Dear Future Husband

49. Dear Husband

30 April 1895

Dear future husband,

I am safely returned to England and have been for nearly a week. We are back in Grenledge, for which I am dearly grateful, as this was far too exciting a Season even for my tastes. Thankfully, no word has gotten out that my mother abducted me to Paris, so my reputation shall remain somewhat intact, not that I care what any eligible bachelors think of me.

Meanwhile, I must inform you, that I am on the cusp of becoming engaged! Well, Maximilian has been having long talks with Papa, and Anna tells me that the only reason they would be doing so would be to discuss an impending marriage... And she is a tad more experienced than I am, now being courted by an affable and trustworthy attorney from town. Thus, her counsel does seem quite wise.

Speaking of the attorney, I have met him a few times and he does seem rather lovely. Well-mannered, kind, generous, and he enjoys dancing. Having asked around about him, he does not seem to have any sort of dark reputation as a rake or social climber, and I thus approve of him as a match for Anna.

It will be rather odd to be married, I suppose, and no longer write these letters. I have been writing them for nearly a decade now. Perhaps I shall simply title them "dear husband"? That doesn't quite have the same ring to it, though.

Oh! I must abandon you, unfortunately, for a moment, as Papa has just informed me that afternoon tea is ready and we will be dining with Maximilian and some other guests. On quite short notice, I might add, but I can hardly complain.

Yours always,

Rosalie Winthrop

Signing her name with a flourish, she wondered, with the giddiest of smiles, if soon would come a day when her name would change. Rosalie hopped out of her chair, applied a light dusting of rouge–it was only afternoon tea, after all–and went to join her father.

"Rosalie," he said, waiting outside her chambers when she exited. She nearly stumbled into him, but he caught her.

"Thank you, Papa."

He sighed, but it was a warm sigh, one that spoke of fond exasperation more than dark gloom. "How many times have I told you not to run in the halls?"

"I haven't counted, sir," she said cheekily.

He smiled. "Come along, now, we have some rather important guests for afternoon tea today."

"Oh?" she said as they walked down the spiral staircase toward the dining room. "May I be permitted to know their names?"

The candles flickering in their sconces as they passed seemed to nod in agreement. Outside, a perfect snowy day despite the spring suggested that it was the ideal hour for sledding. "Your curiosity and impatience are a lethal combination, dear. You will see them quite soon enough."

Now it was her turn to let out a sigh, deep and long-suffering. "Must you torture me so, Papa?"

He stopped in front of the suit of armour that guarded the entrance to the dining room. "It is a father's duty to test his daughter's patience, just as it is children's duties to whittle away at their parents' patience."

"Je t'adore, Papa, but your proverbs are rather lacking. I thought you weren't meant to provoke your children to anger?" she teased.

He gave no response, instead smiling and opening the door for her. "After you, my dear."

The dining room seemed more brightly decorated today than usual, swathed in gold silk curtains, the mahogany table polished until it glowed, and the six chairs partially filled with friends and strangers alike. A sumptuous spread–a veritable feast, really–had been laid out on the white lace tablecloth, while the best china in white and blue had been set next to their finest flatware.