Edited

Autumn of 1870

The colour of loneliness is not gray.

It is nothing bleak. It is vibrant, right there in front of your eyes. Each vivid colour is pronounced, blending with each other until you have a full spectrum in front of you, a spectrum full of beauty and life, but it will not mean anything if you choose not to see it. If your heart tells your mind that there is nothing in front of you, then there is nothing in front of you. If it tells your mind to see nothing but the greys and the blacks and the whites, then you will only see those colours.

That is how it is when you miss someone. There is nothing in front of you, only the thoughts of them clouding your perception of everything around you, no matter how beautiful, and when you see the one you love, they help bring out the beauty you neglected to see.

There is none of that beauty as Anne stands in that ballroom, a hundred pairs of eyes watching her closely, waiting for her to make a mistake.

"H-Henry... What?"

"My dear, I have asked you to marry me."

Anne looks down in blatant disbelief at the man. She has made it clear in the past that she would rather give him a sharp kick to the family jewels than give her hand in marriage. Either it is a trick, or... she did not know. Regardless, she is befuddled beyond reason.

A bead of sweat runs down her back as she looks at the people gathered around them. They are all watching with anticipation. Lord, no, she would not agree to marry him, but that does not mean that she is rude enough to simply refuse him in the middle of a crowd! She prays that her letter had sent quickly, that Raymond and his father were on their way to Ravensworth. She hopes that they are at the gates now, so Raymond could think of a plan to help her escape. In the meanwhile, she has to ask herself what she would do in his place. She does not have any matches on her, so setting Henry on fire and leaving him to cook is hardly an option.

She has been wearing the very same expression for such a while that her face begins to hurt. She has to think of a plan soon. She cannot spend all night looking at the bastard who had the gall to make fun of her ever since they were children. Suddenly, embarrassing him does not seem so bad. Hell, he deserves to be embarrassed in front of the entire country! She does not know what is stopping her. She was never one to have any sense of social propriety.

"Ah... No. My lord, I am sorry, but I cannot. I am afraid that this is much too impulsive, and that I am not yet ready for such a commitment. Perhaps you should speak to my mother. Or... the Duke of Norfolk? I would appreciate it if you took the time to ask him. He is, after all, the man who has been standing as my father since I was little. I am dreadfully sorry to have troubled you." The words are bitter on her tongue.

If Ray were there, she would have not been afraid to reject Henry completely. If Ray were there, she would not have been afraid to be judged. She could have told Henry that she was promised to someone else, someone who actually loved her and saw her as more than just a trophy to wave around, more than just a means to access the earldom to which Anne was heiress to.

Honestly, if Ray were there, she would grab him in front of all those people and kiss him silly just to show them.

It is the best response she could have thought of, but everything still goes pin-drop silent. And one of the pins in her unruly hair does drop. Right on Henry's forehead. She wishes the ground would swallow her up. Blast her. She should have locked herself in her chambers like she had originally planned to do. The entire damned situation could have been avoided.

Henry is looking at her as if he cannot believe what she has just said. And, yes. It is plausible. Blond-and-perfect Henry was used to getting what he wanted, and now blond-and-perfect Henry was turned down. Not as brutally as Anne would have liked, but she would save that for another time.

Damned pride. That is the only reason he proposed to her. Because she is the one woman who isn't, nor ever had or would be, throwing herself at him. Not only because she reviles him, but because she has already pledged herself to someone, despite the lack of formality.

The murmurs that arise scare her even more than the silence did. Dread curls in the pit of her stomach. She keeps her gaze on Henry, still holding up a small golden band. She knows what she would find. People pointing. Glaring, like the ring he holds. The light that bounces off of it could have very well been blinding. It almost seems as if it were beckoning her to wear it. No. Never in a million years would she even consider touching that thing. She already has a ring, and she does not want to replace it for the simple fact that it was Raymond who had gifted it to her.

Are they judging her now? The murmurs are deafening. Anne wants to cave in on herself. She does not know the rate of which time passed, but Henry is still looking at her, blue eyes almost twitching. She wants to run to Arundel. To Eton. She needs her Ray.

She clears her throat as she takes in the sight of all the people. Try as she might, she could not run. It would cause gossip. She hates gossip with a passion. Her reply had not been too bad. She wants to repeat it, but before she can, Henry stands up.

"For a time, I genuinely cared for you," he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I should not have bothered wasting such time on a wretch as worthless as you."

He slaps her, the force of it making her fall down on her knees. She cannot believe it. Now that they are eye-to-eye, Anne glares at him. The coldest glare she can, regardless of how flustered she is.

"I tried to save you, Lady Arianne. I tried to save you from yourself, but if you cannot think of yourself as anything other than my simpleton cousin's whore, then you can both die while you fuck for all I care." There is a collective gasp. Henry seizes her by the wrist, preparing to strike her again. It is a despicable, disgusting reaction.

Instead, she strikes him this time. A scratch, as hard as she can, right across the eyes. That would show him.

It is not enough to draw blood, though he screams. He grabs her, and, to the horror of the crowd watching, she scratches him again as she scrambles away, cursing the fabric of her gloves for not being able to do more damage.

A shiver runs down her spine, and she knows what will happen next.

In the blink of an eye, she is tearing her hand from Henry's grasp and running as fast as she can across the ballroom. She needs to go somewhere, anywhere, where there were no people. Lilac flowers were coming undone from her hair, one of her gloves is still in Henry's hands, and she is sure that she heard the hem of her dress tear. New dresses could be fixed, but if she were to convulse, her reputation simply could not.

Suddenly, the world flips over and she feels her head hit the floor. She is shaking all the way to the tips of her fingers, panicking so much she cannot find it in her to breathe. Where is her mother? No, no. She does not want her mother. Where was Raymond? She wants him, needs him to help her. She stutters his name out as blood floods her mouth and darkness takes over.

Anne wakes up sometime near nightfall, checking her fingers. Only one ring. Good. She looks around. There is no one to force an another on her. Even better.

Firelight bounces off the mural on her ceiling, making the blue of the painted ocean look black. The lighthouse's beacon seems as if it would drag one down to the depths of the sea instead of save them. Everything seems more ominous simply because the memory of Henry's proposal looms over her. What would happen to her now?

Anger fills her, blood becoming the dark water, her heart the treacherous lighthouse. How dare he? She could think of a million expletives to curse Henry Grey with, but it all comes down to one word that, in her opinion, does not even hold much weight; jealous.

Anne does not understand the greed of men. Why does Henry want her to become his wife if he has a thousand other women to choose from? She answers her question again, the same way. She alone has never been one of his conquests. In his warped vision, she believes, she was Raymond's, and he is keeping her from him. Fool. She has half her mind made up to hunt him down and impale him atop Ravensworth Castle's ancient spires before her personal physician comes in. The Duke of Norfolk's sister, Eleanor Brighton.

Anne adores her. She never had to bend to the will of anyone. There had been a prejudice against women becoming doctors when Eleanor first decided to become one. She did not let such foolishness stop her.

"Are you thirsty, Anne? Hungry? I'll have a maid bring food up for you. Would you like that? For the love of God, never stress yourself out like that again! You will get more than just an earful from me next time!"

"No. What is happening? Is it chaos in the streets? Paperboys yelling out 'Heiress to Ravensworth! Possessed! Mad! Ruined!'? Do I have that horrid photograph from when I was fifteen on the front page of every tabloid all the way to London?" Anne jokes bitterly, sitting up. She coughs, making the bruise Henry had presumably left on her face ache. He would get more than a few broken bones, she would make sure of it.

"Lie back down. If anyone in that room had any sense, it would not be your reputation ruined, it will be his. It was wise of you to make a point about your coming of age. He is clearly in the wrong, even going so far as to hit you! The nerve! I'll have Matilda ship him off to India for the rest of the decade!"

Anne buries her face in her hands and groans, though she does enjoy the thought of Henry being far, far away. No, not in India. Somewhere with much more forest. Forests with tribesmen that abhorred white men and would spear them and pick their bones clean... Anne stops the thought. Her rage comes back quickly.

"No one in that room had sense! I can count the number of people in the entirety of Mother England that has sense! God's blood, I'd be damned if the number passes ten! I can only hope that Ray hasn't heard of it all the way in Eton. He has too much to think about."

Eleanor pushes Anne back down onto the pillows, pulling the soft, woolly covers up to her chin.

"Tosh. Do not worry about him. He can handle anything. I cannot guarantee that he will not rush over here with Henry's head on a silver platter for you, but you know him. He will most likely punch his bedframe, ponder on it for a fortnight, then let it rest. Until he comes back to you, we can all pretend that we did not know what that cad, Henry, was capable of. Even though he is an arse, to put it lightly, you always have Ray. Sleep and recover now or else I'll write to him and tell him to come over here and make you. I'll see you in a while. Ring the bell if you need any salve."

"All right," Anne says glumly, watching as the door shut behind Eleanor before creeping silently out from under the covers and retrieving something from her vanity.

She sits on her bed, putting the box on her lap. She opens it, only to be greeted by the merry tune Raymond had composed especially for her.

Smile for me, reads a handwriting that was more familiar than her own on the lid of the box. Five sheep with pale golden wool begin jumping over a shooting star, dancing round and round until the tune fades and Anne has to wind up the key behind it. She had named each of the little sheep when she was younger.

A sad smile tugs at the corner of her lips before a single tear lands on one of the sheep's head. The little sheep's fur looks untouched and dry even as more tears fall onto it.

"Why is it always me?" She whimpers to no one. She closes the music box and hugs it to her chest. She wants Raymond. He knows how to make her feel better even when she screams and lashes out at him. She wants him to hold her. To sing old love songs to her and tell her of fantastical old stories while he held her and willed the hurt away with just his voice.

She knows that she is being a brat, but was it truly wrong to want help?

The truth is, Henry is a liar. Even those ugly words he had screamed at her were lies. He never cared for her. Ever since they were children, he ridiculed her for choosing to stay with Raymond. He ridiculed her because, to him, girls were not supposed to be learned. They were not supposed to understand the insults he threw at them in different languages. They were not supposed to be able to throw their own insults back.

Anne looks wistfully over at the writing desk she keeps on the other side of the room. She had planned on writing to Raymond, but she no longer wants to. Sadness would seep into her words and she would only worry him again. She comforts herself with the knowledge that his schooling was almost over and that they would get married soon. He had promised her.

She opens the little box again, humming along as the tune played and she watched the five little sheep dance. She manages a genuine smile as she imagines Raymond's arms around her. She sighs, wishing that the end of his school year would come about sooner.

Once they were wed, she would never have to care about anything else. And right now?

He is all that can fix her.