A/N: Ciaobella27, TwiDi, MrsBoyscout all made this chapter look good. Phoenixhunter47 cleaned it up very nicely and made sure it was readable. I am nothing without these women and their intelligent minds and red pens.

To Pree.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to their various owners. I only take credit for the love letters.

The Knight of Infinite Resignation

The knight of infinite resignation never gives up on his love even though he is aware that the love existing between himself and his beloved is impossible.

"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a might stranger: I should not seem a part of it."- Catherine Earnshaw (Wuthering Heights).

While Isabella stared at the green grass that covered the grounds in front of her manor, she clutched the necklace that lit the only glimmer of hope in her chest. In Greek mythology, Pandora's curiosity caused her to open *pithos, unleashing all the evils of the world unto mankind, except hopelessness. And for that very reason, Isabella held on tightly to the small thread of hope that one day, Edward would truly fall in love with her and not the woman she claimed to be.

But what if Edward was so tangled up in the mirage she had created, that he failed to realize it was her he was in love with all along? Then everything she had built hope on would crumble before her, and she would be left with nothing. Could her heart take such a painful rejection from him? Was love of the mind stronger than beauty of the flesh?

Isabella had always been told there would be a lot of men who would want to marry her, and she had always wondered how she would choose which one to fall in love with? In all of her eighteen years, she had never felt anything so strong and all consuming, as the love she felt for Edward. But would it ever be enough? Would she ever have a chance with him? What good thing could be produced from a lie? A deception so huge, that if the truth were to be discovered, all her dreams would be annihilated.

Isabella pondered this as she turned back to look at Mark. The governess and Rosalie had excused themselves to give Mark and her some privacy. She took a moment to gaze into his onyx eyes, wondering if they would ever turn to that shade of green that never failed to capture her attention. She wondered if her heart would ever beat with the same speed in anticipation, should she ever get a letter from him. She wondered if he even wrote love letters or if he could play soft melodies on the piano. Would she ever be able to engage him in literary conversation, even if his key focus was music or perhaps medicine…? Would he ever be able to quote from Romeo and Juliet? Would he ever understand their love? Perhaps all he would ever be interested in was Don Giovanni.

Would she ever be happy with him?

Before Isabella could process her thoughts and answer any of her questions, the words escaped her lips. "I cannot marry you, Mark."

Mark stood like a statue as the words consumed the silence in the room. He so seldom had to deal with rejection. He rejected people, not the other way around. The words were like a physical blow to his chest.

Isabella wondered how he felt, seeing the other side of the coin.

His fingers grasped his homburg hat tightly. "May I ask why?"

"I am afraid that I simply cannot. We would not make a good fit if we were to be betrothed," she replied.

"Isabella." He took a step forward, which was countered with a backward step from her. "If this is about love, I assure you that–"

"I am not in love with you, Mark."

"Yes, and I am well aware of this, but I believe that we will fall in love when we are married. We would be forced to–"

"Familiarity will not make it any easier on you, Mark. If anything, I would think it desensitizes a couple. I do not want to be estranged from my husband."

An unidentifiable expression flashed across Mark's face but disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. "What? Do you not deem me to be good enough for you?"

"That is not it."

"Then, what is?" The venom in his voice caused Isabella to flinch. "A man of my status with my wealth and dignity and–"

"I will have you know that those are of no consequence to me, and surely if you understood–"

"If I understood, I would immediately consider what you are saying to be complete poppycock. Women long to be at my side. They yearn for my touch, and I want to settle with you, of all people–" he said it as if it were the most ridiculous thing, "–and you are rejecting me?" His mouth spat the words like an unsavory taste on his tongue.

"I just cannot give you what you ask of me. I cannot marry you if I am not in love with you."

"Isabella, I suggest you reconsider. Love is nothing but an infantile notion that exists in fairytales, and even in such tales, the greatest love stories have no happy endings. Marriage is what adults do. It provides security–"

"You do not know what you speak of. For I assure you, if you have ever felt even one tenth of it, you would not utter those words." Isabella exhaled a sharp breath.

There was no point in trying to convince him about what she felt. She, herself, could not begin to describe it. No one would ever understand what she felt, unless they had felt it too. She knew that Mark was just trying to argue his way into a betrothal that could never happen.

"I cannot marry you, Mark, for reasons that I do not wish to concern you with." She played with the pendant that rested comfortably close to her heart.

"Isabella." She could almost trace the rigid lines of fury on his face. "You will regret this, and I shall never present you with this opportunity again." He adjusted his frock coat and left.

September 1901.

My Only Beloved,

Words fail to express how much joy fills my heart, to address you with such affection.

I am afraid that the profound feelings you ignite within me cannot be contained on such a poor piece of paper.

I am convinced that every word declared in your letters is shot with Cupid's arrow, to aim straight for my heart so that I may fall in love with you over again.

Would that be jealousy I detect in your words? For if it is so, I shall let you know that you are incomparable in my heart, and therefore, you should have no fear.

Your words permanently blind my eyes from admiring the sight of other young swains. Only your love can consume my whole being with such intensity that there is nothing left for others.

So you need not worry, my beloved.

Papa had the pleasure of listening to me play our lovely melody – Midnight Sonata – for him. Although, I do think his enthusiasm was incited by my ability to play it on the violin.

This piqued my curiosity as to why you have thoughts of me when you listen to it or play it. Granted, it is a soothing melody with a deep meaning, I am sure. But why Beethoven? Is there any specific reason?

How is England adjusting to its new ruler – King Edward VII? Are there any significant changes?

Yours affectionately,

Rosalie.

P.S. I always wear the necklace; I never take it off. It is forever close to my heart.

P.P.S. Mark was an acquaintance but I fear he is no longer one.

January, 1902.

"TWO GENTLEMEN!" Lady Swan's whisper was so sharp, Isabella was sure the sound could be heard downstairs. She was shocked at how her mother, who was bedridden with a slight indisposition, could still find the strength and voice to tell stories. "They were fine, young men, Bev," she continued. "Men from aristocratic families!" The weight of her disappointment was not lost on Isabella, and she even began to think that maybe she – herself – was not considered to be from an aristocratic family. "And she had the audacity to reject them – both Lord Jasper Whitlock and Lord Mark Wallace. Two proposals, Bev! I, for the life of me, cannot fathom such a decision. It was all over the papers. How am I supposed to go back and face the public again?"

Isabella thought she could just die from the agony of having to hear her mother wail about her past deeds. For what it was worth, Isabella thought her mother was completely blowing things out of proportion. All she had done was simply refuse Mark's proposal, last year, and inform the Whitlocks during the festive period – precisely, the Christmas ball – that she had no intentions of becoming a part of their family.

However, her actions had banished her mother to the confinement of her bed after the announcement, where she pretended to be sick for more than a week, blaming it on her daughter's callous actions and the weather.

"Renee." Aunt Beverly, who was a magnet for her sister's downfall and had immediately shown up once she heard the news, placed a hand on Isabella's mother. Isabella was sure that Aunt Beverly had come, not because her sister was sick, but because she wanted to confirm the gossip she had heard in the papers. "You know how these younglings are. You have to be firm with her." She turned to cast a glance at Isabella. "And I sincerely think she needs to put on more weight. How will she ever find the right man with those small breasts?"

Isabella could not help the gasp that escaped from her. She placed her hands to cover her breasts, feeling utterly violated. This did not deter Aunt Beverly at all. Instead, she carried on with her conversation.

"'Twas but a miracle that Angela found a husband, she was as thin as a broomstick. And after she ran off with that man who was twice her age, it was only God that saved us from that atrocious scandal. It took a whole year to find a man who would take her. And she got married to a General. Did very well for herself, that one," Aunt Beverly remarked, taking a sip of her tea. "Now, my four daughters, save for the last one, are all married," she announced proudly.

Isabella rolled her eyes and wondered if her mother could detect the joy her sister was prevailing in, as of that moment. A familiar pang accompanied the thought of her cousin, Angela. Angela had fallen in love with a man who was one and thirty when she was only fifteen. Her whole family had rebuked her for it, and she had escaped to France, only to come back broken-hearted when she had learned he was already married with a family of his own.

"Nineteen years of age and no husband, Bev. With her behavior, who would even want to consider offering marriage again?" Lady Swan cried. "Only lord knows what the members of court are saying. They must think that she is not suitable to become a wife. The marriage market–"

"Mama, I beseech you to stop," Isabella pleaded once she could no longer take it. "You are highly exaggerating. It is not that big of a deal. Now please, drink your soup so that you may get well soon."

"I may never recover from this." Renee shook her head dramatically. "I shall cling to this bed until someone takes your hand in marriage."

With nothing but a deep sigh, Isabella left her mother's bedchamber before she could add to her illness.

February, 1902.

My Immortal Beloved,

Were you aware that Beethoven addressed *Countess Guiletta Guiccardi as his "immortal beloved"? It was rumored that he wrote that sonata specifically for her.

I beg of you to stop torturing me with your affections. It is not pleasant to create such turmoil in me when you are not within reach.

Your declarations make me dream of having your face in my hands, your breath on my lips, your eyes locked with mine as I whisper my sweet adulation for you.

Oh, Rosalie, I would walk on hot coals just to be with you at this moment. I would cut off an arm just to touch your face or see your smile.

If only I was able, I would be there, at your feet, bestowing my adoration for you a thousand fold. I would spend an eternity making you smile, as if every day were a blessing.

I would dedicate my entire being to ensure that you have all that your heart desires.

My days seem dull without hearing from you and your letters bring such warmth to my chest, but it leaves a tingling ache in its wake.

England deeply regrets the loss of Queen Victoria but the Edwardian era brings new promises. Everything looks extravagant and beautiful. The rich are richer, and beautiful.

Until your next letter, I send to you a thousand kisses.

- Your Edward

P.S. My heart seems to have wandered off somewhere. I think it is located in Forks with a charming young lady, please inform her to keep it safe before my return.

June, 1902.

Rosalie watched her opponent's Adam's apple bob as he finished the last drop of champagne from his flute. When their eyes met, her lips spread into a devilish smile that was quickly returned with a deep laughter from him.

"Miss Hale–" the young gentleman started, leaning toward her so he could look into her mesmerizing eyes.

"Oh, please. I believe there should be no formalities between us, considering I am about to take your five hundred dollars home and spend it on beautiful gowns. Might I suggest a first name basis?" She paused to look at her cards, and then turned to look at him with a bright smile plastered on her face. "Please call me, Rose."

He watched how her full pink lips wrapped around the sobriquet she had given herself. "Rose," he said. "Like the beautiful flower with thorns," he commented with amusement dancing in his irides.

He cleared his throat, and she noticed that his eyes were a bit glassy from the wine. "Should you even be here? I would have thought ladies, such as yourself, seldom developed an interest for card games, not to talk of gambling."

Rosalie's fingers flicked the cards in her hand. "First of all, I am only a lady by title. And I was not aware that card games were restricted to a specific gender. If I can play, then why would I not?" she asked, exuding confidence. "I did warn you not to wager with me."

Rosalie already knew she had him. The way he fiddled with his necktie, clenched his jaw, cracked his knuckles and drank his wine, showed signs that she was going to win this piquet game. She had already won the previous parties and that was how the stake had increased to five hundred. Men, she thought as she looked at her set of cards once again, they always wanted to prove a point even when they were already losing.

"Indeed, you did. But I might have just been trying to be the gentleman that I am by letting you win, considering this is the first time you have played in public." He leaned back into his chair, his eyes returning to his cards. "I may not want to disgrace you in front of other gentlemen here," he said.

Her eyes flickered around the room before her gaze rested back on his face. "I doubt that, my lord," she said. "After all, losing five hundred will definitely wound your ego rather than prove your gallantry."

He sighed and made a declaration of his cards, silently announcing that Rosalie had the better hand. Rosalie smiled as he reached into his pocket and begrudgingly handed her the money.

Rosalie planted a kiss on his cheek before Mark escorted her out of the room.

"Not bad, not bad at all, dear cousin," Mark congratulated her, tapping her arm as they rejoined the guests in the ballroom. "I am beginning to think that perhaps cards are your specialty."

"Why, I certainly think winning may be more of my specialty, Mark," she laughed.

Rosalie knew that the older women were talking about her now as she stood with Mark. They must have been whispering about how she had joined the men's card games when she was supposed to be with them, dancing and chatting about the weather and other irrelevant topics. It was of no consequence to Rosalie. According to her, they were all just jealous that they lacked the courage to challenge a man, be it in card games or an actual conversation.

When she saw Isabella at the other end of the hall, she waved her gloved hand. Isabella waved back and she responded by blowing a kiss. Mark cleared his throat, a sign that he was uncomfortable at the sight of his former friend. Rosalie laughed at his discomfort.

"You know I would have thought that your trip to Italy shaped you and erased your memories of last summer." She turned to him.

"A man can never forget that kind of embarrassment. Although, I do think it was Jasper who had the short end of the stick."

"Something tells me he did not care for the rejection, which brings me to think that perhaps he has a mistress somewhere, or someone who keeps his bed warm at night, for him not to even consider the prospect of a betrothal."

"Perhaps he likes being uncommitted, like me."

"Even you, the worst of all rakes in Forks, sought companionship at one point, even when I particularly advised you that it would be a wild goose chase."

"And never again," he said with finality.

"Who is that?" Rosalie asked as her eyes caught the sight of a young, tall, broad-shouldered man standing at the opposite end of the room.

Mark followed her gaze. "Ah, that would be Royce King from New York. Just newly arrived. Quite the cad, I hear."

"He is handsome," Rosalie acknowledged with a smile wavering on her lips.

She noticed that he was engaged in a conversation with the loquacious Lady Faye and her daughter, Jessica, who looked like a frightened mouse hiding from a cat. "I see Faye and her daughter are already casting their nets."

As if he was drawn to the conversation they were having, Royce's eyes roamed to their direction and caught Rosalie's own. His lips drew a smile across his face as their gazes held each other's, unwaveringly. Unlike any normal lady, who would have turned away and blushed, Rosalie stared directly at him.

Even as Royce stopped talking to the woman whose name he had forgotten, and her temporarily mute daughter, Rosalie's gaze did not falter. As he headed straight toward her, Rosalie used the opportunity to rake his form.

He was clad in a pair of black pantaloons with a white waist coat, accompanied by a shirt with a winged collar. His evening attire accentuated every inch of his masculinity. His face was handsome, and suggested he was in his mid twenties. As he got closer to her, Rosalie could see the thick, dark eyebrows, which brought attention to his dark blue eyes.

"Forgive me for interrupting, but I believe that we have not had the pleasure of meeting. I am Royce King," he said in a voice so deep that Rosalie could feel it in her bones. His eyes hypnotized her as he gathered her right hand in his left and planted a soft kiss on the back of it.

"And I am Lady Rosalie Hale. Pleased to make your acquaintance." Rosalie granted him the benefit of seeing her smile.

"Would you care to join me for an impromptu dance, Miss Rosalie?" he asked.

"Of course."

He led her to the center of the ballroom just as the orchestra began to play a different arrangement.

"Rumor has it that you are not the gentleman you are initially perceived to be," she said, feeling his hand settle at her lower back.

"I shall be very straight with you, Miss Rosalie. I have a mouth on me that appears to be very crude, and I have noticed, much to my disappointment, that it is not appreciated in Forks. It is a pity that conformity is not one of my characteristics; I wonder how I shall fare."

Rosalie's head tilted back, laughing and gaining attention from nearby couples. "I think I might have already taken to you, Royce."

"I am glad I amuse you."

Together, they danced and ignored the glares from Lady Faye's direction.

August, 1902.

My Only Beloved,

If I did not know any better, I would think that in your last letter, you addressed me as your immortal beloved.

Yet, you claim that I am the one who tortures you?

You do not want me to bestow you with my undying affection but you kill me sweetly and slowly with your own words? How very unfair of you, my love.

If you are able to silence me with just words, what shall happen when you touch me?

I fear that any breath against your lips may be my last; your penetrating eyes and beautiful face the cause of my heart ceasing in my chest.

My skin will probably melt under your touch and my ears may be forever deafened by your adulation.

I would rather die than have you cut an arm from that perfect body of yours. And if you did so, how would you expect my skin to burn under your touch?

If you were here, I guarantee that you would definitely not be at my feet. I shall be the one to inform you about my ardent love.

Though the distance separates us, the profound feelings I carry in my heart do not decrease, not even an inch.

I return your thousand kisses with a thousand more.

Love, Rosalie.

P.S. I have kept your heart with me, and I shall only return it when you return mine.

October, 1902.

My Heart,

It pleases me to know that your heart is in my possession. Although, I should let you know that I have absolutely no intention of giving it back. I am a very selfish being when it comes to matters regarding that aspect. So you may keep mine while I shall hang on to yours.

I find it charming of you to think that I shall not bless your feet with my kisses. You should know that I hold you in such high regard, and so, it is I who will be undoubtedly grateful to be in your presence or to know that you desire my love in every way.

You are the one whose beauty radiates as the sun and keeps shining in all its glory for thousands to see.

You are the one with the voice that sounds more harmonious than any musical piece I can write or play.

You are the one whose words make mine seem like dirt in comparison, all because of the magnificence that accompanies each letter.

You are the one who makes my heart seem as if it has been searching for something all these years.

I am nothing but the dark cloak that covers the sky in the night, and you are that special star that glitters and makes me shine, all because of your love.

I could swear that my heart did not start beating until it felt your love flowing through my veins.

So you see, my dear, it is I who has the treasure.

Send my greetings to your father, Isabella and her family. I hope they are well.

Until I have the pleasure of your presence, my fingers yearn to caress your skin.

Your Edward.

P.S. Would it be possible for me to borrow my mind back? I am afraid it is devoid of intelligence and reason, and is thoroughly consumed by thoughts of you.

February, 1903.

As Alice gazed into the eyes of her lover, her body was cocooned within his strong arms. Her right hand had found a resting spot above his heart, and she felt as if she was in the safest place in the world. Her troubles stayed away when she was with him like this, but she knew that this comfort would not last long.

"Jasper," she whispered, and immediately, his eyes opened and a smile brightened his face. She pushed his hair away from his forehead and he kissed her palm. She was surprised that his kisses could still create such a warm feeling in her chest. "I love you."

They rarely said the words to each other. They were not the kind of people who needed to say it or hear it, their love was merely expressed by their actions. But on this particular night, she felt as though she needed to say them so they could give her strength for what she was about to say next.

"I love you, too," he replied before she had a chance to continue.

Her gaze dropped from his face to his chest. "I think that perhaps," she started in a trembling voice, "you should get married."

"Hmm," he hummed in agreement, his fingers sketching lines on her hand. "I know this place where there is a minister who will agree to wed us. It is in that small village, Salinas. No one would ever know. I can tell my father I am visiting friends and we can go there quickly. Once we are married, we will inform everyone, I am sure nothing can come between us then."

Alice sighed, knowing he was wrong. When she had suggested the idea of a betrothal, she had not taken the possibility of being his wife into consideration. She could never be his wife. She knew it could not happen in this lifetime, perhaps in another life, when she was not a maid and he was not a lord.

She removed her body from his comforting embrace. Sitting up on the bed, she wrapped her arms around her knees. "I think you should get married to someone of your class, Jasper. Someone who is young, wise and someone who is of a rich family. Someone who has a real family."

"Why?" Jasper asked in confusion, as if he could not fathom why he would desire such a woman.

Alice stood up from the bed, infuriated that he was pretending to be oblivious about matters concerning both of them. "Your father is always going to be against this, Jasper. He may not know now, but he will never accept us. And he will always want you to get married. Last year, it was my mistress. This year, he offered you different women for you to choose from. We cannot keep pretending that you are never going to marry someday. You are not going to be with me forever." She looked out the window and stared into the dark night. "I am six and twenty, your senior, and with absolutely nothing to offer. I would never be considered as a wife to the likes of you. I love you, and that is enough for me. I am completely content knowing that you once loved me. And if you get married, I will be happy."

"And what of me?" Jasper asked with annoyance. "Did you even consider my happiness? I will definitely not be happy if I am married to someone other than you. I feel devastated that you would even entertain such a thought, when I cannot." He swiveled her body to face him.

His finger removed the hair from her face. "Marry me," he declared simply.

"Jasper, I cannot–"

"Marry me, tonight. I shall have my carriage prepared right away and we can leave for the village. It is less than four miles from here. We do not even need to come back."

"Isabella–Lady Swan–I cannot just leave like that. They have been nothing but kind to me and if I just take off without a word that would be–"

"I will bring you back before the sun rises," he insisted and she noticed the determination coloring his eyes.

"Then, what happens after that?" she asked, even though she knew he had already convinced her.

"I will tell my father that I am wed. It is what he desires, after all. He will have no choice but to accept it."

The notion of becoming his wife this night made Alice's heart pump wildly in her chest. It would have been a scandalous elopement if she were of importance, however, she was not. The only person she was important to was asking her to be his forever. She had no family who would object to such a decision. And she did not think she could refuse such an offer.

Alice was a woman, who usually thought before she did things. She always considered the future before she made a decision. But she never could collect her thoughts when she was near Jasper. So why should she start now?

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and said, "I will marry you, Jasper Henry Whitlock."

Jasper kissed her fervently before grabbing his coat. That night, they went to Salinas, and after being wed by the minister, they consummated their love in a small cottage.

~o~

March, 1903.

My Love,

I have such good news to share, that I am afraid I cannot wait for your next letter.

My family and I are returning to Forks!

I divulged my feelings for you to my father and he decided that I return to secure your hand in marriage before other gentlemen do.

I cannot express how much happiness has encompassed me as of this moment.

I wanted it to be a surprise but I could no longer keep it a secret. I could hardly keep secrets from you.

We will arrive in the middle of April.

I cannot wait to have you in my arms, my love.

My imagination has been a pleasant companion. My dreams have conjured up images of what you may look like with the help of my memories, but I believe seeing you in the flesh will be much more pleasurable.

I will be counting every minute until I see your face.

Until I am by your side, I send you my love.

Your Edward.

Isabella felt the beating of her heart in her throat as she finished the letter. She almost could not breathe.

Edward was coming back home and she had not had a chance to tell him that the letters were from her and not her best friend.

She had longed for his presence but she had not known that he would be back so soon. So soon? She wanted to laugh at the incredulity of that thought. It had been five years and some months since he left. Of course, she had known he would, one day, return.

How would Edward feel when he found that Rosalie, the woman he loved so passionately, was not in love with him? How would he react to the knowledge that she never wrote any of those letters? How would he feel when he discovered that she had never thought of him, even for one minute, out of five years?

He would be very distraught, she thought. He would be expecting to see Rosalie's face and not hers. She could not withstand the disappointment and heartache he would be faced with if Rosalie did not acknowledge him when he arrived.

The sound of her bedroom door opening almost caused Isabella to jump out of her skin. She folded the missive and kept it in the cupboard beside her bed, before turning to look at a smiling Rosalie.

"Look at you," Rosalie said, walking toward the four poster bed. "I am the one sneaking around, and yet you are the one with the suspicious look on her face. Did I interrupt something?"

"Where were you?" Isabella asked, avoiding Rosalie's question.

"Spending some time with Royce. We were smoking cigars, and then he had to leave."

"If your father–"

"Oh, he will not be back until tomorrow evening."

"And what about your chaperone, Madam Willborough?"

"She was fast asleep," Rosalie replied, getting under the covers. "That woman snores like she wants to swallow the whole manor. I can hear it all the way from my bedroom which is quite far from hers."

"Rosalie," Isabella admonished.

"'Tis the truth." Rosalie shrugged. "What were you doing?"

Rosalie's question reminded Isabella about Edward's letter, and she knew she had to tell her friend the truth or some part of it. "Rosalie, I need a favor from you."

For now, she would tell Rosalie about the letters and ask her to follow up with the charade, until she could find a suitable time to tell Edward the truth.

*Knight of Infinite Resignation is from Kierkegaard's philosophical work Fear and Trembling.

*pithos is the Greek word for a large jar.

*Countess Giulietta Guicciardi was Beethoven's piano student in the nineteenth century.

Thank you so much for reading. Please, let me know your thoughts.