cornelia Winthrop or Eliza, or whatever name she was using... She had clearly not cared for her daughter and husband, and she was likely involved in some dastardly behaviour if she wanted to control the Duke of Marlborough's fortune by marrying Rosalie to his son. Yet part of her still longed to be in that Parisian apartment again, having her mother brush her hair and fuss over her like a child.

Despite her dislike of her mother for breaking her father's heart... she still cared. Still craved a mother's gentle words and kind embraces.

Perhaps it was only natural, inevitable. Yet she hated that part of her anyway as she perched on a tufted navy settee across from the Wakefields, seeing little Daisy Wakefield's feet dangling a foot off of the Oriental carpet.

"So, Rosalie, you and Maximilian seem quite close." Mrs. Wakefield's tone was burdened with a plethora of meanings. "When is the wedding?"

It was good that she was not still drinking tea, or else she might have abandoned all decorum and spat it out. "We... You misunderstand me, Aunt Caro."

"Oh? And here, I thought the two of you had formed an attachment."

Daisy Wakefield piped up. "What is an attachment?"

"You shall learn when you are older, dear." Aunt Caro patted her daughter on the head. "Well? Rosalie? Was I mistaken?"

"I... We have yet to discuss these things since returning to England. Both of us have been rather occupied with other matters," she said, smoothing out her skirt.

"What could be more important than young love?" A misty glint shone in Aunt Caro's eyes. "I still recall when I met Daisy's father..."

Daisy made a face, sticking out her tongue. "Urgh! I've heard the story enough times to recite it."

"Why don't you do it, then?" Rosalie suggested, a twinge of sorrow in her heart. The Wakefields obviously had a wonderful and devoted marriage... unlike her own parents.

"An excellent suggestion," Aunt Caro said.

The two sat patiently as Daisy Wakefield launched into an animated retelling of her parents' love story. "You were in Paris with your family, visiting your brother on his Grand Tour... And Father was friends with your brother, Uncle Frederick. The two of you locked eyes across from one another in the salon, and it was love at first sight."

Rosalie smiled. "How much of that is the truth?"

"Almost all of it, my dear." Aunt Caro winked at her.

Just then, the butler rapped on the door. "Miss Winthrop, your father wishes to see you in his study."

She stood, twisting her hands in the fabric of her skirt. "Of course. Please excuse me, ladies."

What could he want?