“I just haven’t figured out how to persuade him out of proposing after the whole... saving-his-life debacle. Which I still contend is utterly absurd,” Catherine adds, glancing at Rosalie.
Catherine’s incredulity is enough to make her laugh, just a little, which unsticks her tongue from the roof of her mouth. She can do this. She can be brave too.
“I hope you’re not too angry,” she says, looking to Mother. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. What either of you wanted,” she adds, meeting Mrs.Pine’s eyes. “But Catherine is the one I want, not Mr.Dean. Not... any man.”
Neither Mother nor Mrs.Pine seems to know what to say. They’re just staring, blankly, both of them. It’s unnerving.
“And we don’t know—we haven’t figured out what it would look like,” Catherine says, glancing at Rosalie. “But we...”
“We hope you’ll both help us figure it out,” Rosalie says, her voice small and high. Mother’s unflinching stare makes her feel like she’s eight again, but instead of asking forgiveness for breaking Mother’s favorite figurine, she’s asking for help making a life with a woman she adores.
“You’re the smartest women we know,” Catherine says. “If anyone can figure it out, you can.”
Rosalie smiles hopefully at her mother. She needs her help. But more than that, she wants it. Wants her to reach out and hold her the way she held Mrs.Pine. To promise her everything will be all right, and tell her she still loves her. That who Rosalie wants to want doesn’t matter.
But the silence stretches on, and on, andon. Rosalie’s stomach twists and her heart starts beating uncomfortably fast. Thisisn’t the silence of acceptance, of help, of support. It’s something else, something she doesn’t know if she can face.
Catherine’s grip on her shoulder is almost painful now.
Mother suddenly seems to come back to herself, blinking and looking away from Rosalie and Catherine. She pulls herself up tall, putting the armor she wears through the world back on without even a shudder, all the vulnerability she showed with Mrs.Pine gone in an instant.
“Dissuading Mr.Dean won’t be difficult, MissPine,” Mother says, glancing at Catherine before looking at Mrs.Pine. “Lord Dean thinks doing business is quite gauche and will never allow his son to marry into a family that would expect his participation in it. All you’ll need to do is suggest that her father will want Lord Dean to invest in his business.”
Mrs.Pine nods once and Mother blows out a breath, clapping her hands together. She meets Rosalie’s eyes for a moment, opening her mouth, and Rosalie feels her hopes rise—
But then she simply walks to the door, gives it an immense yank, and walks through the doorway without a backward glance.
“Mother,” Rosalie calls out, reflexive and terrified.
But her mother doesn’t come back.
Her knees go wobbly and Rosalie leans into Catherine, who grips her shoulders. “It’s okay,” she whispers.
Rosalie turns to meet her eyes. “No, it isn’t,” she says, and she can hear the tears in her voice already.
Aunt Genevieve moves for the first time in minutes. Rosalie had almost forgotten she was there until she slips her arm around Rosalie’s waist, holding her up with Catherine.
Mrs.Pine is still just standing there, staring and silent.
“I’ve got you,” Aunt Genevieve says softly.
Rosalie looks up at her and Aunt Genevieve smiles before turning to Mrs. Pine. They wait, but she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even acknowledge Aunt Genevieve’s gaze. Catherine’s dress is nearly twisted in her hands, forgotten amid everything. She unfurls it haltingly, holding it by the shoulders.
“We should return to the tea, sod the stain,” she says to no one in particular.
Catherine slumps against Rosalie with a mewl of despair.
Mrs.Pine looks to them then, finally meeting Catherine’s eyes. “We’ll dispatch of Mr.Dean tonight, and talk about everything else later.”
Her voice is hard, back ramrod straight, but it’s something, at least. Watching her walk into the cloakroom doesn’t pierce through Rosalie’s heart the way her mother’s exit did, but it’s close.
Rosalie and Catherine stand there holding each other up, everything irreparably different. Rosalie knew this was a possibility. That her mother, and her father, might not approve. That Catherine’s parents might not approve.
She just didn’t think it would feel like her childhood has splintered in her chest, stabbing every bit of joy and freedom and safety she’s ever felt until what’s left is bloody and sloshing in her stomach.
“Everything will be all right, I promise you that. Even if I’m not one of the smartest women you know.”
Both of them turn to look at Aunt Genevieve. She reaches out to pat Catherine’s cheek and then steps back, pushing Rosalie lightly. Rosalie takes the hint and throws her arms around Catherine’s shoulders, pressing her face into her neck while Catherine wraps her arms around her waist.
