Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
I loved you both,” she continues, looking between Aunt Genevieve and Mrs. Pine. “There hasn’t been a day I didn’t regret how
I went about protecting you.”
Mrs. Pine stands there staring at Mother, her lip between her teeth. After a moment, she bobs her head, blowing out a long,
forceful breath. “You were between a rock and a terribly hard place. Catherine reminded me the other day that while it was
awful when it happened, I have gone on to a beautiful life.”
“Can you forgive me for it?” Mother whispers. “I know I can’t ever change it, but I am sorry. I am so very, very sorry. I
wanted to tell you, I should have told you.”
“I can try,” Mrs. Pine whispers.
They stand still for a moment before Mother moves forward, wrapping her arms around Mrs. Pine with a sob. Slowly, Mrs. Pine
hugs her back.
Rosalie lists into Catherine, heart in her throat. Catherine releases her hand to wrap her arm around Rosalie, holding tight and sniffling.
They did this. They made this happen.
It’s a strangely wonderful feeling, watching her mother hug her oldest friend. She deserves forgiveness, and happiness, and
friendship. Rosalie’s not sure she’s ever seen the broken-open, carefree smile on her mother’s face now as she pulls back,
holding Mrs. Pine’s forearms.
“You know an excellent way to celebrate this rekindled friendship? We should track down Captain Daniels, see where he ended
up, and ruin him,” Aunt Genevieve says.
They all burst out laughing, the lingering tension evaporating around them.
“It has been a while since we’ve been on a trip,” Mother says to Aunt Genevieve.
“I hope he didn’t hurt you,” Mrs. Pine adds, looking to Aunt Genevieve.
“Only my heart. He was—” She glances at Rosalie and Catherine, still standing with their arms around each other, Rosalie’s
head on Catherine’s shoulder.
Their mothers slowly turn to look at them as well, and that elated, carefree air seems to disappear all at once.
They can’t—they can’t know. Not just from this. They were hugging not moments ago. It’s not—they can’t—
“I knew it,” Aunt Genevieve says softly.
Oh, God.
Catherine’s grip on her shoulder tightens and Rosalie can feel her own hand fisting into the back of Catherine’s shift. Because
she’s still just in her undergarments, which rather changes the image, doesn’t it?
Rosalie knows they should pull away from each other, but she can’t let go of Catherine, can’t make herself step away. They weren’t planning on doing this now. Today was always supposed to be about their mothers, and hopefully dispatching Mr. Dean. But not this.
Not telling them they’re . . .
“Knew what, exactly?” Mother asks, looking to Aunt Genevieve.
Rosalie meets Aunt Genevieve’s eyes. Fragile hope rises in her chest that maybe Aunt Genevieve knows what to do, how to say
it. That she has the magic fix somewhere within, just like when she tells a well-timed joke to break the tension.
“Tell her,” Aunt Genevieve says instead.
Rosalie tries to swallow, but her mouth has gone suddenly dry. She meets Mother’s eyes but can’t summon the words. She wants
to, but—
“Neither of us wants to marry Mr. Dean, and not because he’s boring. Well, not just because he’s boring,” Catherine says,
her voice rough but strong.
Aunt Genevieve snorts and Mother’s lips twitch. Mrs. Pine’s still staring at them, wide-eyed. Rosalie squeezes Catherine’s
waist.
“We don’t want to marry him because we’ve fallen for each other instead.” Catherine says it so simply. So firmly. So beautifully.
“You’ve—” Mother starts.
“You don’t want to marry Mr. Dean,” Mrs. Pine repeats slowly.
Catherine takes a deep breath. “I want to be with Rosalie.”
Rosalie tugs Catherine a little closer, a strange relief flooding through her chest, even with Mother staring at her like she’s gone mad.
Some last small part of her heart slips back into place.
Catherine isn’t Jane. Catherine is like no one she’s ever known before.
She’s standing here with Rosalie, brave and strong and real.
“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, and on. Rosalie’s stomach twists and her heart starts beating uncomfortably fast. This isn’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, Miss Pine,” 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.
Whatever the future holds, they’ve chosen each other. Chosen together.
Catherine slowly pulls back. Her beautiful brown eyes are red-rimmed and teary, but she’s still here. Rosalie rises on her
tiptoes and Catherine meets her halfway in a terrified, devastated kiss.
“We’ll make it,” Rosalie whispers as they part.
Rosalie can see in her eyes that she has doubts. Rosalie does too. So she kisses her one more time, sliding her hands to hold
Catherine’s jaw, keeping her close and safe and there with her until Aunt Genevieve coughs quietly.
Catherine presses her lips together and forces a watery smile. And then she pulls away and walks out into the cloakroom.
Rosalie stands there, listening, but either Mrs. Pine is speaking too quietly to hear, or, more likely, Catherine’s dressing
in horrid silence under her mother’s disapproving gaze. Rosalie shivers, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth as the tears
finally fall in earnest.
She wants her mother to come back and tell her it’s all right. To promise to help. To promise to love her. She wants—
Aunt Genevieve catches her before she sinks to the floor. Rosalie weeps quietly against her chest, hands fisted in the back
of her dress. She must be wrinkling it.
She should be grateful to have Aunt Genevieve—grateful she’s not alone. But even with Aunt Genevieve holding her up, this
hurts so much more than she thought it would.
They fixed their mothers’ relationship just like they planned, but somehow they broke everything else in the span of just
a few minutes. How has it only been a few minutes?