Chapter Twenty-Five
Rosalie
“We couldn’t have done this in the afternoon?” Rosalie asks, too exhausted and sweaty to be embarrassed about her petulance.
It’s not that she doesn’t want to see Catherine. But it’s early, and humid, and she feels rather bloated and gross. Worse,
she doesn’t have a plan. Mother and Aunt Genevieve’s story still pierces at her heart. And beside it, guilt for disobeying
both of her parents squeezes at her throat.
“Do you want Catherine to marry bloody Mr. Dean?” Christopher huffs, breathing hard next to her, while Amalie walks on his other side
as if it’s no strain at all to climb up the wooded hill on Bathampton Down.
“Your mother would have gotten suspicious if it was any later,” Miss Wrigsby says on her other side, looking equally unaffected
by their trek.
Rosalie doesn’t know which one of them told Miss Wrigsby, but she’s oddly grateful to have another adult along for this . . .
debacle in the making.
“If we could cease with feeling sorry for ourselves, we could get back to the matter at hand,” Amalie says.
“Right,” Rosalie says, blowing out a haggard breath as she bats a small branch out of her way.
“You’re sure Aunt Genevieve can’t convince Mother to just tell Mrs. Pine? Surely once she understands her reasoning . . .” Christopher says, petering off as both Rosalie and Miss Wrigsby
shake their heads.
“She’d rather take it to the grave,” Miss Wrigsby says. “You’ll have to force her into it, somehow.”
“It’s the how that worries me,” Christopher says. “She never does anything she doesn’t want to do.”
Except for ruining her best friend to protect her sister-in-law-to-be. But Rosalie doesn’t think Mother did that truly of
her own free will. She didn’t see an alternative, trapped into a situation with no good options.
Rosalie knows how she feels.
“Do you think—” Christopher starts, just as they make it to the small clearing at the top of the hill.
But Rosalie’s no longer listening. Catherine, Henrietta, and Catherine’s lady’s maid, Miss Teit, stand in the center of the
clearing. Catherine looks a bit worse for wear, her hair frizzy beneath her brown bonnet, cheeks pink. It takes Rosalie a
moment to realize she’s wearing the cream dress Rosalie bought her, now snagged with brambles beneath her askew gray pelisse.
Rosalie’s breath catches in her chest.
Henrietta, by contrast, looks entirely unruffled, but Rosalie doesn’t care.
She wants to cross the tall grass, crunching twigs and dandelions to run to Catherine. Wants to throw her arms around her.
Wants to ask her how she is, and what’s been going on. Wants to push her up against the plentiful trees and—
“It’s almost worse than watching her kiss her silly, isn’t it?”
Rosalie stiffens, looking over to find Christopher and Amalie standing side by side behind her, grinning.
“Well, it’s not like they’ve been subtle about it all this time,” Amalie says as they come to the middle of the clearing.
“Hey!” Catherine protests.
“It does rather look like hearts are falling out of your eyes,” Henrietta adds.
Rosalie looks back and forth among her friends and her brother. She meets Catherine’s eyes and Catherine merely shrugs.
“I do spend an awful lot of time staring at you,” she admits.
Catherine looks good enough to eat. Actually, she’d rather like to—
“Before we scarper off and give you two the reunion you’re clearly so desperate for . . .” Amalie says.
“Right,” Catherine says, cheeks pink. “Well. Henrietta, Miss Teit, and I were talking, and we think the best thing would be
to just . . . force our mothers to talk. We just need to figure out how.”
“We could forge letters?” Amalie suggests.
“I can do a decent version of Lady Tisend’s penmanship,” Miss Wrigsby says.
“Oh, I can do Mrs. Pine’s. That could be fun!” Miss Teit says.
“Suppose one of them won’t open the letter?” Christopher asks.
“We could force them?” Rosalie wonders. Could she, really? Force Mother into opening a letter from Mrs. Pine? Maybe Aunt Genevieve
could?
“It seems much more expedient to trap them in the water closet at the Upper Rooms, doesn’t it?”
They all turn to look at Henrietta, who stares back innocently.
“I beg your pardon?” Amalie says for the group.
“You trap them in the water closet,” Henrietta says. “Catherine got stuck in there at the start of the season. Shouldn’t be
too difficult to replicate. And then there’s little margin for error. As long as you think they’ll talk once they’re in there.”
That’s painfully brilliant. So simple. So achievable.
“Trap them in there together, force Mother to explain the whole sordid affair, and get Mrs. Pine to call off the proposal.
Ten, twenty minutes,” Christopher says.
“More difficult to orchestrate during the tea, but I don’t think we’ll get another opportunity,” Amalie agrees.
But Rosalie’s staring at Catherine, who’s still looking at Christopher, her mouth slightly open.
“Catherine?” Rosalie prompts.
“Do—did your mother give you a reason?” Catherine asks, ripping her eyes away to meet Rosalie’s. “Did she explain?”
Rosalie glances at Christopher, who nods encouragingly. Mother listened to Rosalie’s father all those years ago—chose to believe
him, and not trust her best friend. But Rosalie can trust Catherine. Can trust Henrietta, and Amalie, and their lady’s maids.
All these people who have rallied around them.
If she can’t trust them, if she chooses to follow her mother’s path, she’ll only end up alone. She’s choosing a better future
this time.
“Captain Daniels took advantage of Aunt Genevieve early in the season your mother and mine met him,” Rosalie says softly.
Even so, it feels like the words land with an explosion.
Catherine, Henrietta, and Miss Teit gasp.
“Father made my mother promise not to tell yours, to maintain Aunt Genevieve’s reputation, but Mother didn’t want to risk your mother ending up the same way.
So, she spread the rumor, and my father got yours to propose. ”
She watches as Catherine stands there, taking it in. Henrietta sniffles beside her, and Miss Teit hands her a handkerchief.
Catherine meets Rosalie’s eyes, tears brimming. Rosalie wants so much to step forward and wrap her arms around Catherine,
to apologize for the hurt done to her mother, and the hurt passed down to Catherine that’s left them both in this mess together.
But she can’t find the words, can’t move her feet.
What if Catherine never wants to see her again? What if the slight is too great? What if what her mother did is truly unforgivable?
“We owe your family an enormous apology,” Christopher says, stepping up beside Rosalie, Amalie in tow. “And I know it cannot
undo the damage done, but I will do whatever I can to help you and Rosalie build the life you want.”
“Even if it starts with locking you in a water closet with your mothers,” Amalie adds.
Her words seem to break the hush that’s fallen over the clearing and everyone lets out a startled laugh. Catherine meets Rosalie’s
eyes again. There’s so much she wants to say, so much she doesn’t really know how to articulate . . .
“Mr. Tisend, weren’t you going to show Miss Raught how to identify edible berries?” Miss Teit asks.
Rosalie feels more than sees Henrietta, Amalie, Christopher, Miss Teit, and Miss Wrigsby exchanging looks. But she and Catherine
are still staring at each other, trapped in their mothers’ hurt, hoping to escape together.
“You know, I was!” Christopher says, a little overloud. “Follow me, ladies.”
“I’d think it might take us about fifteen minutes to find berries, wouldn’t you say, Miss Wrigsby?” Amalie adds.
“Perhaps even twenty,” Miss Wrigsby agrees, taking Amalie’s other arm to follow Miss Teit and Henrietta out of the clearing.
Henrietta glances over her shoulder and meets Rosalie’s eyes, smiling tearily at her. Rosalie never actually told Henrietta.
Amalie must have. But here she is anyway, helping them. Giving them space. Architecting their madcap plan.
Rosalie smiles back and watches the group leave the clearing, listening until their crunching footsteps fade out of earshot.
“Are you mad?” she whispers.
But it’s loud enough for Catherine to hear, her eyes widening. She takes a step forward. “Mad?”
“You’d have every right to hate my mother. To hate me, even, for what she did to yours,” Rosalie tells her.
Catherine slowly shakes her head. “I feel sorry for her. I can’t imagine how awful that would have felt, to save your best friend and lose her all at once.”
Rosalie stares at Catherine, punched in the chest by her generosity, her kindness, her lovely wonderful self. “You have a
beautiful heart,” she says.
Catherine chuckles and they stand there for a long moment, just smiling at each other, the weight of the past sloughing off
until brimming promise surrounds them.
Catherine’s hands curl and uncurl at her sides, and she huffs lightly. “Have we waited long enough for me to touch you?”
Rosalie can’t help but laugh. “Oh, absolutely,” she says, finally ungluing her feet enough to rush toward her.
They meet in the middle, Rosalie wrapping her arms about Catherine’s waist while Catherine’s hands glide against Rosalie’s
jaw to pull her into a desperate kiss.
Rosalie’s whole body slackens. She presses up on her tiptoes, hands curling into Catherine’s hips, fisting in her gray pelisse. It’s soft, and hot, and lovely, and Rosalie wishes time could just stop altogether, leave them in this beautiful kiss forever.
“Hi,” Catherine says when they pull apart at least a minute later.
“Hi,” Rosalie whispers back, unable to control her smile.
“Come here,” Catherine says, dragging her out of the clearing and up to a big oak tree.
And then they’re snogging, Rosalie’s back flush against the tree, her arms thrown around Catherine’s shoulders, their bonnets
knocking, heads tilted to give them the most room.
“I wish they were further away so I could crawl under your skirt,” Catherine whispers as she laves kisses up to Rosalie’s
ear.
Rosalie’s knees buckle in surprise. “Jesus,” she rasps as Catherine laughs huskily.
She pulls back to meet Rosalie’s eyes and they stare at each other, lips swollen, pupils wide.
“I’ve missed you,” Catherine says breathily.
“Oh, I’ve missed you too,” Rosalie agrees, squeezing her waist. “Letters don’t do you any justice.”
“No, they don’t,” Catherine agrees, her fingers toying with Rosalie’s earlobe in a way that makes her want to melt into a
puddle of goo.
She bites at her lip and Rosalie tilts her head, watching her go suddenly shy. “What?”
“It seems silly to say it out loud, because I do think you know. But I want much more than letters with you?”
A sudden wave of relief courses through Rosalie’s body. It’s a reassurance she didn’t realize she needed so badly. So much that she wants to give it back, wants to make Catherine feel just as bright and wonderful and full. “I might want a lifetime of more than letters with you,” Rosalie whispers.
Catherine’s face breaks into the most beautiful smile, and she leans in to sip a delicate, aching kiss from Rosalie’s mouth.
There’s so much more she could say. So much more she should say.
They really should be using the rest of this visit to plan. It would be prudent, and smart, and expedient.
But when Catherine sucks on Rosalie’s bottom lip, her thigh pressing between Rosalie’s legs until she’s nearly off the ground,
both of them panting, Rosalie thinks that just for today, just for right now, perhaps prudent is the least of her worries.
“How much longer do you think they’ll be gone?” she gasps against Catherine’s mouth.
“Ten minutes, at least,” Catherine mumbles back, one of her hands creeping up Rosalie’s chest over her dress beneath her pelisse.
“Be a shame to waste ten minutes,” Rosalie whispers.
“It really would,” Catherine agrees, pulling back to meet her eyes as her hand closes over Rosalie’s breast.
Rosalie groans and moves her own hands lower, cupping Catherine’s utterly perfect arse.
“We can figure the rest out in letters, can’t we?” Catherine asks.
She grinds her thigh upward and Rosalie has to clamp her mouth shut around a loud moan. “Fuck yes,” she whispers, leaning
up to chase Catherine’s mouth.
Ten minutes passes in the heady blink of an eye, and when footsteps loudly intrude upon their quiet, Rosalie finds she no longer cares about her swollen lips, her red cheeks, her wrinkled dress, or her breathless laughter.
Catherine drags her back into the clearing, their fingers wound together proudly.
Their friends eye them knowingly, but Rosalie finds she doesn’t care. They’re going to build the future they both want, together.
She’s ready to accept the love and help Amalie, Christopher, and Henrietta are offering, so she can have the love she wants
for the rest of her life.
And by the way Catherine’s gripping hard at her hand, she wants the very same thing.