Chapter Seven

A/N: Thank you to bellovettrix, mrseljefino and daydreaming87 for reviewing the last chapter.

Letters had been exchanged, back and forth, back and forth, but at last, Elizabeth had consented to return to the palace. For all that she had reluctantly agreed, she had rather made it seem that she did not wish to see Bertie. This, of course, was not the truth.

The truth was that Elizabeth was very fond of Bertie; she grew fonder still every time they met. But this was what she was afraid of, and the reason why she had rejected so many invitations to dance and to dinner. She did not want to become any fonder of Bertie, for fear that she would be unable to let him go.

No matter what else he may be in private, to the public Albert was a prince. He was expected to always behave in the correct way, to be polite and charming and politically correct. Most of all, he was expected to marry a princess. 'The royal family have never given in to that issue.' she told herself, as she had done every day since she had first met the prince. 'A prince must wed a princess. Even the second son of a king cannot marry the youngest daughter of a Scottish earl.'

After the end of the Great War, her mother, Cecelia, had made finding a husband for her youngest daughter her highest priority. She had a great deal more time to do so, she had said, having withdrawn now from public life. Elizabeth had tried to object, but found her pre-war excuse to be invalid; all her elder sisters were married now, and she was the only one left, bar two of her brothers, Michael and David.

The War had taken a great deal from her, including another brother, Fergus, whom she had loved dearly. He had used to call her 'little Lizzie' and twirl her round in his arms until she was giddy. There were times when, even six years later, she could not believe he was gone.

Elizabeth did not involve herself much in the choosing of her future husband, for she knew that she would never find one she truly loved. Instead, she contented herself to play with little Rosemary, Fergus' daughter, twirling the child around just as her father had once done.

The child had been laughing so loudly that Elizabeth did not hear her maid enter the room. When she finally noticed the poor girl, who had been hovering in the doorway with no idea whether to announce herself or not, her eyes were immediately drawn to the envelope she carried.

Within moments, Elizabeth had retrieved the letter from inside and settled down in a chair to read, Rosemary clambering onto her lap to join her.

Dearest Elizabeth,
I am writing to tell you that I understand your misgivings about royal life, for I often feel them myself. Had I not been born a royal prince, I certainly would not have wished this fate upon myself, even if I am only a second son and, God willing, never to be king. It is a grim responsibility to bear and I understand your wishing to avoid such public acclaim all to well.
I do, however, ask that we do not allow this to diminish our friendship. I have grown very fond of you, Elizabeth, and do not wish to lose you. You are one of the very few people I have met in my life who have treated me as a man and not simply as a prince. When I am with you, I feel that I can forego all expectations and just be myself.
I hope to speak to you soon,
Yours sincerely,
Albert.

Elizabeth leant back in her seat, breathing a deep sigh. She did not know if she was relieved to hear from Bertie or if it had simply made her heartache all the more painful. Either way, tears were beginning to well in her eyes.

Rosemary had noticed her aunt's distress and wound her arms gently around her neck, offering comfort in the only way a child knew how.

"Why are you crying, Aunt Lizzie?" she asked, her voice soft, as if she were trying to keep a secret. "Are you sad?"

"I'm not quite sure, darling." Elizabeth replied.

"Was it the letter?" The girl, inquisitive as she was, had eased the letter out of her aunt's hand and was holding it close up to her face, trying to decipher Bertie's elegant script.

"Yes, darling, it was the letter." Elizabeth nodded shallowly. Rosemary looked up at her, the expression on her face making it clear that she would not accept such a simple answer. "A young man wrote to me, asking if we might meet soon."

Rosemary smiled widely. "Is he your beau?"

"No, Rosemary." she answered, her voice a great deal flatter than she had intended it to be. "I do not have a beau, nor do I want one. This boy is a friend of mine, a dear friend. But he's nothing more than that."

"Does he want to be more than that?" It was odd to hear such an insightful question from the lips of a girl who was barely six years of age. Then again, she was extremely similar to her father- Fergus had always had an innate ability to ask her the questions she constantly asked herself.

"I'm not sure, darling." she responded, after a lengthy pause. She glanced down at the piece of paper, which Rosemary had laid down on the table in front of them once she had gotten tired of it. "Perhaps he does, but I doubt it very much. He's a son of the royal family; he'll marry a daughter of another royal family, just as princes have done for hundreds of years."

The lie slipped easily from her tongue, but her niece still remained unsatisfied. She flashed Elizabeth a knowing smile, so similar to her father's. "Do you want him to be more than that?"

"He is a prince, Rosemary." the woman told the girl, edging around the question. "It could never be."

"But would you want him to be your beau?" the child asked, her smile increasing tenfold as she realised the answer. Elizabeth shook her head.

"Of course not, darling."

That lie did not come as easily.

A/N: Please review!