4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

R osalind's mind wandered to the countless sacrifices her own mother had made, the compromises she had endured for the sake of her family's standing.

Lady Harrington had been a bright and vibrant beauty in her youth, but that vivacity had faded with each passing year.

She remembered the sadness that had often lingered in her mother's eyes, the wistful sighs that had escaped her lips when she thought no one was watching.

Rosalind had never known what her mother had wanted of life; by the time she was old enough to ask such a thing, Lady Harrington was deep in the throes of the fever that would eventually claim her life.

Is this to be my fate as well? To live a life of quiet desperation, forever bound by the chains of duty and obligation? Rosalind wondered bitterly, her eyes fixed on the garden gate without really seeing it. Some part of her longed to stand up and run out the gate, out into the London street beyond, to try and live what life she could by herself, for herself.

As these thoughts swirled through her mind, Rosalind felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. She started a little and looked up to see Amelia and Isabella watching her with concern.

"Rosalind, I know this is difficult," Amelia said softly, her voice filled with compassion. "But we're here for each other, no matter what happens. None of us has to do this on her own."

Isabella nodded, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We'll face this together, Rosalind. As sisters, united in our love and support for one another."

Rosalind felt a wave of emotion wash over her, the love and solidarity of her sisters filling her with a sense of strength and determination. She knew that the road ahead would be difficult, that there would be challenges and sacrifices to be made. But with Amelia and Isabella by her side, she felt a glimmer of hope that they could weather any storm, that they could find a way to navigate the treacherous waters of society and emerge stronger and more united than ever before.

As the three sisters sat in the garden, Rosalind laid her hand on Isabella's and squeezed it. Amelia, in turn, placed her hand overtop theirs, and all of their fingers wove together in solidarity. Whatever the future held, whatever compromises they might be forced to make, they would face it together, drawing strength from their unbreakable bond and their unwavering love for one another.

The sound of the gong rang out from the house, announcing that it was time to dress for dinner and bringing them all back to reality sharply. Amelia withdrew her hand, standing suddenly. Rosalind, her eyebrows raised in surprise, looked up at Amelia.

"We've been too long in the garden," Amelia said flatly, her face a careful mask of blankness. "It's time we go in." Though she spoke simply and truly, there was a weight to her words, as if she weren't simply discussing their need to prepare for dinner. There was a grim set to her mouth, all trace of the gentle hope that had been there just moments before gone.

Rosalind's brow furrowed with concern as she watched Amelia's face, searching for any clue as to what had caused this sudden shift in mood. She reached out, gently placing a hand on her sister's arm. "Amelia, what's wrong?"

Amelia didn't respond. Instead, she abruptly pulled away from Rosalind's touch, her arm sliding from Rosalind's hand. She turned and fled into the house, the light sprigged cotton robing of her dress fluttering behind her as she did so. Her hurried footsteps echoed on the stone path, growing fainter as she disappeared into the house.

Rosalind exchanged a worried glance with Isabella, who had been quietly observing the exchange. Without a word, the two sisters set off in pursuit of Amelia, crashing through the fashionable French doors at the back of the house in a manner that would have made a number of society matrons purse their lips in disapproval.

Rosalind caught a glimpse of Amelia's light pink silk shoes and airy cotton dress disappearing up the stairs to her apartments. She quickened her steps, grabbing the bannister and swinging herself up onto the stairs as if she were a boy.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she followed the sound of her sister's footsteps up the grand staircase and down the hallway that led to all of their rooms.

Isabella kept pace with Rosalind, her blue eyes round and worried. "What do you think happened?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the soft thud of their slippers on the plush rug that lined the hallway.

Rosalind shook her head, her brow creased with worry. "I don't know, but we need to find out. Amelia's not one to run off like this."

As they approached Amelia's door, Rosalind raised her hand to knock, but hesitated. She could hear the muffled sound of sobbing from within, and her heart squeezed at the thought of her sister in such distress. Without preamble, Rosalind entered Amelia's bedchamber. The sight that greeted her made her stop short: Amelia, careful and quiet, sat on her bed, her usually pristine appearance marred by the tears that streamed down her face. In her trembling hands, she clutched a letter, the paper crumpling under the force of her grip.

Rosalind approached her sister with gentle steps, the slow creaking of the wooden floor the only sound other than Amelia's quiet sobs. She sat down beside Amelia, the mattress dipping under her weight, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. The warmth of her touch seemed to break through Amelia's anguish, and she leaned into Rosalind's embrace, her body shaking with silent sobs.

Isabella followed close behind, her own mien one of concern; she stood before them for a moment, wringing her hands with worry, unsure what to do before finding a chair. She took a seat nearby, her hands folded in her lap as she watched her sisters with wide, troubled eyes.

"Amelia, my dear," Rosalind murmured, her voice tender and soothing as she stroked Amelia's back gently. "What troubles you so? This is most unlike you – let us help."

Amelia drew in a shuddering breath, her grip on the letter loosening slightly. She turned to face Rosalind, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy from crying. "It's...it's this letter," she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion. "From...from him."

Rosalind watched as Amelia's hands trembled, the letter she held fluttering like a trapped bird. Her sister's voice quivered, each word a struggle against the tide of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. "I.. I have been keeping a secret from you both," Amelia began, her eyes fixed on the crumpled paper in her grasp. "A secret that I have carried in my heart for months now."

Rosalind drew back a little, holding Amelia at arm's length. She'd never have guessed that Amelia harboured some secret in her heart – Amelia had ever been the perfect daughter, the one to which all other girls of the ton aspired to be like. More importantly, she had never seen Amelia so distraught, so consumed by a pain that seemed to radiate from her very soul. Rosalind searched Amelia's face for meaning.

"It's – there's a...a young man," Amelia whispered, her voice barely audible over the hitch in her breath. "A...a soldier I have been corresponding with."

"Amelia!" Rosalind breathed, half in shock and half in admiration. "You've been writing to a man?"

"It's not like that," Amelia sniffed, dabbing at her nose with a handkerchief she fished out of her pocket. "I met his sister first. She was involved with helping me to set up that new school in Manchester–you know, the one for the factory workers? Her brother was there that day, and then... We would go for walks and talk, the three of us, and then he had to go back to the front," she said, her eyes filling with fresh tears. "She writes to me, and encloses Thomas' letters to me in her own for the look of it."

"Does Father know?" Isabella asked, her voice low in case they were overheard.

Amelia gave Isabella a baleful look that answered that question. "I'd always hoped–he'd made promises, you see, and...and now..."

Rosalind's eyes widened, a flicker of understanding dawning in their emerald depths. She had always noted that Amelia was always eager for the arrival of the postbag, but had never suspected she had a secret suitor.

"I love him," Amelia confessed, the words tumbling from her lips like a dam had burst. "With all my heart, with every fibre of my being. We have shared our dreams, our hopes for a future together after the war."

Tears spilled down Amelia's cheeks, leaving glistening trails in their wake. Rosalind reached out, her hand finding her sister's and squeezing gently, a silent offer of support and understanding. "But now..." Amelia's voice broke, a sob tearing from her throat. "Now, with the Duke's proposal, with the prospect of being chosen as his bride... I fear that all those dreams will be shattered."

Rosalind's heart ached for her sister, for the pain that seemed to consume her. She glanced at Isabella, saw the same sorrow on her younger sister's face.

"Oh, Amelia," Rosalind murmured, her own voice thick with emotion. "I had no idea. I'm so sorry."

Amelia nodded, her grip on the letter tightening. "This... this is his latest letter," she whispered, her fingers tracing the words as if they were a lifeline. "He writes of the battles he has fought, the sacrifices he has made, but always, always, he speaks of his love for me, of the life we will build together."

Rosalind felt a lump form in her throat, a knot of emotion that threatened to choke her. She herself didn't know the power of love, but she had seen the way it could consume and transform, the way it could make even the darkest of days seem bright. A small, secret part of her had always longed for a love like that, but it seemed such a triviality in the face of her larger concerns.

Isabella scooted the chair closer, her small hand resting on Amelia's knee. "We are here for you, sister," she said softly, her voice filled with a gravitas beyond her years that made both sisters stare at her. "No matter what happens, no matter what the future may hold, we will stand by your side."

Amelia's lips trembled, a watery smile breaking through the tears. "Thank you," she whispered, her gaze moving from one sister to the other. "I don't know what I would do without you both."

As Rosalind listened to Amelia's heartfelt confession, a wave of emotion washed over her. There was no doubting the depth of her sister's love for Thomas; it was palpable in every word, every tear that fell from her eyes. It had to be serious by virtue of the fact that Amelia had kept it a secret for so long. Rosalind's heart ached for Amelia, for the injustice of a world that would seek to tear apart two hearts so deeply entwined.

A fierce protectiveness surged through Rosalind, a determination to shield her sister from the cruel machinations of society.

She knew all too well the weight of expectation, the suffocating pressure to conform to the roles and duties prescribed by their station, but in that moment, as she sat there with Amelia and Isabella, their hearts laid bare, Rosalind felt a resolve growing within her.

She would not let Amelia's dreams be shattered, would not let her sister's chance at true happiness be sacrificed on the altar of duty and obligation.

Even if it meant making a difficult choice, even if it meant putting her own desires aside, Rosalind knew that she would do whatever it took to protect Amelia's love.

They both had far, far more to lose than she, and she would not see them throw away their chances at happiness. She'd always been too strong, too indomitable–this is what she'd been given such robustness, such spirit for, to weather what they could not.

"Amelia," Rosalind said softly, her voice filled with a quiet strength, "I cannot begin to imagine the pain you must be feeling, the fear of losing something so precious. But know this: we will find a way. We will fight for your happiness, for the future you and Thomas have dreamed of together."

Amelia's eyes met Rosalind's, a flicker of hope amidst the despair. "But how?" she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion. "How can we possibly stand against the Duke, against the expectations of our father and society?"

Rosalind's lips curved into a small, determined smile. "We will find a way," she repeated, her words a promise, a vow. "Together, we are stronger than any force that would seek to tear us apart. I will not rest until you and Thomas can be together, until your love can flourish freely, without fear or constraint."

Isabella nodded, her own eyes shining with a fierce loyalty. "We are with you, Amelia," she said, her hand squeezing her sister's knee. "Always and forever. We will weather this storm together, as we always have."

After a tense dinner, in which the three sisters sullenly pushed food about their plates and their father mostly sighed, they decided to forgo the usual after-dinner socialising in the parlour. Everyone retreated to their respective rooms and the house fell silent, save for the occasional sound of a servant still moving about.

Unbeknownst to them, Rosalind remained awake, her mind racing with the next steps she would need to take. She knew that time was of the essence, that she would need to act quickly and decisively if she were to secure her sisters' happiness.

With a determined set to her jaw, Rosalind rose from her bed, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

Relying only on the silvery moonlight that filtered in through the window, Rosalind made her way to her dressing room. Quickly, she slipped back into her stays and donned a redingote with some difficulty, as she didn't want to ring for her maid to help her.

With sharp, careless movements, she coiled her braid up at the back of her head and jammed pins into it.

Cautiously, she cracked open the door to her bedchamber and peered out, ensuring the hallway was abandoned, and slipped out.

She moved silently through the darkened halls of the manor, her footsteps muffled by the plush carpets beneath her feet. Carrying her boots in one hand so that her steps would be lighter, Rosalind glided down the stairs and through the ground floor of the house. She paused at the entrance to the servants' area downstairs, ears straining as she listened. From below, the sounds of kitchen maids and hallboys still at work filtered up.

Careful now , she thought to herself. With the greatest care possible, she put her foot on the first stair, which felt obliged to let out a great squeak that sounded as loud as a gunshot in the silent house. Rosalind grimaced, willing everyone to stay abed–she could not afford to get caught now.

The moment passed, and Rosalind quickly rushed down the stairs, lifting one of the maid's cloaks from a hook by the back door as she went. She paused long enough outside to slip her boots on and drew the hood up over her distinctive hair.

Her heart pounded with a mixture of fear and determination. The cool night air caressed her face, sending a shiver down her spine as she made her way to the stables. Her footsteps clicked quietly on the paving stones of the mews as she scurried along. The moon cast a soft glow over the grounds, illuminating her path as she moved with purpose and resolve.

Upon reaching the stables, Rosalind quickly located her favourite horse, a beautiful mare with a sleek, dark coat. With swift, practised movements, she saddled the horse, her hands trembling slightly as she tightened the girth and adjusted the stirrups.

The familiar scent of hay and horse filled her nostrils, a comforting reminder of the countless hours she had spent riding, the one place she might find solace and freedom.

Uncharacteristically for a young lady, she was a dab hand at saddling her own horse, refusing to have this practical skill denied to her.

Once the horse was tacked, Rosalind tried to heave at the stable door, but it was stuck firm. She grunted and tried again, but to no avail.

"Move, blast you," she said through gritted teeth, pulling at it again.

"I thought ladies didn't know how to curse," a voice said from behind her. Rosalind nearly jumped clean out of her boots, whipping around to find Joe, one of the grooms watching her.

"You gave me such a start!" she said, holding a hand to her pounding heart. "Here, help me with this," she said, jerking her head toward the door.

Joe hesitated, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. "I don't know, milady, it...it seems wrong," he said.

Rosalind sighed. I do not have time for this, she thought. "You've never objected to helping me sneak out before," she pointed out.

"No, milady, but that weren't in the middle o' the night," he argued, which was too sensible for Rosalind to argue with.

"Fine," Rosalind said, "I'll give you two shillings this time."

"Right away, milady!" Joe hurried forward and leaned against the door, which immediately slid open. Rosalind gave him a baleful look as she passed by, which he smiled at cheerfully.

As she prepared to mount her horse, Rosalind paused for a moment, casting a final glance back at the house. The imposing structure loomed behind her, its windows dark and silent, a testament to the slumbering inhabitants within.

Her heart ached at the thought of leaving her sisters behind, of the worry and concern they would undoubtedly feel upon discovering her absence. But she knew that this was a journey she had to undertake alone, a sacrifice she was willing to make for their happiness and well-being.

With a deep breath, Rosalind swung herself into the saddle, settling her leg carefully into place on the sidesaddle. She gathered the reins in her hands, feeling the supple leather between her fingers, a tangible connection to the powerful animal that would carry her forward. With a gentle squeeze of her legs and a soft click of her tongue, Rosalind urged her horse into motion, the sound of hoofbeats echoing through the night air as they set off into the unknown.

As the house receded behind her, Rosalind's mind raced with thoughts of the challenges that lay ahead. She knew that her journey would be fraught with obstacles, that she would face opposition and resistance at every turn, but she was armed with her wit, her courage, and the unwavering love and support of her sisters; a force that would sustain her through even the darkest of times. She refused to be afraid.

The cool night breeze whipped past her as she rode, threatening to dislodge the hood from her head. It was imperative that she not be spotted out at night, unchaperoned, so she urged the horse into a spirited canter. Still, the steady rhythm of her horse's gait was a comforting constant amidst the swirling emotions within her heart. Rosalind's eyes remained fixed firmly ahead, her gaze unwavering as she pressed onward, determined to see her mission through to the end.