As she waits for the door to open and for her husband to walk through, she cannot help but think about what he said about a 'niece being unloaded' earlier, the phrase echoing around her head as she struggles to place how old he must have been and how sincere it was. She is adamant in accepting that she certainly was not his first love, but at the same time she cannot help but feel jealous, awkward, and worried that this niece might have been a better match for him. What was she like? Did he even feel anything except cordiality towards her? These questions puzzle her as she reaches for her book, opening the pages but not dropping her gaze to the text. He has never spoken of his past before her in terms of romantic affairs, and she does not want to pry, of course, yet she is concerned. There is the possibility that he is hiding something about his past from her; some secret that has been painted into a corner of his mind. As the dressing room door creaks open, she spreads a smile across her lips and readies herself to question him. But, to her surprise, he beats her to it, discarding his dressing gown and slippers with alarming speed and climbing hastily into bed, taking her hand.

"Cora, I feel I need to explain something to you."

"I confess I am not taken aback by your proposal, as I have been in utter bewilderment for the majority of the evening."

"Do you recall me speaking earlier of when I visited Brancaster castle once, when the Hexham's were unloading a niece?"

"Robert, a pronouncement of that manner is unlikely to escape my notice."

"Well, I want to tell you about it, because I realised after I said it that you were likely to be thrown by my equivocation. You see, I was quite young when my father realised that the estate was in dire need of a dowry to ensure its stability. I was eighteen when my father announced that there was a family residing at Brancaster castle, and I quote directly from him: 'They're unloading a niece, Robert, and I want you to be there to pick her up.' Mama, Papa and I travelled there immediately and I have to admit, I was not convinced I would make a match for this girl."

"Robert."

"Hmm?"

"Never mind."

"No, what were you about to speak of?"

"Why did you go along with your father so readily?"

He chuckles and strokes his thumb over her hand, a reassuring and calm gesture that makes her melt inside.

"I...in all honesty, I didn't see what would come of it, but I knew from a young age that my father was never going to be one for going back on a proposal. My mother has always been much the same."

"I have to agree with that. Keep going."

"Well, my mother knew Lady Hexham anyway, because they had met as younger women and they got on like a house on fire. Anyway, their niece was called Rosaline Gayford and I must admit she really was the most charming of girl's I had ever met at the time. She had long blonde hair that reaches to her waist and she was petite, yet voluptuous in the hips. She had the most stunning of eyes, twinkling bright blue, like the sea on a summer's day."

His elaborate, kindly descriptions incline her to dislike this girl, but she is still intrigued, and nudges him out of the reverie he has fallen into.

"We immediately got along, and I believe all of us were convinced our betrothal was not long off. But..."He trails off and sighs. She glances into him eyes and sees a sadness, not unlike the look he has when he is about to disappoint her.

"What happened?"

"She became ill. I was not allowed stay whilst she was suffering, but I begged and begged. Eventually they relented. It was bronchitis, and I was shattered when she did not make it."

"Oh my God, Robert. How terrible for you."

"She was the sweetest of girls. Do you know, she was very much like you?"

She has to bite her lip in happiness at this announcement. "How so?"

"She would always have these little peccadilloes – you have very similar ones – the way she poured her tea with her left hand, the way she self-consciously patted her head when she was nervous, the way she bit her lip like you are now."

She blushes bright red and he kisses her hand.

"I'll tell you a funny story. We were walking on the hills and she was carrying a picnic basket, because we had planned to eat out luncheon on the hilltop. She always had this funny little quirk of bringing a box to pick flowers to press them, and each time she picked a flower I would sneak a rock into her picnic basket. By the time we got halfway up the hill she was puffing and panting. She was so puzzled as to how the basket had become so heavy, so I took it and after testing it, I convinced her that she was too tired to take the walk. She believed me, and went back to the house to rest. I walked to the hilltop, sat down and ate the picnic by myself." He looks over at Cora, his grin a mile wide. Her expression is half baffled, half horrified.

"Robert. That is not funny, that is cruel."

"I thought it was the most hilarious thing ever! I laughed so much!" Tears start to run down his cheeks as his shoulders shake.

"You're laughing a good deal now."

"It's so funny."

"To you."

"Don't you think it's funny?" He looks over at her. She shakes her head, and his smile falls. "Why?"

"I am a woman, and that sort of attack is an attack on women as a gender, demeaning them for the possibility of having weaker sensibilities and not being as strong as men."

"Bloody hilarious though. Oh, I haven't told you the funniest part!"

"What?" She is beginning to tire of this conversation, particularly the stance it has adopted.

"I got back to the house, hiding the basket, and claiming to have misplaced it on the moor. Her father offered me lunch."

She has to bite the inside of her mouth to stop the giggles erupting.

"I sat down at the table, and I started coughing all over the food, until all of them couldn't stand it any longer and ordered me to bed. As I was going out the room, I tripped over a chair and an apple rolled out of my pocket. I picked it up, put it on the table, and said: 'You can have this for your dessert. I don't feel like it anymore. But thank you for the sandwiches.'"

She cannot contain it anymore and bursts out laughing, clutching her sides as she rolls away in the bed. He stares at her incredulously. "How come you hated the first half but you find that so funny?"

She manages to catch her breath and gasps out: "Because – because you – you hate apples!" And she's off again.

This was just a bit of silliness really. I might look at Rosaline more closely one day, but I hope you liked this for now. :)