They don’t talk about important things much, but he always listens to her.
“I... don’t want to marry Mr. Dean,” she hears herself say, struggling to maintain eye contact.
Father blinks back at her. “You don’t?”
“No,” she says, her voice cracking.
“Well, that is a surprise,” Father says, sitting up straight. “Has he done something, other than show a preference for the Pine girl?”
Rosalie swallows hard. It can’t be worse than Mother’s reaction... can it?
“I—I don’t want to marry him because of—because I...” She can’t push it out of her mouth, not with him staring at her like that.
“Rosalie has developed feelings for MissPine,” Mother says.
Rosalie flinches. Mother doesn’t meet her eyes, looking calmly instead at Father, who’s staring back at her, mouth gaping. Rosalie’s whole body goes stiff with terror. Aunt Genevieve’s hand comes to covers hers where she’s twisted her fingers into the lace cover of her dress.
“Does MissPine share her... affection?” Father asks, his voice sounding hollow against the quiet crackling of the fire.
“She does,” Mother says. “I suggest we allow them a year, maybe two, together before deciding on the proper future for them. Genevieve has rooms at Jones House. They could return for relevant social functions regularly, so their absence could be easily waved away. And after the various scandals with Mr.Dean that I now realize they architected, it would likely be for the best anyway.”
Rosalie’s barely breathing. Her body feels frozen, her fingers tingling from where she’s holding too tightly to Aunt Genevieve and the settee below her.
Father looks over at her, appraising. Rosalie stares back, desperate to know what he’s thinking. She wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to fling her arms around her mother and shake her all at once.
If this was what she was thinking the whole time, could she not have said, instead of storming out of the water closet, leaving Rosalie to think that—to feel—
“Will that suffice?” Father asks, looking now to Aunt Genevieve.
“It’s not my choice to make,” Aunt Genevieve says firmly. “But I would love to have them.”
“Rosalie? Is that what you want?” Father asks.
“Of course it is,” Mother says archly.
“Let her have her say,” Aunt Genevieve says curtly.
Mother holds up her hands and then waves to Rosalie to weigh in.
Rosalie sits there staring at her parents, hope and relief and a strange rage warring in her chest. Was it always this simple? Was this always allowed? She’s been living and preparing for a life she’s never wanted for as long as she’s been alive. And the whole time, if she’d just said, “I want something else,” they would have listened?
She feels betrayed. And angry. And grateful. And, and, and—
“Rosalie,” Aunt Genevieve says softly.
“Yes,” Rosalie exclaims, almost shouting. Everyone jumps.
She sits for a moment, breathing hard, trying to rein in the overflow of emotion before she starts yelling. But no one else says anything. They’re all sitting there, waiting for her to say words she has no idea how to say.
She’s known this about herself her whole life, how can she not have the words now?
“Rosalie and Miss Pine told me and her mother that they would like to be together,” Mother starts.
“Clara,” Aunt Genevieve scolds. “Let her talk.”
“Well, she’s not saying anything!”
Rosalie cringes and Christopher leans forward. “Perhaps this isn’t the easiest thing to discuss. You could give her some grace,” he says firmly.
