Love is an Archer

4. Longing

For the Ton, summer could be said to be a time of many events strung together like bunting – snapshots and promenades and afternoon teas and great balls, all independent save for the connectedness of the string upon which they're tied. The season is that string; without it, the bunting would fall apart, and these collections of moments would be scrambled and dull, the usual agenda of the Ton's families without the thrill of rising expectations and potential for romance.

Even so, it is the opinion of this author that their dear readers need not concern themselves with the minutiae of the season – especially with the happenings nestled within the fortnight following the first exchange between Lady Amelia Cressley-Archer and Dickie Barrows. Still, context is needed, and so we shall glide over the essentials, together.

During those two weeks, letters flew back and forth between the Cressley-Archer and Barrows households, ferried not by members of the household staff, but by official channels – namely the messenger boy Percy Adams, who grew to greatly appreciate the frequency by which he was receiving coins for a job well done.

In the Cressley-Archer household, the letters were soon introduced to Amelia's mother, as if she was introducing the man who had penned them himself. Lydia and their mother both expressed a great deal of excitement for the prospect of Amelia marrying the son of a wealthy shipping magnate (once they had approached her father with the possibility, who had gone on to recite all of Truman Barrows' great many achievements). Although Tristan seemed happy for Amelia as well, it should be noted that he was markedly more withdrawn in those days – a mood which Amelia put down to the Cressley-Archer siblings' shared desire to stay unmarried together. How Amelia herself felt, however, remained an enigma.

Those attune to Lady Amelia's innermost thoughts could likely pinpoint the exact moment her feelings became more complicated than simple resignation at living a life she didn't want. The moment in question came upon realising from afar the identity of Dickie's sister, Robin Barrows, as the young lady whose company she had so enjoyed at the Rotzen ball – and who had since made herself a comfortable presence in Amelia's dreams.

As a result of this revelation, Amelia spent her time alone inspecting the open wound left behind by her disappointment, prodding gently the memory of the ball at the Rotzen estate, hoping to read between lines that weren't there, while also terrified to prod too hard, lest the disappointment and sadness ooze out of her and infect her ability to pretend to be thrilled with Cupid's supposed accuracy.

Surrounded by her family and friends, Amelia was politely positive about the exchange – even more so when she was able to share the news with her friend Ruby. Together, they took great pleasure in announcing over lunch with the other young ladies of the Ton that Amelia and Dickie would be promenading the very next day. Allison Courtley sneered from the other end of the table, and Amelia giggled to Ruby, triumphantly.
Their first promenade – though somewhat awkward to begin with (few matches are anything but) – was a success, and was followed by high tea, a luncheon, a ball hosted by Ruby's family, and eventually an invitation to the Cressley-Archer country estate. For Amelia it was all happening rather too fast; for the Ton's many socialites, the news had yet to reach their ears, save for the bitter whisperings of Allison Courtley.

In fact, the excitement of the season and its many scintillating courtships, all unfolding in various corners, had left even Cupid unaware of the goings-on between Lady Amelia and Dickie Barrows. Indeed, the premier romantic gossip of the capital found herself so well-fed, gorging on the output of a churning rumour mill, that it took her well over a week to hear even an unsubstantiated claim. The odd rumour - half-truths and speculations, most likely spread like caviar on toast (with thick glee) by the wicked Allison Courtley – continued to trickle their way into Cupid's den, the beating and perfumed heart of London.