Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the delayed update—I've been travelling in Europe for the past two weeks (Paris, Venice, Greece, oh my!), and only just returned home. I really should be writing a paper at the moment, but I'm not yet prepared to forfeit the remainder of my Easter holiday to academia. As usual, thank you so much for all of your terrific feedback! I really do love hearing from you guys, and am so happy to know that people are still enjoying this silly little romance. Happy belated Easter, and I hope spring has sprung for most of you (although it's still mostly cold and gray here in London)!


Hart House had not changed since Anne's visit on Thursday; indeed, why should it? It was only Anne herself who felt as though every thing was different now; it was only Anne herself who felt almost faint with nerves (for no real reason, she scolded herself) as she passed into the familiar vestibule, and was admitted into the familiar study.

Dr. Hart rose to meet her: still tall, still gray-haired, still cheerful, as he had been only two days ago. Anne greeted him with as much composure as she could manage, though she could not help finding some traces of his son's features within the gentleman's countenance, and found it rather more difficult than usual to meet his eyes.

"Head-aches again, Miss de Bourgh?" Dr. Hart asked mildly, preliminary greetings having been concluded, as he measured her pulse. "I am distressed to hear it, for you seemed to be feeling quite well when I saw you on Thursday."

"I believe I was, sir," Anne said quietly.

"Have there been any great changes since then? In either habits or attitudes," he added, at Anne's uncomprehending look. "Can you think of any event to which you might attribute these head-aches?—Has any thing occurred to worry or upset you?"

The answer was obvious, but Anne, uncertain how proper it would be to detail her family feuds to her physician, merely shook her head. "I have been retiring later than is my custom, and waking quite early," she said instead. "Do you think I might merely be suffering from a lack of rest?"

"That is certainly a possibility," Dr. Hart agreed, checking her temperature. "You seem to have no other symptoms: no fever, no increase or decrease in heart-rate, no change in your complexion. My recommendation, therefore, Miss de Bourgh, is a few days of rest; I would advise you to abstain from large parties and assemblies, and to retire at a more regular hour, though of course you should feel free to take any exercise of which you feel capable."

Anne nodded; yet she was not entirely satisfied, and began carefully framing a question to the doctor.

"If there was some thing which had upset me," she ventured warily, "and was depriving me of my peace of mind—if my head-aches were a matter of stress, and not simply a change in my sleeping habits, would your advice be any different?"

"Only slightly," the doctor said gently, meeting her eyes. "If your head-aches were due to some matter unresolved, then I should advise you to resolve it without hesitation."

"And if a resolution were not possible?" Anne said softly. "Pray do not tell me, sir," she added, with a sudden wave of irritability, "that every problem has a solution, for I shall not believe you."

"The thought had not crossed my mind, Miss de Bourgh," Dr. Hart replied with a slight smile. "It is an untrue statement, at any rate; as a physician, one learns early that there are some diseases that cannot be cured, and some men who cannot be prevailed upon to cure themselves. If you were faced with a problem with no answer, then I should advise you to take all the greater comfort in the happier aspects of your life.—I loved my wife very deeply, Miss de Bourgh, and her passing left me very low, and feeling, as I believed, utterly bereft. Yet I soon learned that this was not entirely true; for though I shall never again meet my Eleanor in this life, I have learned instead to find joy in the love and felicity of our children, who are her living memory and all the dearer to me for it. Do you take my meaning?"

Anne thought she did, but could not be entirely satisfied with it; for what had she to comfort her, in the certainty that Theodore was not to be her husband, and that Lady Catherine had already mentally married her to some insufficient Adlam or Dillingham? Yet she thanked Dr. Hart kindly for his advice and for his consenting to see her on such short notice, and proceeded into the sitting-room.

She found the two Miss Harts, both engaged in writing very diligently, with matching looks of concentration upon their faces. Rosamond, upon perceiving Anne's entrance, quickly laid aside her paper and pen and rose to meet her friend with warm affection.

"I did not know you were coming to see me to-day!" she exclaimed delightedly. "What an agreeable surprise this is!"

"I am glad you find it so," Anne replied, her spirits eased a little by her friend's kindness. "I had worried I might be imposing on you."

"That is quite impossible, dear Anne, for I like you too much to ever resent your company," Rosamond answered brightly. "Though I confess you have caught us quite unprepared to entertain.—I received a letter from Helena yesterday, and have been engaged most of the morning in composing my reply. And Juliet tells me she has been struck by inspiration, and is working very meticulously just now upon her latest work of artistic brilliance. Juliet, do not be ill-mannered, say hello to Miss de Bourgh."

Little Juliet, whose golden head had been bent over her paper, looked up quickly and afforded Anne a sweet, though distracted, smile, and a hurried greeting, before returning to her work. Rosamond sighed, though her large eyes bespoke some amusement.

"I suppose she will not be prevailed upon to curtsy," she remarked. "You know what these artistic temperaments are like. Well, it seems as though all of the courtesy of the house must fall upon my shoulders. Will you take tea, Miss Anne?"

Anne accepted gratefully. She did not know why, but Rosamond's customary amiability was more cherished by her to-day, than it had been on her last visit, as was the quiet comfort of the familiar sunlit sitting-room, and even the feel of the warm teacup in her hand. It was as though she had been starved of all of these things—or, more likely, as though her recent distress had simply made her more appreciative of the simple pleasures of Hart House.

"I hope you have not come to see my father because of some illness," Rosamond said after a moment.

"Not at all," Anne assured her. "Merely a head-ache." She hesitated for a moment, debating the propriety of her next words, but at last concluded that Rosamond was likely to hear the news anyway, being acquainted with both parties involved, and continued. "Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Finch have become engaged."

To her surprise, Rosamond merely laughed. "At last!" she exclaimed, raising her eyes heavenward.

"You expected this?"

"You did not?"

"I suppose—" Anne considered. "I suppose I did, though I never truly thought about it. I was not particularly shocked when I heard; they seem always to be together."

"And they always look more contented together than with any body else," Rosamond declared. "I think they shall make a wonderfully happy couple, and give every body else something to envy for the rest of their days. Their children can never be discontented with such good-natured parents."

"My cousin tells me I am to act as their spoiling aunt, for he has no sisters of his own," Anne said.

"You will fill that role very well," Rosamond assured her. "I suppose you will invite the little Fitzwilliams to Rosings Park every spring, and allow them to run wild over its grounds."

"I should enjoy that very much, but my mother will likely form some very strong objections," Anne admitted, smiling in spite of herself. "There has not been a child at Rosings since I myself was a girl, and I was always very quiet and serious, and never in any body's way."

"How different we must have been! For my brothers and sisters and I made all the noise we possibly could, and did our best to get in every body's way."

Looking at her friend, with her serene, pleasant manner, Anne found it difficult to imagine Rosamond ever being noisy, or wild; but at the same time, an image of five little blond creatures of varying sizes, all clever and lively and prone to affectionate bickering, entered her mind, and she was forced to concede that the Hart children had likely been quite a handful.

"Theo was our ringleader, of course," Rosamond continued. "He will deny it—he will claim that it was Helena, or even Robert and I, who caused the most trouble, but you musn't believe a word he says."

The mention of Theodore caused Anne some momentary alarm, for which she scolded herself inwardly. "Where is Mr. Hart?" she asked carefully, attempting to seem quite unconcerned.

"He has been studying all the morning, but has promised to take a respite and attend me to the Pump-room," Rosamond replied lightly. "You are very welcome to join us, if you like. We should greatly enjoy your company."

Anne's heart pounded. She had no desire to see Theodore, and yet, at the same time, her desire to see him was quite overwhelming. She was ecstatic and terrified at the idea of his company. She almost could not breathe—

"Another cup of tea?" Rosamond asked, smiling at her.

"Thank you," Anne managed.


It was perhaps not entirely prudent for Anne to make her way to the Pump-room on Theodore Hart's arm, given the likelihood of this information reaching Lady Catherine through her gossiping friends; yet Anne could not help indulging herself, in the knowledge that she could never have Theodore the way she wished, by accepting the small gallantries he paid her. Besides which, she defended herself, there was no impropriety in being on his arm, with his sister on the other.

Yet she found his company an exquisite torment, if the author may be permitted to use such a romantic term. Nothing had changed in Theodore's manner; he was as amiable, as teasing, as he had ever been, yet Anne felt as though she was hearing every thing he said twice over. She could not help imagining signs of partiality where he assuredly did not show them, and then finding equally invisible markers of his indifference to her. Perhaps most torturous was her own reaction to his company, for now she felt doubly conscious of every thing she said, and every phrase sounded, to her ears, common, dull, vulgar, and utterly without charm. She spoke with such horror of his thinking her quite stupid, that she quickly found it easier not to speak at all, and began meeting his words only with blushes and unconvincing smiles. Their conversations, then, had fallen back into the excruciating awkwardness of the very beginning of their acquaintance.

"I hope I find you well, Miss Anne," Theodore greeted her, smiling as ever, when he joined the two ladies in the sitting-room.

"Very well, sir," she replied quietly, her eyes on her lap.

"Still enjoying our spring, I hope? It is a prodigious fine one; I suspect our Somersetshire weather is putting on a show, simply because you are here."

Anne merely blushed, and smiled.

"Anne was just telling me of Colonel Fitzwilliam's engagement to Miss Finch," Rosamond said, after a pause. "Although I suppose you may have heard of it already, from the gentleman himself."

"I had not heard—that is cheering news! I declare he has been quite mad with love for her as long as I have known him," Theodore replied, smiling.

"How sentimental you are, brother!" Rosamond laughed. "I suppose one cannot be in love, in your estimation, without being mad with love."

"Certainly not; it is quite possible for one to be perfectly sensible in love, but it is far less satisfying, and not at all the thing. I swear I shall never act so myself."

"It should not be difficult, for you are almost never sensible in general," Rosamond teased.

"And see how happy I am! Why any body should prefer sense over sentiment is quite beyond my comprehension. Do you not agree, Miss de Bourgh?"

Anne was silent, but blushed quite profusely. Theodore's talking of love and lovers was almost too much for her. Her eyes still cast downwards, she did not notice the look of slight confusion that passed over Mr. Hart's face at her failure to respond.

"You hardly speak like a lawyer," Rosamond remarked to her brother as the party moved into the vestibule.

"Do not talk to me of lawyers just now, Rose, for I've spent the past several hours attempting to become one."

Rosamond laughed again. The young ladies donned their gloves, spencers and caps, and the gentleman his riding-coat, before emerging from Hart House into the brisk spring air, and turning their steps toward the Pump-room.

Anne did not find social grace any easier to attain once they had arrived, and promenaded with the Harts in almost complete silence, capable only of responding with "Indeed" when appealed to by either brother or sister. Her discomfiture soon seemed to spread to Theodore, who grew rather noticeably less lively, until Rosamond suggested they sit. A seat being found and procured, Theodore saw some friends across the room, and parted from his sister and Anne in order to greet them. This left the two young ladies alone, and Anne, though sorely missing Theodore's company (however little she was allowing herself to enjoy it), found herself rather relieved.

Her relief was not to last long, however, for, having smiled and nodded at some acquaintance who passed by, Rosamond turned to Anne and asked quietly, "Has your head-ache returned?"

"My head-ache? No, I feel quite well," Anne replied, confused.

"I am glad to hear it. It is only that you seem rather out of sorts."

"Do I? I am sorry."

"You mustn't apologize," Rosamond said gently. She bit her lip, hesitating, and then went on: "I am sorry if my brother has offended you in some way; I am sure, whatever foolish or unthinking thing he may have said to upset you, it was unintentional."

"Mr. Hart has said nothing amiss," Anne assured her, her blush returning.

"I am glad to hear it," Rosamond repeated. "I had thought, perhaps, he had been—too bold. It is a fault of his. As he said, he sometimes acts more upon sentiment than sense."

Anne did not entirely understand this remark, but had no time to question her friend further, as their tête-à-tête was interrupted by a declaration of "Dearest Rose!" and the arrival of Adele Cates.

"And Miss de Bourgh," Miss Cates added, affording Anne a smile that was closer to a smirk. "How charming you both look!"

"That is very kind of you, Adele."

"I hope you two have not been talking of books again; I declare, it seems to be the only subject upon which you ever converse," Miss Cates laughed, taking a seat at Rosamond's side.

"That is hardly true."

"Indeed? Perhaps I have simply been unfortunate, then, in what I have overheard of your conversations. I am glad to hear that your friendship has a deeper basis than a preference for novels over history, and the Gothic over the Romantic."

Rosamond's eyes narrowed and for a moment, to Anne's surprise, she looked almost angry—an emotion which Anne could hardly have attributed to her sweet-natured friend. Yet she recovered her smile swiftly, as Theodore approached once more and, having bowed to Miss Cates, sat down on Anne's other side.

"Every body is discussing Fitzwilliam and his bride," he reported, his good humor apparently regained. "I suppose it has been some time, hasn't it, since we have had an engagement to talk about. Yet this one is something of a disappointment, in that it has been widely expected and there is nothing scandalous about it."

"A shame indeed," Rosamond laughed. "But at least we may wish them well, without the slightest hint of irony."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam is your cousin, is he not, Miss de Bourgh?" Miss Cates asked, with studied innocence.

"He is," Anne replied warily.

"I imagine you must be very pleased for his good fortune," Miss Cates continued.

"I am very happy for him. I cannot recall the last time I saw Fitzwilliam so merry," Anne admitted, an unconscious smile crossing her face.

"And your mother, I imagine, must be very pleased indeed. Shall you attend the wedding?"

Anne hesitated. "My mother," she said carefully, "is not quite as happy with the arrangement. She may not be present at the event; but I have every hope of being so."

"I suppose," Miss Cates said thoughtfully, "such a connexion as Constance Finch can hardly be advantageous for the exalted family of Lady Catherine de Bourgh."

Anne, her face growing warm, did not reply. "Adele," Rosamond said softly, a tone of warning in her voice.

"Are these the grounds upon which your mother objects to Colonel Fitzwilliam's marriage? After all, Miss Finch is of no great family, and certainly no great fortune."

"Adele, really," Rosamond hissed. Anne, who could see quite clearly where Miss Cates' conversation was tending, was startled to find herself suddenly rather near tears. Had she not cried enough already?

"I believe I have heard that your mother, Miss de Bourgh, rather disapproves of such marriages—when one party is so far superior to the other, in fortune and standing. I imagine her Ladyship would not allow you to make such a match."

"Lord, Adele," Theodore broke in, sounding quite impatient. "You attacked me on Thursday, and now you have shifted your sights onto poor Miss Anne, who, I imagine, thinks little more of marrying than I do. When shall it be Rosamond's turn, and Robert's? I do hope you will give Juliet at least a few years before you begin to assail her."

"I do not take your meaning, Theodore," Miss Cates said pleasantly, her eyes still on Anne.

"It seems as though you only ever talk of marriages, and there are so many other topics to choose from: the weather, the Season, balls, parties—"

"Books," Rosamond chimed in.

Miss Cates gave Theodore a charming smile, though she could not entirely keep the frustration from her features. "Can you blame a young lady of my age, for being preoccupied with a subject that is so crucial to my sex? All the subjects you mentioned are so very trifling and meaningless. I would rather talk of marriages than of nothing."

"And I would rather talk of nothing than of marriages," Theodore retorted.

"Let us talk of nothing, then," Rosamond declared cheerfully. "I believe we are quite adept at it."

"Miss de Bourgh must choose a subject," Theodore decided, "for she is our Adele's most recent victim."

"Oh really, Adele," Rosamond chided, for Miss Cates was frowning. "We are only teasing."

Anne blushed to find Theodore's eyes suddenly upon her, and was horrified to find that the entire English language appeared to have fled her mind. She cast about wildly for a subject—something to make her appear clever, and witty, and vivacious—but of course no such miraculous topic appeared to her, and at last she was forced to spit out the first word that came to her mind: "Flowers."

"Flowers," Theodore repeated grandly.

"I wonder what sort of flowers Miss Finch will have at her wedding," Rosamond mused. "I'm joking, Theo," she added, laughing, at her brother's black look.

"Did you know, Miss de Bourgh," Theodore said, turning to her, "that my sister Rose has, quite paradoxically, a deep hatred of roses? She refuses to allow them in our garden, though every body else on our street has planted rosebushes beside their front gate. Rose insists on bleeding-hearts instead."

"I do not hate roses," Rosamond exclaimed. "I am merely grown very sick of them.—After a lifetime of living in a room papered with roses, and sleeping beneath a quilt embroidered with roses, and only ever being given roses, because every body thinks it such clever word-play, the charm tends to fade."

"Roses are beautiful flowers," Theodore declared, "and yours is an unwarranted prejudice."

"It is not the roses themselves I dislike," Rosamond argued, "only that their name is forever connected with mine. If my name were Violet, I imagine I should adore roses as much as any other person."

"'That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,'" Anne said, surprising even herself. "But I do not know, Rosamond, whether you or the flowers have the greater claim to the word."

"The flowers, to be sure," Theodore said with certainty. "For there have always been roses upon the earth, while there has only been a Rosamond for the past eighteen years or so. Besides which, your name is not even Rose, if we are to be entirely accurate. That is only what we call you when we are too tired or impatient to say the full word. I have exhausted all my wit upon flowers, now, Miss Anne, and you must choose another topic for us."

His eyes and smile were upon Anne once more, and she felt again the same panic; yet his attention was almost as pleasing, as it was terrifying.

"Pray do not choose a subject that will give my brother another opportunity to mock me," Rosamond requested.

"I shall find it very difficult to choose a topic, then," Anne said, smiling, and feeling rather easier than she had all morning, "for I have heard that that is a particular talent of brothers."

Theodore smiled, and Rosamond laughed; only Miss Cates, who had very little share in the conversation, seemed displeased. Anne chose the topic of balls, which Theodore declared an event only useful for the gossip it produced, and generally spent in the anticipation of whatever scandals might occur.

"No body goes to a ball simply to go to a ball," he stated. "One goes to a ball only to be able to talk about it the next day."

"Perhaps that is why you go to balls; I go to meet my friends, and to dance," Miss Cates exclaimed.

"That can be done at any assembly where there happens to be a pianoforte and roughly equal numbers of willing ladies and gentlemen. Balls are quite different; they are for the purpose of watching every body else, in case any thing should happen, and of course with every body engaged in watching, nothing ever does happen."

"Do you argue, then, that people do not watch each other at dinner-parties, and card-parties, and at the theatre, and even here in the Pump-room? Every body who passes by us is peering at us, and even though we pretend to be absorbed in conversation, each of us is peering at the passers-by. People are always watching each other, not only at balls," Rosamond said.

"I did not say it was only at balls."

"But you did say," Anne ventured, "that that was the purpose of a ball; is it not the purpose of a public place in general? There must be more to a ball, or it would be the same as the Pump-room, or a card-party."

"Oh! La, my head is in such a muddle, with all this talking," Miss Cates declared. She was smiling, yet there was clear irritation in her eyes. "You must excuse me.—I shall call on you tomorrow, Rose."

"I look forward to it," Rosamond assured her brightly. Miss Cates rose, curtsied, and was gone. Anne could not help her relief, though she endeavored to hide it, out of respect to Rosamond.

"You have made a very good argument just now, Miss Anne," Theodore said admiringly (Anne felt a momentary thrill of pride), "and I confess I cannot counter it. Will you select another topic?"

They passed their time in the Pump-room in this agreeable fashion, Anne choosing subjects and the Harts discoursing upon them, often appealing to her for support, which she gave more comfortably than she had earlier, even making her own arguments from time to time. She was pleased to find that Theodore Hart's company was, in fact, the best cure for the bashfulness which the idea of his company had induced. By the time Colonel Fitzwilliam and the Darcy ladies entered the Pump-room, and joined their party (putting an end to their game, in favor of more commonplace conversation), she had almost regained the ease which she had formerly felt at his side, though she could not avoid a certain amount of awkwardness.

And yet—

There were moments when he glanced at her, when she imagined his glance both lingering and disinterested; moments when he smiled, and she was almost overwhelmed by the longing within her; moments when he laughed at some thing his sister had said, and she wished desperately that she had been the one to say it. His society was somehow both soothing and heartbreaking, for she felt at once how happy she should be with him, and how impossible that happiness was.