To Pree.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to their respective owners.

The Paradox

Love is paradoxical. It is a phenomenon that plagues its victims with a blessing and a curse. The blessing is the feeling of happiness that one feels at the sight, sound and touch of the beloved. The curse comes in various forms.

~o~

"If love's a sweet passion, why does it torment?

If a bitter, oh tell me whence comes my content?

Since I suffer with pleasure, why should I complain?

Or grieve at my fate, when I know 'tis in vain?

Yet, so pleasing the pain is, so soft is the dart,

That at once it both wounds me and tickles my heart."

– Henry Purcell's The Fairy Queen Act 3.

February, 1903.

Alice Whitlock, née Brandon, could not stop her heart from thundering along in time with the battering of horses' hooves against the cobblestone street beneath them. She cast a glance at her husband who sat opposite her in the black carriage. Alice was hoping to find reassurance, but even his eyes – which were usually so warm and could administer comfort instantaneously – failed to do so at that moment.

Last night, her impetuous decision to marry Jasper Whitlock seemed to be the most practical and rational one she had ever made, but as she sat, she began to wonder if it was most imprudent. She had also failed to relay this new development in her life to her employer, for she felt that if she had not received an approval from Lord Whitlock himself, then there was no need to inform her madam with such news at all.

Throughout her life, she was not the sort of person who was associated with good fortune, excluding the man who occupied the other half of the carriage. She possessed no qualities that would render her suitable in the eyes of Lord Whitlock. She was only laudable in matters that involved dusting carpets, washing the grime off dishes, cooking and tying ropes through grommet holes of dresses for her mistress. Practically, she was only worth fifteen dollars a year and that was not even sufficient enough to purchase a decent ball gown to make her look like a rich man's wife.

Before she could further ruminate on her distressing thoughts, the coach stopped and her eyes flew to Jasper whose chest indicated that he had just taken a very deep breath.

"Mrs. Whitlock," he called in a steady voice, offering his arm for support after he had stepped down from the carriage.

With unsteady fingers wrapped around his arm, she grasped tightly as she came down, her fingers digging into his skin for which he showed no signs of discomfort. The wind whistled around them and the street lamplights captured their faces before they stepped into the manor. Alice was familiar with the long corridor that led all the way to the Whitlock's drawing room and she measured each step counting the number of electric bulbs on her way. No sound could be heard apart from the plodding footsteps of the newly wedded couple and the guards following behind them.

Upon reaching the door, the only source of comfort that kept her whole, like a rope tying a stack of brooms together, was released from under her arm as Jasper turned to look at her. She braced herself as he took her right hand and planted kisses on her knuckles, albeit, the gesture could not stop her hands from shaking.

"You have to wait here while I talk to my father," he said, and though she nodded in agreement, she could not comprehend why she had to stand with the guards while her husband went inside to deliver the news of their marriage to his father. It was their marriage, after all. They both made the decision to wed clandestinely without consulting his family so she could not fathom why only he had to break the news. However, considering her tongue had stuck to the roof of her mouth and in the past, it had been her duty to obey rules, she complied and leaned against the door, waiting patiently for her husband.

The invisible clock ticked and ticked until loud voices engaging in a heated argument could be heard from the other side of the door. Alice pressed her ear against the door to help her eavesdrop, even though she did not consider it to be eavesdropping since they were talking about her.

"…of your propriety, this is the most irresponsible, inexplicable, asinine and ill-advised thing you have ever done!" William Whitlock shouted in exasperation. Alice was not sure one could use so many adjectives in a sentence. "I said marry, I did not say pick the first riff raff you see. A man of your aristocracy should not associate himself with someone who is beneath his social standing. Why do you think God is in heaven and we mortals are here on earth? Such a thing is not done!"

"Father, I will respect you because I am your son and it is my responsibility to do so. However, I will not tolerate any insults you may bestow on my wife. You may not like my decision but you will sure as hell respect it." Jasper's tone had a cutting edge that Alice had never heard.

"So, you will not obey my authority?" asked William in a voice that demanded his son's acquiescence.

"No. This is one thing that I am afraid I cannot undo, mainly because I choose not to," Jasper returned.

There was silence, and for a minute, Alice had considered the possibility of Lord Whitlock strangling his son to death. She was about to open the door and check for herself when she heard his voice.

"Then you will be sent to help your fellow soldiers of this country in the Philippines. That will be your penance. You will work under military ranks and help the armed services deal with the war happening between us and the Philippines."

"But that war ended last year," Jasper countered.

"*Aguinaldo surrendered but it is unofficially still going on because of the *Irreconcilables that are still causing trouble. You will be sentenced there for a term until I see that you have become the man who I have not yet considered you to be. Perhaps reality will help shake that brain of yours. Until then, we shall not speak of your disgrace again."

Despite the distance this would create between father and son, Lord Whitlock trusted that Jasper would be commanded with the firm hand of his friend, Colonel Derwin.

"I have only one condition, that you secure my wife a home. A decent home; a manor like your own, and that she is comfortable and treated with respect as a woman married to a man with a respectable fortune should be. You will see to it that she is welcomed by the society in my absence."

There was another interval of silence before Lord Whitlock spoke again. "You will leave in May and return when I am assured that you have completely learned your lesson. That is your punishment. If you refuse to go to war, I will see to it that you shall have no money. The both of you will be subjected to destitution, and believe me when I say, I will make sure of it."

"And if I go, what will happen to my wife?" continued Jasper.

"She will be comfortable as I am assuming that she is with child. She will obtain your annual allowances, as you have refused to deny her. You are dismissed."

Alice pulled away from the door when she heard Jasper's agreement. Jasper stepped out of the drawing room, and Alice peered into the room to catch a glimpse of her father-in-law before settling her eyes on Jasper.

"You idiot!" Alice shouted as her hand moved over Jasper's face impulsively. Her ferocity did not allow her to register that she had just slapped her husband. "How dare you accept that? How dare you think that you can make such a decision without asking for my consent first? And yet you claim that I am your first priority?" she continued, throwing her tiny fists against his chest.

"Alice, I am doing this for us." Jasper held her wrists. "We will–" he started, but got cut off.

"To think that you would even consider such an offer without even informing me?" She pulled her hands, forcefully, from his grasp. "To think that you would…you think I care for your worthless money? Money so inconsequential, that I have lived without it for years." She poked his chest with her index finger as the indignation rolled off her. "You think I care for a manor, a few dollars, dresses that would all become frayed and tattered when I am all alone? None of those things are essential to my happiness. I married you so I could be with you!"

"And we shall be together, Alice. We–"

"When? When you are dead? You are going to war!" she cried. "In the first few months that we are supposed to share our matrimony and conceive children, you will be spending it fighting in the Philippines. And all for what? So I can be comfortable and be accepted into the society? A society that cares not for my life or death." She wiped the angry tears that ran down her cheeks.

"If I do this, I will be in control of my own allowances. I will be my own man, Alice. And I will return when my term is over. Father will see to it," he said. "I promise. I will be back."

"If you are dead, I shall hold you responsible for carelessly throwing away the one thing that is of high importance to me in this world, mark my words, Jasper Whitlock."

~o~

The Swan's Manor, April 1903.

Two young women sat – side by side – with anticipation in the drawing room of the Swan Manor. One of them was a striking blonde, who was growing slightly impatient as she waited for the young man she had no interest in meeting, but was doing so for her best friend. The other was a brunette, whose heart knocked wildly against her ribcage because the boy she had been pining for was finally returning home.

"Do you think he will be handsome?" Rosalie leaned toward Isabella and asked her in a whisper.

The sound of a phaeton and a couple of voices interrupted them, and Isabella quickly rushed to the window to see a carriage wheeling in front of the gate. Her heart started to pound erratically when she saw the faces of the people that had been present in her childhood get down from the carriage. Dr. Carlisle Cullen got down first and proffered an arm to help his wife.

Isabella's fingers tightened around the thick embroidery curtain, and she was sure her heart skipped a beat as a tall gentleman stepped out of the carriage. She quickly turned away before she could see his face. Seeing him was like reading a book; she did not want to spoil the outcome for herself before she had the chance to view him completely.

"They are coming inside!" Isabella's voice was on edge as she and Rosalie resumed their seats, sitting up straight and staring at their laps.

"Dr. Cullen, Lady Cullen, Lord Cullen and Miss. George," the butler announced, causing the people occupying the drawing room to stand up as they awaited the presence of their guests.

Isabella bit her lips so hard, she thought it might bleed. For there stood the man of her dreams, clad in immaculate traveling attire, which clung to his masculine frame in every possible way. His apparel consisted of a pair of tight-fitting grey pantaloons and a lounge coat that was coupled with a white shirt and a dark tie.

For a moment, everything in the room had disappeared apart from him and her. She could no longer hear the voices of her family, who acknowledged and welcomed their guests, for her heartbeat was thumping so loudly in her ears. Her eyes remained glued to his figure in awe.

The image of the chubby boy with cute, fat cheeks and short, stout fingers could not compare to the handsome, lanky gentleman that stood before her. His hair was the only thing that had not changed within those six years. It was in absolute disarray, which was a contrast to his perfection. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair. She wanted to touch his solid cheek bones, his jaw, and feel how slim his hands and fingers were. She wanted to wrap her arms around his frame and feel the lankiness he had grown into.

She wondered if the journey even made him weary, for he showed no signs that he had traveled a very stressful journey at all. She was not sure if his eyes could have been possibly greener than they were before he left, for her memory only held a vague image of him.

God, she was ogling him!

As she snapped back to earth and realized that there were other people in the room, he started to approach her. A thousand thoughts began to swirl in her head as he took each step, closing the distance between them with a confident walk, as if he was sure of his destination.

Perhaps he would remember her. Perhaps he would suddenly realize that it was her who wrote those letters. Perhaps his heart would recognize hers.

But all those thoughts vanished into thin air as he took Rosalie's gloved hand – she had even forgotten the presence of her friend – and planted a delicate kiss on it.

Oh, it hurt! The disappointment was as sharp as a dagger, piercing right through her heart. She was not aware of how painful it would feel to have him acknowledge Rosalie as his lover. The sight almost brought tears to her eyes, which she instantly held back and kept away until she could release them in solitude.

Her mind recalled a paragraph he had written in one of his letters:

'I feel grief toward the notion that you hold consciously in your mind that I will not be able to match your words to your face. What difference could there be in the two? Yes, the beauty of your face is a mystery for it must have changed with that of time. However, your words and you are one. You are a part of me, my dear; I will be able to recognize you in an instant once I return home.'

And before she could even recover from that pain that seared her chest, he spoke. "Did my heart love 'till now? Forswear its sight. For I never saw true beauty 'til this night." His voice was a pure, harmonious sound, so velvet and soothing, it slithered through her insides like silk and left bruises in its wake.

Anguish flowed through her veins as she recognized that he was quoting Romeo, the words left a severe ache in her already damaged heart. She braced herself as Rosalie offered him one of her charming, seductive smiles that could just about cause a man to salivate like a dog.

She was sure Rosalie had not recognized his words. The beauty that radiated from Rosalie's heart-shaped face was so blinding that Isabella knew she was no match for her best-friend, nor would she ever be.

She was about to excuse herself and leave the new-found lovers to get reacquainted, for she felt she was interrupting. But before she could leave, Edward called her name.

"Isabella," he said with a dazzling smile. Her breath caught in her throat.

Not even a kiss was bestowed upon her hand.

Not even a look of love flashed in his eyes.

Instead, he looked like he was trying to recall her fifteen year old image. And she had felt fifteen again, like the girl who waited for him to say goodbye to her before he left.

Almost nothing had changed, and yet, everything had.

"You have grown into a...pretty young lady."

"Th-thank you," she stammered, her voice seemed to be cracking the longer she stayed there. She willed every modicum of strength to be able to say her next words in coherence. "May I be excused? I feel slightly unwell."

Renee glanced at her for a minute with a raised brow. "I hope you are not coming down with something? You may leave, but come back fully rested for dinner. We have guests." She patted Esme's hand.

"Yes mama," she croaked, walking out of the room.

She wanted to go to her bedchamber and lock herself away until she could find the strength to be in his presence again, but she felt like running would be more effective. With that thought, she ran out of her manor. The tears fell fast as her feet raced through the gate, ignoring the gatekeeper's protests and fleeing from the ache that was resided in her heart.

~o~

"Bloody hell!" Jacob Black exclaimed in frustration, dumping the hammer on the anvil with unnecessary force. The action caused the wrought iron to bounce up in the air before landing on the floor with a loud clank. He had been trying to shape it into a horseshoe, but the iron had gotten cold too quickly and he had not succeeded in making a concave shape on time.

That was the third one he had messed up today. He flexed his muscle and cracked his neck to remove the numbness. Sighing, he picked up a dirty cloth from the wooden table beside him and wiped the sweat off his face. There was no way that today was going to be productive now, he thought acerbically, reaching for his flask and downing the remaining cider in one gulp.

When he finished drinking the alcohol, he wiped the liquid that had trailed down his chin. Wiping his brow, he thought of all the things he would have to do tomorrow since he failed in accomplishing any work today. He cleaned his hands on his trousers and walked out of the barn.

As he was about to enter his father's cottage, the sight of a woman – no, a lady – sitting on a massive stone beside the fence stopped him.

His brow furrowed at her weeping form, and he glanced behind her to check if she had any companion. Not even a horse! He thought. How had she gotten here by herself without a guard or a chaperone? Were ladies of such class now allowed to wander on their own?

He cleared his throat silently to inform her of his presence. At the sound, her body jerked in surprise and she quickly wiped her tears. Now that Jacob had her attention, he was not sure what he wanted to say. He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, trying to determine how to ask if she was all right.

After a minute of pondering and gaining an unnecessary headache for himself, he asked, "Are you all right, Miss?"

"Yes," she said, turning away from him so he would not see her face. That informed him that she was lying, even though he was not sure why. She did not even know him.

"Have you lost your way, Miss?" he asked again. She had to be a few miles away from home. How the hell had she gotten here without a horse or a coach or one of those electric cars the rich now owned?

"No, I–I…" she stammered, and he was sure she was looking for an excuse.

He walked toward her, hoping that she would not be uncomfortable with his proximity. He just thought it was easier to make a conversation when he was closer to her.

"May I ask why you are crying?" he probed, standing next to her form. His body was so huge that he was able to block the sun from shining directly on her.

"It is nothing," she said in a louder voice, and he knew she had gotten herself together.

"Miss, I am sure that if it was nothing, you would not be here – of all places – crying."

"It is the sun. It seems to be affecting my eyes today. I swear I have never had such a problem before. I probably have not had a use for my tear ducts since I can remember."

He laughed heartily and she finally turned to look at him with a smile on her face. He was not sure what he had done to make her smile, but he was glad she was smiling and looking at him. And oh was she a beauty! Her brown hair tumbled over her shoulders, surrounding her pale face. A face that held the most gorgeous brown eyes that were so rich in color it made his heart race.

When she noticed he was staring at her for an unforgivable amount of time, her cheeks turned to the most adorable shade of pink he had ever seen. Her gaze dropped to her lap in shyness. Oh, she was a lady, all right! He thought.

"So, will you tell me why you are crying?" he asked, squatting down beside her, so he could look into those brown eyes.

"It is nothing." She waved off.

"And that, you have told me. But I know it is something, for surely, a woman as beautiful as you would not be in distress over nothing. Is it not a risk to run out here and stand under the sun just to gain a freckle?" He cocked an eyebrow in questioning.

Growing up, he had known women – well, ladies of such nature detested natural accidents like freckles. He never understood it, then again, he never understood women.

She chuckled, and then sighed. "Not that I get too worked up about things such as freckles, but if you must know, my dearest friend arrived today. And I have been in love with him since childhood and for the first time since he returned; he has failed to acknowledge my existence."

It is always about a man, Jacob thought. "Might I ask your name, Miss?"

"Bella," she said.

"Ah, it perfectly fits your face." He smiled and was rewarded with her blush again. "Any man who does not see the beauty in this face, and one who causes tears on such a face, should not be regarded of importance."

"You will not understand. It is complicated," she replied, staring into the fields.

"It always is," he said. "I do not know much about love, but I believe that if it is difficult, then you are definitely not doing something right."

Bella provided no answer to that statement.

"Please, do come in and let me entertain you, seeing as how you have showed up at my door unexpectedly, I believe you are now my guest. My father will not be back until sunset," he said.

"I should go home." She stood up immediately. "My parents must be worried about my whereabouts," she said with a deep breath and his face fell. "But if I do return again, will I be welcomed?"

"Of course." The smile he wore was almost too wide for his face to contain. "Please, let me escort you home. A lady should not go anywhere without an escort. I will get my horse." He stood up and walked to the stables.

After a few minutes, he arrived with his brown horse, Warrior. "Did you walk all the way here?"

She shook her head. "I ran."

"He must have been an ugly gentleman for you to have covered such a distance," Jacob said, helping her mount the horse.

"He was extremely far from it," she replied, clinging to Jacob as they rode back into the main city.

~o~

Isabella had considered claiming to be further indisposed when she was summoned for dinner that evening. But alas, she found herself sitting in front of a table laid with an immaculate white table cloth upon which was the finest set of china in the Swan Manor. Isabella could not determine if it were for display or for aiding in the actual use of consumption.

Seated on her left was the young Edward Cullen, who she had not yet gained the pleasure of conversing with because he was completely besotted with Rosalie who sat on his left side. The food was delicious and the occupants of the dining table commented with delightfulness at the dishes that were served.

Her mother had been worried about her indisposition, especially after she had abruptly excused herself after the arrival of their guests. She kept pushing her to eat the delectable dishes that were set on the table but every time she wanted to push a fork of lamb into her mouth, Edward and Rosalie would burst into laughter over something that was utterly amusing.

Jealousy, an emotion that she had seldom felt or expressed, churned in her stomach when she descried that he had linked both of their hands surreptitiously under the table. She could not help but notice how his whole body had angled to Rosalie, and with a despondent sigh, she drank her wine and blamed herself. She was so grateful to her mother who helped in pulling his attention away from Rosalie when she inquired about his studies.

"So Edward, tell us about your education in England. How is learning under your father proving to be? I hope not too difficult," asked Renee, who was dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.

Edward laughed, and Isabella reveled in the sound. "Well, I find that working under my father, though arduous, is absolutely gratifying. I am not yet allowed to perform surgeries of any kind given the dangers that can be caused, but I have gathered a lot of knowledge."

"And could you please enlighten us with specific details?" Renee continued.

"I am delighted to say that I have learned the techniques of using *ligature in avoiding blood loss. Which is quite essential in medicine because when a patient loses blood there is no guarantee of survival, considering that we are yet to discover suitable methods for curing blood poisoning and blood loss can invariably lead to death. With the industrial revolution that occurred earlier in the nineteenth century, this medical problem has quite been prominent."

He sounded like he was reading from a medical journal, Isabella thought.

"Oh my! Now that definitely sounds like a successful student, Charlie! I am sure you will make a very remarkable doctor, Mr. Cullen," Renee commended. "Dr. Cullen must be very proud of you," she said, turning her attention to Carlisle who was looking at his son with profound admiration. "And what are your plans after you have become a well accomplished young man? Marriage, I hope. Such a man with an enormous skill and talent, with good prospects should not be wasted. You have considered the notion of a betrothal, have you not?"

Isabella thought that there could not be a better moment for the earth to open up and swallow her, saving her from having to hear Edward's intentions of marriage to Rosalie. She might have just choked at the thought of it.

"Yes, I have." Edward dropped his fork. "It was actually the main reason I came back from England."

"What joy!" Renee exclaimed in happiness, and Isabella thought that perhaps she had confused Edward as her child, for his betrothal was not going to benefit her, so she could not comprehend what brought on her excitement. "I am glad that, at least, some people still have the decency to follow tradition." At that statement, Renee shot a look toward Isabella's direction. "Hopeless fantasies such as love do not get people anywhere but to penury."

"I disagree, ma'am, I do believe that love is indispensable for one's marriage, for then how can that marriage ever thrive and last? I strongly believe it should be the foundation for marital bliss."

Renee could not contain her shock; she almost knocked her glass of wine from the table. Isabella stifled her laughter in her arm under the disguise of a cough. She received a glare from her mother, and then straightened her back and continued staring at her food.

"I am not sure I understand you correctly, Mr. Cullen. Surely, you cannot believe that love constitutes an importance in the nature of marital affairs. For if it were so, there would be no wealthy families. Our parents sought a companionship that could bring an advantage for their families. If they were chasing after their own hearts, they would have never achieved such a goal and we definitely would not be here eating such delicacies."

"Yes, but it would have been at the expense of their happiness," countered Edward, taking a sip of his wine. "For they would have been doomed in such circumstances even with the money. Money is temporary but love – when it is found in its true, pure state – is eternal."

When he finished his argument, Isabella glanced at his hand that was resting on the table. She wanted so badly to tell him that the love between them was true, and the love between Rosalie and him was just a façade because of his desire for beauty.

Silence fell upon the table as Renee looked at the man she had praised earlier with disbelief. Isabella was sure her mother no longer thought him to be so grand. Everyone had thought the discourse of love and betrothals had ended until Renee continued.

"Love presents a choice," she said, looking at no one in particular but at the table. "It is an undisciplined emotion that is absolutely reckless, not to talk of selfish." She picked up her knife and drove it into the meat in her plate and began to slice it – no, butcher it – with annoyance. "I doubt that a person should be given the advantage of rejecting husbands who are of superiority, gentlemen who are capable of providing comfort, stability and wealth that can support a family. Only God knows what Isabella requires of a man, perhaps being married to a pauper shall teach her that choice is definitely a curse as it is a blessing. When her father dies, who shall she depend on? She will have nothing and no one strong enough to fend for her. Love will not produce fine bread, nor will it provide the beautiful clothes that enhance her beauty, beauty that was given to her to attract noble men. She would be an old maiden who will not even be granted the liberty of dancing at balls. She would stand in the background and observe her mates with their husbands and what will she have? Nothing."

"Mother!" Isabella gasped.

And that was how the exquisite dinner ended before everyone moved to the drawing room. Isabella sat at the far end of the room, reading poetry while Rosalie and Edward sat at the pianoforte. He was trying to impress her with one of Mozart's pieces. Miss George – Edward's cousin – who was not used to the long duration of sea travel, found herself to still be slightly sea sick and was sleeping it off in her bedchamber. Her father had returned with Dr. Cullen to his study, where they discussed matters of importance. Her mother and Lady Cullen were engaged in a deep conversation about the upcoming ball for the arrival of the Cullens while throwing casual glances at the beloved couple near the piano.

Isabella's heart nearly stopped its rhythm when Edward began to play a familiar melody that she could play on the violin with her eyes closed, Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. She tried to focus on the words of John Keats but discovered that she could not concentrate until he had played the very last note.

After he had finished playing, Isabella decided that it was time to retire to her bedchamber for the night. She had had enough for one day and all her emotions were in such turmoil that being awake would definitely drive her into severe unconsciousness. She picked up her book and announced her retirement and left the drawing room.

"Bella." She was only halfway through the hallway when he called her name.

He approached her before she turned around to look at him. The gasoliers helped to illuminate his face and she could see that he looked quite concerned.

"I want to apologize for dinner. I believe it was I who caused the unnecessary discussion about your personal affairs and for that I am undoubtedly sorry," he said.

"You have no need to be troubled. I assure you that I am not, in the least bit, offended. My mother is usually strongly opinionated about matters concerning love and marriage, and this is not the first time she has spoken about it. In fact, I have found myself to be quite familiar with it. Thank you." She curtseyed and turned back to the direction of her bedchamber.

The last thing she wanted to do was to be stuck in his presence alone with no chaperone. Though as she walked back to her bedchamber, she could not help but feel that she had a chance to tell him about those letters. But what good would that do? She thought. He had just arrived on his first day here, and the last thing she wanted to cause him was any form of discomfort, not to talk of heartbreak. Perhaps, he would realize it sooner for himself. This was her hope.

"I cannot help but feel as if I have somehow offended you," he continued.

Isabella stopped and closed her eyes before drawing in a deep breath. "No, not at all," she said, turning her head to the side, in a way that she could not quite see him but she could know how close his presence was. For in a way, he had offended her from the first moment she saw him, and she could not blatantly lie to his face.

"Your actions contradict the aforementioned, I am afraid," he said, taking a few steps toward her. If she leaned backward, she would be able to fall in his arms. The thought almost made it hard for her to breathe. His proximity was making her insides squirm. She had to get away from him to gain some semblance of control.

"And what makes you believe so?" She took a few steps forward to right her senses. She wondered if he felt the tension, that particular tension that was causing her body to be as taut as a string of a tuned violin.

"Is my presence so insufferable that you choose to flee from it whenever you are permitted with the chance?"

Now, she was confused. Was he referring to the distance she took just now to get away from him? Or was this something entirely different?

"I hardly–" She swallowed.

"You have been avoiding me since I arrived. You left immediately before I could even converse with you. You have hardly emerged from your bedchamber since you came in with that–"

"Jacob?" she said, but her tone made it sound like a question.

"Yes. And you have refused to say a word to me, even before dinner, I approached you and you went in the other direction. After dinner, you excluded yourself and went to read in a little corner by yourself like an introvert. Albeit, I find it intriguing that you were reading a work of great poets–"

"How did you know what I was reading?" she asked, still refusing to turn around and look at him.

"It was on the cover of the book you raised high enough to obscure your face."

"Oh."

"Yes." He paused. "I know we have not contacted each other for years now, and it was improper of me to have neglected you in the past while I wrote to Rosalie, but I was hoping that you would not let that build a gap between us. We have always been very good friends, perhaps something even more–"

"More?" she interrupted.

"Yes, more. We are very close friends, and I would hate to lose such a valuable relationship just because of my disregard, so please tell me if I have offended you so I can make it right," he pleaded.

Isabella felt her heart plummet, metaphorically, to the ground. In an instant, he had raised her hopes high enough that they were almost reaching the heavens until he crushed them and everything went black. They had been very close friends until she fell in love with him, and nothing was more difficult than seeing him love someone else.

She heaved a heavy sigh. "Edward, I am not offended, only indisposed. I have to retire to bed. We will talk in the morning."

With that finality, she continued to her bedchamber, and Edward could not stop her to further protest for he was called by Lady Cullen to the drawing room.

~o~

"Edward is handsome!" Rosalie said, accompanying her compliment with a giggle as she brushed her hair. "You know, I never, ever, thought he would grow up into an absolutely handsome man. Not only handsome but someone who is aspiring to pursue the medical field. He will be making about three hundred to eight hundred pounds, granted it is not that much, but considering that he is the son of an aristocrat, adding that to his salary would be enough to have a very satisfied family," she said, turning to look at Isabella who was on her bed, reading her book of poetry. "And he kept talking about all those letters," Rose continued when she did not reply. "I was not even aware that he continued sending letters to me, even after I rejected him. It was kind of surprising when you told me. And though, I had no idea of what both of you could have possibly talked about while pretending to be me, I could only hope that my own pretense was enough to assure him that it was me. It was so difficult, Bella." She dropped the hair brush on the dressing table and walked over to the bed to sit directly in front of Isabella.

Bella kept silent as she turned the pages of her book with an impassive expression on her face.

"You are not in love with him, are you?" Rose asked suddenly and Bella's eyes flew to her face but Rose's eyes were on her lap, playing with the rope of her white nightgown. "Indisputably, a couple of letters that passed between two friends could not have possibly developed into a passionate tendre."

There was a silent question that hung in the air and was desperate for an answer, and if Rose had looked up, she would have seen her friend's face void of any controlled emotion, leaving only the pure reflection of love that was in Bella's heart.

"Rose," Bella started, thinking that perhaps the time had come to inform her of the truth. After all, they were best friends and they shared every secret apart from this particular one.

Nevertheless, whether Rose wanted to pretend that Bella never had such affections for Edward, or perhaps she simply could not have countenanced the notion that Bella could feel such an emotion that tore her parents apart, Bella did not know.

For once Rose had said the word, "Good," Bella knew that the conversation had been closed.

*Emilio Aguinaldo was the first president of the Philippines (which was later called the First Philippine Republic). His presidency ran from 1899 – 1901. He was captured by General Frederick Funston in 1901 before he surrendered to the US. However, some of his followers refused to surrender.

The Philippine-American War started in 1899 after the Spanish-American war and officially ended on July 4th, 1902. However, there were still some members of the Katipunan society (a Philippine revolutionary society) that were fighting the Americans which took place until 1913.

*Irreconcilables was a term used for the group that remained active during the war. They were from the remaining soldiers of the Katipunan society who continued to fight the United States Military.

*Ligature is the act of suturing.

(Cited from Wikipedia and other sources)

Author's Notes:

A huge thanks to my wonderful team for using their red pen and giving me suggestions for this chapter. They're all amazing.

Thank you dear, amazing readers for your patience, and also for reading this story. Let me know what you think.