Thank you for reviewing. Reviews are always welcome, especially criticism. And, yes, this is a Maria Louise/George fic, among other things.
From Maria Louise's siting room, we watch George de Sand fence. Maria Louise hovers near the window, watching her beloved. She wavers with his every move and I envy her clear devotion. When George returns inside, out of sight, she turns to me. And I patiently lead her in the dance that George taught me not days ago. My cousin fumbles and she lacks my grace but I watch her improve. During the next party, she wants to spin at his side.
"People will talk," she says, "if you continue to dance with Monsieur George." I nod. Instead of my cousin's hand on my back, I imagine George de Sand. Instead of George de Sand, I imagine Cerise. Teachers reprimanded her, when we danced she held me too close. Yet no one as graceful or talented, instructors had nothing else to criticize. During our dancing classes, we were so beautiful together.
I gave her my first kiss. I wasn't alone. With no males, we turned to each other. Most girls called it practice for when they met men. Yet I knew that Cerise never wanted to practice.
In the afternoons, I imagine my hand on Cerise's elbow. George holds himself like she did and I know that Cerise should have been practice. When she held me tight, I should have imagined a man like George holding me. Yet, I never did. Perhaps my imagination was poor but I never thought of males before I met George. And when I think of George, I imagine Cerise.
Maria Louise's maid serves us lunch. My cousin fingers her lunch, the tiny sandwiches. Perhaps it is the way the sun shines through the windows or perhaps it is the way she longs after George, I am reminded of Cerise so easily today.
"You seem so distracted today. Is it what I said?" the princess asks, her voice betraying her fear. She is afraid that I too fell in love with George de Sand. She is afraid that it was foolish to introduce us. "Please tell me." The way she leans in, puppy eyes, I remember Cerise.
"No, no, you reminded me for a moment of the girl I shared a dorm room with," I reply, but stop myself from continuing. I feel silly describing Cerise or explaining why I'll never love George. Maria Louise smiles, laughs, in relief, joy. Like Maria Louise, Cerise had a golden mane, long limbs, blue eyes. Instead of Maria Louise's blond river, her hair was short like a boy.
"I can be your prince. Unlike those other silly girls, you never have to go to court to find a husband," she whispered late at night. And I knew when we danced that I would never want to. As tall as any male, I knew she was a better partner than one.
Before we graduated, before my father's funeral, she told me only my lips touched hers. Girls told me how much they envied me. Each of them wanted to dance with Cerise. In the back of my mind, all those years, I figured she probably kissed at least one. But she whispered, sweet, and I knew that I would never have to worry.
Yet, I could never tell my father's advisors that I loved Cerise. They would scoff, ask me to marry and create an heir. I shouldn't be a silly girl. They would tell me what I already know, that she's married to an old lord and I wasn't invited to her wedding because it hurt too much.
At my farewell party, Maria Louise cuts in and takes my place as George's dancing partner. Her dance isn't as smooth as mine but she fits into George's arms in a way I never could. His movements remind me so much of Cerise. The way he looks at my cousin is different than any way he looked at me. I miss our afternoons together, those precious few hours when I could pretend I was a schoolgirl again. Those moments, I imagined I could truly be with Cerise. And I know that somehow my cousin, the princess, can live with her prince, her Rose Knight, forever. Just like I know that someday I'll return to Cerise's arms.
Maybe, she'll have a child or two when that day comes, her cheeks flush with childbirth. Her husband dead, we can raise her children together and she can catch me when I faint. My father's advisors were right. I should marry, just not to a lord or George de Sand. Until then, I console myself with the thought that Cerise's manor is close to Paris.
When Maria Louise and George de Sand wave me off, they stand so close I can see nothing between them. And I know that in a very different way, they are in the same position I am.