The Frozen Rose

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Pondside

William was in the theatre, watching people enter the building and finding their seats. Today was the big day for Pondside, for today was the first performance. Only the richest people and truly passionate theatre lovers had bought the overpriced tickets to watch the first performance of the play.

William knew that behind the curtains, the actors and workers were getting nervous and anxious to start. Everything was in place, even the musicians were ready. The decorations were prepared and waiting to be used, while ropes were hanging, ready to make people believe it is magic.

Some men in nice clothing sat down in the front rows, and William recognized some as review writers. He had met the men a few times before, and they often had to battle to write the best review so that theirs could be printed on the newspaper. But today, he did not have to join the battle.

His masterpiece for Pondside was the book, one everyone would read. Not just the theatre lovers who want to know everything about the play, but also the people who enjoyed reading his reviews. The book would be published tomorrow, after today's first play. And that was what William was most nervous about.

"Curious about the play?" a voice said beside him. He had not seen Elizabeth walk toward him and stop next to him, for he had been too occupied worrying about people's reaction of the book.

He nodded. "Quite."

"But that is not why your mind was so far away, is it?"

He looked at her, realizing she still knew him. She always had been able to read his mind, just like he had been able to read hers. But while she had changed and he no longer had the ability to know what she was thinking, she still seemed to master her mind-reading abilities.

He shook his head. "I am nervous for the book."

Elizabeth gave him an encouraging smile. "As well you should be. But if lord Byron approved of it, I am certain the people will love."

"You seem awfully confident in my writing for someone who has never read it," he jested.

She shrugged. "I did not say I have never read your review."

"So you have?" he asked surprised.

She shrugged again, looking quite confident. But inside, William assumed she was not confident at all. "Not all of them."

He felt a smile come up his face upon hearing those words. So he had not been the only one thinking of her constantly.

"And what did you think of my writing?" he jested more.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "I will not feed your ego."

"So you liked it," he reasoned. "If it will feed my ego, it means you liked it."

"You are a good writer, yes," she admitted difficultly. "And overall I believe your reviews speak the truth."

So she had the same opinion as him. Just like seven years ago, when they would both love the same plays.

"By the by," she said, changing the subject, "I have saved you from a marriage proposal."

"A marriage proposal?" he asked while laughing. "Who from?"

"Emma. I saw her coming your way, and I figured you would not want to court her."

"Why is that?" he asked, curious why Elizabeth would send away a possible wife for him. Not that he was thinking of a wife, but she did not know that. Yet she made certain he was too busy to talk to a woman.

"Because you have not courted anyone for seven years."

That rendered him speechless. She had been counting the years too? She had kept her eye on him and knew he had not courted – or attempted to court – a woman ever since he left her?

He cleared his throat and decided it was time to change the subject. "What are your expectations for the play?"

"You change the subject while you ought to be grateful," Elizabeth said. "Or shall I call Emma back?"

"You do not seem to like this woman," he noted.

She looked at him with her eyes squeezed into slits. "Again you change the subject."

He looked back at her, squeezing his eyes into slits as well. "Why do you bother about my marriage life?"

"Because I used to consider myself part of it."

Darn it, this lady had the ability to stab him in the heart with reminders of his own mistakes. He used to consider her part of his marriage life as well. In fact, he had never had a different vision of it beside that, which is why no woman was ever good enough to be more than a lover. No woman but her – the woman he could not have.

"It does not give you the privilege to change anything about it now," he told her instead.

"But I did not change anything about it, did I?" she told him smartly. "In fact, I prevented it from changing, so you truly ought to be grateful of me."

Grateful, he thought, of the woman who ended all happiness in his life? But she was correct, he ought to be grateful of her. He had seen Emma only once and she was pretty, but he could not accept her marriage proposal. So Elizabeth had saved him from breaking a woman's heart.

"Why would Emma decide to ask me to marry her?" he asked, not changing the subject, yet not pointing the spotlight on himself. "Tis the man who ought to ask the lady, not the other way around."

"Emma is no lady," Elizabeth corrected. "And I think she has been waiting a long time for your proposal."

"But I do not know her!"

"Which is why she decided to make a move."

He looked at her and realized she was not jesting. "You are serious? She truly wanted to marry me?"

"I believe she used the word "courting", but it comes down to the same thing, does it not?"

"And how come you know of her intentions?" he asked. Was she making up this story so that she could get closer to him?

"Because she told me."

"Why would she tell you?"

"Because she knows I know you."

"What makes her believe that?"

"We talk, William," she said like he was daft. "People talk to people they know. And we have talked a lot. Tis not a secret that we know each other." She looked at him, her eyes not happy anymore. "But that is not the problem, is it? The problem is that you do not believe me. You think I am lying again."

William shrugged, not quite certain what to say. He truly did not mean to make her notice his doubt over her words, but it was true that he was doubting her – just like he had doubted every word she had ever spoken.

She scoffed, then said "of course, you are," before she walked away from him.

He did not turn around, for he did not want to see her walk away. He had hurt her – again – and he deserved to live with the pain he felt because of it. Yet he would not torture himself more by watching her walk away like he wanted her to stay. True, he wanted her to stay. But he should not want it.

And still, after all those months of being back in London and seeing Elizabeth again, he still had to tell himself he should not want her. And yet he did.

He did not see her anymore for the rest of the evening. He did not go behind the curtain to look for her, and she probably did not go into the theatre to look for him. They were fine avoiding each other, and they ought to remain doing so. He had planned on staying longer after the play to talk with the review writers and find out their opinions over it, but he would have to wait and read it in the newspaper the following day. He got disturb by a woman named Emma, clearly wanting to woo him.