A/n: Thanks to my awesome, fantastic ladies: Ciaobella27, Hallie Black, Phoenixhunter47 & TwiDi for all their amazing help!

For my friend, Pree.

Disclaimer: I still DO NOT OWN THIS.

Hiding Behind a Mask

If we could all choose the one we love, life would be so much easier, for we would choose the exotic, most beautiful human being. We would be blinded by what's on the outside that we wouldn't dig deep below the surface to find the treasures hidden on the inside.

The inside is what makes a person beautiful, for the insides are what make us who we truly are behind the mask.

"To be your friend was all I ever wanted; to be your lover was all I ever dreamed." - Valerie Lombardo

"October 1898:

Dear Edward,

It has practically been a year since you left, and yet I feel as though nothing has changed. I have grown a year older, and I am taking riding lessons from Isabella's maid, Alice. So I now know how to ride a horse.

Oh, papa would be so appalled by this news, pray, do not tell.

Alice's lover taught her how to ride and she has taught me. I spend most of my time with them.

They try to conceal their affection toward each other, but it is indeed there. I see it in the way he looks at her with longing, and when they think I am not looking, he kisses her. I asked her if she loved him, but she says I am too young to understand. I may be young, but I do know that if papa were to hear of this, she would be banished from Forks immediately. A love cannot transpire between a maid and a lord. Even I know this.

But I believe a secret kept between two lovers such as love should not let the world's teeth claw at it, and tear such a precious bubble apart.

I was assigned to another governess. She is trying to teach me the skills of sewing. I pierced my finger with a needle once, Alice laughed at me before cleaning the blood. I also heard the beautiful lullaby you told me about in your last letter. I cannot stop humming the tune.

She is also sharing her knowledge on the violin.

Sometimes, we read and discuss literature.

We talked about Romeo and Juliet. The governess believes that because they were children, they died out of ignorance and stupidity. I tried to explain to her that love does not depend on age. And that Romeo could not live in a world where there was no Juliet. She highly disagrees; well I think she is just a bitter old woman. After all she is two and forty, and alone. Perhaps time has changed her prospect of love.

So have you made any friends?

Wish to hear from you soon.

Yours unconditionally,

Rosalie.

Isabella dropped the quill on top of the stack of papers she had stolen from her father's den before looking back at her long letter. She had gotten so carried away with her thoughts that as she stared at the letter she felt completely horrified. Had she gone too far? Had she said too much? Writing to him was like writing in a journal, where she deposited her daily activities and her hidden secrets. It was just so natural to share her feelings on paper. She didn't want to scare him off with her words.

Isabella knew she couldn't write the letter again, for it would seem scripted and unreal because she would be focusing on every single detail and worrying if she got it right. Also including the fact that her mother was going to walk into her bedroom and make sure she had been put to bed, instead of thinking of Edward. So she folded the letter into a rectangle and placed it in the small white envelope, writing Edward's name at the back of it before blowing off the flame burning on the candle.

That night her dreams were assaulted by a cute chubby boy kissing her cheek.

~*&*~

January 1899,

"Oh, do you know what I heard today whilst walking on the streets on the way to the market?" Rosalie's words floated and echoed off the walls of the long and vacant hallway.

"What did you hear?" Isabella asked her friend, pulling on the long white net gloves that were making her hands feel uncomfortable.

"Miss Mallory is getting married to Lord Fauquont on Saturday evening," Rosalie whispered.

"What?" Isabella said with a gasp.

"Yes, now shush," Rosalie admonished, turning around and glancing if anyone had heard them. "The news has been carried all over town and Lord Fauquont has already paid the family," she continued as Isabella opened the door to her room.

"But she is only one and six, and she does not love him."

Rosalie rolled her eyes. "So what Isabella? Why do you like living in a world of fantasies? He is rich and owns ten thousand dollars – he is a lord. He is providing her with much more than protection and wealth."

"But he is one and thirty,"

"Marriage knows no age. Besides she is lucky to claim a husband who is a lord, by the time we reach five and twenty, there will be no more lords to marry," Rosalie said, sitting on top of the bed. "No more rich lords to marry, that is,"

"So you want to get married soon?" Isabella walked over to her desk and picked up her drawing book with a pencil.

"If there is a willing lord, yes. I am tired of being a burden to father, he loves me but it is too much responsibility."

"If you leave him, he will be lonely." Isabella started to sketch the lines of Rosalie's face.

"If I leave him, he will have more money. Court is taking most of it. His assets are not enough. We will soon be penniless; I do not want us to live at that small village close to Salinas. I am a lady and ladies are not supposed to be destitute, it is completely unheard of."

"Papa will allow you stay with us."

"And allow all of court to hear that? Absolutely not," Rosalie said distastefully with a look of disapproval. "We will be the laughing stock for the whole of Forks."

Isabella almost fought the urge to roll her eyes at her friend's remark. Rosalie had always been strong headed, her hard exterior was impossible to deal with at times. But Isabella was always patient with her friend, and Rosalie knew she could always count on her, although she'd never really admit to it.

"So how is 'writing boy'?" Rosalie asked with a smile on her face, as Isabella started shading her hazel eyes with more enthusiasm. "Oh dear heavens," Rosalie continued. "You do not have affection for this boy, do you?"

"No," Isabella quickly denied, looking up from her book. "No, no. We are friends and that is all."

"Good, it would be bad to take something so serious when he is so far away. Besides, you are not one to lend yourself to fondness over something. You are always reading, or drawing or doing what proper ladies do; far too busy to be corrupted by such a strong emotion like love. Love does not exist in your world."

Isabella took no offence to that comment even though it stung a little. Perhaps if it was someone else who had said that, she would be completely offended but not Rosalie. It was typical of Rosalie to say that. Rose did not believe in love, she did not believe in magic either, or fairytales and Prince Charming. She believed in things she saw and felt and things that could be proven. She had seen how love had torn her father apart, and she had simply decided not to acknowledge its existence. Love for the family was present in her books, but love for a man, the intense passion that drove a man and a woman wild, simply ceased to exist. She chose to avoid it and prevent it from ruining her own heart.

So Isabella did not respond and instead, she focused on the drawing of her beautiful best friend.

*&*

February 1899:

My dearest Rosalie,

I am terribly sorry for the delay in getting this to you. School has required much more of my time than I had hoped. I cannot express my full apologies, only to say that I will endeavor to make it up to you.

I have made a new friend here; he goes to the same school as me. His name is Emmett and he is huge and too boisterous for his age. I also got to taste peanut brittles. Unfortunately, my tolerance for peanuts is very low. I was confined to bed for weeks, it was awful. But I shall send some for you – that is of course, if you would like.

So you know how to ride a horse? That is extraordinary; I think I should like a woman who covets adventure.

It is sad to know about Alice and Jasper but I am sure (one way), he will be able to work it out. I believe love always succeeds in the end.

I am sorry for your finger, perhaps a few kisses from me will make it better?

I have not engaged myself in any reading of the sort, apart from the medical books stacked in father's study. I shall ask him to inform me about Romeo and Juliet and get on it as fast as I can.

You write with so much passion and intelligence; as much as Isabella. Not that I doubt your intelligence of course, I have just never been given the opportunity to experience it. It is beautiful.

I am glad that you are also musically erudite. Perhaps, we shall make great music together someday.

I have to go now, school awaits. I do not want to wear one of those hats with the word 'dunce' on it. They made a lad wear that one day, it was inappropriate and I do not ever wish to find myself in such a situation.

It is with my last resolve that I abandon this letter now. Please do know that I will be thinking of you always.

Yours,

Edward.

Isabella finished reading the letter for the second time and then placed it on her heart. She was not sure whether to cry or laugh at the letter. Edward was just as passionate as her, except he was passionate for the wrong woman.

I think I should like a woman who covets adventure. Those words cut through her as she stared at the high ceilings of her bedroom with the candle light illuminating the darkness.

She was never adventurous, she never even saw herself that way. Rosalie was the true definition of someone who was adventurous. She, on the other hand, was the good girl who had only been corrupted for a brief moment by Alice and her lover.

You write with so much passion and intelligence; as much as Isabella

He had mentioned her name. Isabella did not know whether to feel joy or pain. He had somehow seen through her writing but still bounced back to whom he so desired. What game was she playing at? She was placing her finger in fire. She was putting her heart in jeopardy by doing this. The love that had blossomed in her chest had already gone far too deep. But then what had she expected? Her letters were different from Rosalie but it was Rosalie's name signed at the bottom.

Not that I doubt your intelligence of course, I have just never been given the opportunity to experience it.

A bubble of laughter rumbled through her chest as her other hand clutched the pillow beside her. Rosalie would have thought that statement was an insult instead of a compliment.

I am sorry for your finger, perhaps a few kisses from me will make it better?

Oh what she wouldn't give to hear him say those words to her. Would it be too painful to actually dream of him kissing her finger?

Isabella could muster no strength to consider writing, by way of return, to Edward that night. She ached already at the sweet words that had been in his letter. Isabella did not know if she would hurt Edward if she wrote the truth and mentioned that it was her who wrote those letters. She did not want to feel rejected, nor did she want Edward to stop writing the words that made her feel somewhat loved, but still heartbroken.

Love was definitely not easy.

~*&*~

April 1899,

"You cannot send a long letter this time Isabella," Alice reprimanded as she scraped the underside of the nib of the goose feather flat. "The last letter you sent, you may have well told him your whole life in it. If you are going to write a long letter, you better crosslink it," she hissed, placing the underside on the end of the smooth desk and scraping the topside to have a thin tip.

"Crosslink?" Isabella almost gasped.

Isabella thought of how her words would drain up every modicum of space. The ink soaking into hatched markings across the page, causing Edward to block the unwanted letters from the ones he was reading. It would create too much work for his poor eyes.

"Edward would never be able to read it if it were crossed."

"Edward will also never see your letters again if they were more than a page. You are exceedingly lucky that your father pays for all his letters to have an envelope. These things are costly." She dropped the quill which now had a sharp nib for writing on top of Isabella's desk. "Write. I shall be outside until you are done."

"Thank you Alice, please will you teach me how to make quills?"

"Perhaps. And you are welcome." And with that Alice shut the door and left Isabella to write.

Forks, April 1899:

Dear Edward,

It fills me with great joy to know that you have made a friend there. I would not want you to feel lonely.

Loneliness kills a man's soul and dims the light to the chambers of his heart, leaving a hollow in its awake. You should not have to be lonely, my dear friend. It is better to have the company of people than to have the company of silence.

You could never be a dunce. You have the mind of a tiger; vicious and steadfast. It is the reason why you chose medicine, is it not?

Young doctor Edward, the ladies shall be pining for you in England with your irresistible charm and your wisdom. Fear not, I shall sit here, back against the curtains and watch with jealousy in my eyes as you flirt your way through the crowd.

Your birthday is almost here. I guess it would be quite appropriate to call you a gentleman now. I send a gift along with this letter. It is a picture of me, to keep you warm on those cold nights. And although spring is fast approaching, should you seek warmth, think of me.

I am sorry that I was not there to tend to your illness. I should tell you that if you were to send me any brittles I should decline for fear of it tainting the finger you would kiss. I would despise being responsible for your ill health.

Take care dear friend, I wish to hear from you soon.

Yours unconditionally,

Rosalie.

She dropped the quill and let the nib rest on top of the jar of ink. Isabella's fingers were stained with ink but she ignored them. She picked up her drawing book and flitted through the pages. Her drawing book had always contained the sketches of her family, Alice, Jasper and Rosalie. Isabella had never drawn one of herself. She stopped at the page which had a drawing of Rosalie's back and she could not think of any other gift to give Edward.

Isabella looked at the cascade of Rosalie's blonde hair peeking out of her bonnet. Her shoulders were covered in a shawl that Isabella could not recall the color of it. Even looking at this mere rough sketch of Rosalie's back, she still looked beautiful. Isabella then decided to send it along with the letter. She knew Alice was going to protest against it but Edward needed to have a gift from her for his birthday.

So she smiled and folded the drawing paper into a hawk envelope before placing the letter inside.

~*&*~

"Papa and I had a sort of disagreement last night," Rosalie said as she and Isabella strolled through the maze that led to the meadow.

The atmosphere felt damp on their skin. Spikes of short grasses clung to their beautiful dresses while their shoes were ruined in mud. They were going to get into trouble for leaving the manor. Isabella had not wanted to leave but Rosalie had suggested it, claiming she needed the walk.

"He called me inept and cantankerous, whatever that might mean." Rosalie pulled some long grasses out of her way – her gloves were almost ruined.

"Cantankerous; meaning disagreeable to deal with," Isabella informed, dodging a pool of muddy water on the ground.

"Ah, Isabella, why am I not surprised? Could you be any smarter?" Rosalie teased, nudging her friend with her gloved knuckles. Isabella laughed as they continued fighting for their way through the grass. "Perhaps if you were my father's daughter, he need not be so angry all the time. He fired the sixth governess yesterday. I believe no other governess has made me more furious in my life."

"Oh dear, what could she have done this time?"

"She said I was scandalous," Rosalie said with disgust rolling on the tip of her tongue.

"I believe that properly describes you." Isabella smiled in jest.

"Oh hold your tongue." Her friend could not stop the smile that spread her lips. "I will not tolerate anyone who dares call me that. Although, she did catch me kissing Seth at the barn–"

"What?" Isabella's eyes grew wide as huge saucers, as she stopped and stared at her friend in utter bewilderment.

"Hold your horses' dear friend," Rosalie laughed, holding her skirts. "It was a chaste kiss on the lips and nothing more."

"Rosalie Hale!" Isabella paused and held her chest in shock. "We are supposed to only be–"

"Goodness gracious, tell me that I am not to be arrested for a common kiss on the lips. No tongue was even involved." A smile was hanging at the corner of her lips.

Rosalie never blushed, unlike Bella who would have probably turned different shades of pink at this revelation.

"Seth Bates, the barn boy? What on earth were you doing at Lord Whitlock's stables?"

"I thought I saw your maid entering his manor. It was only natural that I followed them."

"And then you fell on Seth's lips and kissed him?" Isabella laughed with ridicule, diverting the track of conversation away from Alice and Jasper.

Alice had asked that Isabella kept her rendezvous a secret, and although she felt bad for not sharing the news with Rosalie, she simply could not betray her friend. After all, Alice had helped her sneak her letters for Edward. They both had an understanding.

"Seth has paid me special attention for a few months. I do not have any affection toward him but he is warm and kind. Ladies do not fall for barn boys, it was merely curiosity that drove the meeting and it shall not happen again. But I think he is rather in love with me."

"Oh, who is not Rosalie?"

"I wish to be no one's inamorata and simply cannot accept any of his advances anymore," she said as they got to the meadow.

"And the kiss?" Isabella plucked some branches out of her way and almost cursed when a smudge of mud stuck to her black gloves.

"I shall try it again and this time, properly," Rosalie giggled as they both walked to the middle of the meadow.

~*&*~

July 1899:

My sweetest Rosalie,

That drawing of you is the most beautiful thing I have ever laid my eyes upon, even though I was not granted the opportunity to see your face. Why do you hide from me, my love?

I shall have you know that one, such as I, cannot feel lonely when one has letters from you. They are the highlight of my life. My heart races at the thought of receiving a letter from you.

What feelings you have ignited in my dear body, my love, the feelings that make me burn at the thought of holding you in my arms. Oh! This distance is too much to bear. I long to say what my heart whispers and plant a thousand kisses upon you in return. My dear Rosalie, do not tempt me with such passion.

There are no ladies as beautiful as you, here to catch my eye. My love for you forbids that I dare look at another woman.

My birthday was glorious! The Duke of Devonshire, Edward Cavendish, came to my revelry. He gave me a surgical knife, Rosalie. My very first surgical knife. Father could not have been more delighted.

I shall go to bed with thoughts of you in my heart and when I close my eyes, I shall see your face.

Yours,

Edward.

Isabella thought she would cry.

Isabella had forgotten her name.

Isabella had forgotten many things as two remarkable words filled with pure adoration danced in her mind 'my love'. Was it possible to be killed by a letter? Was it possible to be killed by Edward Cullen's words?

She had not known how much joy could consume her at the very thought of him professing how her letters were significant to him. She did not even hold a thread of contempt at the sight of Rosalie's name. Nothing was stopping her from relishing this moment.

She had written her last letter with a lot of passion that she had hoped he'd see through. He had not seen through the glass yet but his words captivated her. She almost thought her poor heart could not handle the wave of happiness that devoured her.

My love for you forbids that I dare look at another woman.

Oh, if only it were true. If only he returned and regarded her as someone worthy of his love, she would indeed be the happiest woman alive.

In that moment, she accepted and embraced the fact that she was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.

Thank you for the lovely reviews & also for reading.