Good Morning, Lovelies!

Thank you so much for the patience. I have been unbelievably sick and absolutely unable to get any work done for weeks now. But I am back on my feet, so posting should resume as normal!

Thank you to Mel and Pamela!

XII

ROSALIE

3 July 1897

London, England

It isn't until supper the evening after the ball that anyone realizes Edward is missing. I've been avoiding him, angry with his foolishness at inviting that girl last night when he was meant to be working, meeting his bride-to-be, and charming foreign dignitaries. That was his job, and yet, it was I who had done most of the work.

The men last night had been foul, callously disregarding me and my opinion, and yet, I'd entertained them with grace and poise, as was my duty.

Edward has it so much easier than me, and for him to shirk his responsibilities ignites a fury in me.

What I wouldn't give to be handed the same opportunities as my brother has had.

By the time supper comes around, I'm no less angry, though admittedly, I have found resignation over the matter. I can no more expect my brother to change than a tiger can change its stripes.

Both Father and Mother are in the dining hall when I arrive, seated leagues apart from one another as they always are. Mother has a cocktail in her hand, her plate of food untouched.

I take my seat, gently fluffing my skirt as I sink into the chair so it won't rumple. Across the table, there are two empty seats, one for Edward and one for Liam.

Liam is the only non-family member who has ever been invited to dine with us so informally. He's been a part of our household for years now, and I would be inclined to think of him as a second brother, if not for the fact that I am hopelessly in love with him.

I wonder sometimes if he shares my affections, but he is simply so charming that it's hard to tell one way or another. I've never spoken about my feelings, and I pray that they remain a secret between God and me. I know nothing could ever come of it. Liam, though charming and witty, has no title, no money, and no connections. Perhaps when Edward marries the Russian duchess, Father will grow more lax with whom I am to marry, but I find it unlikely he would grow indifferent enough to consider Liam.

It is an impossible situation, one that I desperately try to talk myself out of almost daily.

Liam saunters into the dining room, and both Mother and Father look up at him as he enters. No one blinked when I slipped in.

"Evening, Your Graces," Liam says with a flourishing bow toward my parents. Father sniffs, which is as good as an approval as anyone could hope for, and Mother grins, motioning Liam to the table.

"Such formality," Mother chides lightly. "Liam, you are family, remember?"

Liam gives Mother a tight smile. No matter how often Mother says that, everyone knows Liam could never be true family to us.

"Where is Edward?" Father asks, picking up his drink.

At once, Liam and I look to the empty seat beside him. "I thought he'd come down," Liam says, sounding surprised. "Shall I see if I can fetch him?"

Father waves him off, motioning for a maid to look for my brother. He's likely sulking in his room, ever one for dramatics.

"What did you think of the party last night?" Mother asks, and I glance at her to see her eyes on Liam. Though he was not raised in this life, Liam has had a shockingly good intuition for it. Almost always, he can cut through to the core of social events and examine them shrewdly and without prejudice.

It's impressive every time I see him at it.

"Oh, Your Graces should be proud," Liam says, looking at Mother before turning to Father. "A triumph if ever I have seen one."

Mother preens under the praise, sipping the last of her drink. A servant is there in a moment, replacing the cocktail for her.

"Yes, everyone who was needed was in attendance," Father agrees.

Liam sighs. "If only, the evening had not been marred by the grand duchess's scandal."

We all freeze, eyes on Liam. "Go on," Father urges.

Liam clears his throat. "I found the grand duchess in the coat closet with a valet," he says, sounding burdened by the news. "It was quite a compromising position."

Mother gasps, a hand flying to her mouth, though I can see the tiniest hint of a smile playing at the edges of her lips. Mother loves gossip.

"The grand duchess?" Father asks, and his voice has turned to steel. "Grand Duchess Tatiana?"

Liam nods. "Indeed. Unfortunately, I was with one of the queen's men, or else I might have been able to turn a blind eye, for the sake of your family," Liam says, sounding repentant.

Father's fist finds the table, and we all jump in surprise. He lets out a swear that makes Mother gasp his name in admonishment.

"Edward can't marry her now," Father says, his voice furious. "It would set us back completely."

"Darling, I agree," Mother says, picking up her glass. "The scandal." She shivers before she finishes off the drink. I wonder as her drink is refilled, if this is the third or more for her tonight.

Before anyone can go on about the grand duchess's indiscretions, the maid comes back into the dining hall. "Your Grace," she says with a curtsy. "Your son was not in his rooms, though this note was left on his desk." She hands Father a letter before scurrying away.

Father frowns, pulling the parchment open, and immediately I get a sick, twisting feeling in my stomach.

A moment later, Father is letting out a terrible roar of anger, knocking over plates and glasses before him. "The little bastard has eloped!"

I really do think Mother will faint from the shock. That, and the copious amounts of alcohol in her body.

"What?" I ask, feeling breathless. It's like Father has struck me in the chest with this news.

"He's met a woman, and he shall have none other. They've eloped and will send word once they are settled," Father hisses angrily.

My heart sinks as I think about the girl at the ball last night. The one Edward had been fool enough to invite.

No, no, no, no.

"Sir," Liam says slowly. "Are you certain that is Edward's writing? This seems as if some ill-conceived joke."

Father thrusts the paper at him. "My idiot son," he snarls, rising from the table. He storms off toward his study, leaving the rest of us at the table, food untouched.

"Oh, my poor boy," Mother cries, bringing a hand to her forehead. "I must lie down."

She picks up her drink, and without a glance back, leaves the table.

I look across at Liam, who is reading over Edward's letter with a frown.

"Did you know?" I ask, my stomach feeling like a pit.

Liam looks up from the parchment. "Did I know your brother was eloping?" he asks, holding up the letter.

I nod.

Liam looks down at the letter again. "He said nothing to me," he says softly, and I wonder for a moment if that's hurt I can hear in his voice, or a very good performance. Liam and Edward are best friends, thick as thieves. It seems unlikely Edward would do something like this without Liam knowing.

But right in front of me, Liam looks so lost and confused I can't help but believe him to be authentic.

"Edward is a fool," I say, before shaking my head, unexpected tears welling. I am so angry at him. He should be here to face his responsibilities, as is his birthright. He should be here, not with some woman he hardly knows.

My mind begins to race, running in circles. Now that Father cannot further our political alliances through Edward, he'll turn his attention to me.

Any threadbare hopes I had of ever being with Liam are suddenly dashed. The family legacy now sits upon my shoulders, my burden to bear all because of my selfish brother.

…

It is a horrible night, followed by a somber morning. Mother has not left her salon, and Father has been shouting at anyone who comes near him. I am furious, of course, but beyond my anger, I am deeply hurt by Edward's actions. I had hoped my brother would have thought more of our relationship than this. I would never have approved, but I still would have liked the courtesy of him telling me himself that he was leaving.

His silence has wounded me.

It is late afternoon the following day when a stranger comes to the doors. One of the maids comes to fetch me to receive our visitor, producing a card with a name I do not know. Jasper Whitlock.

I am in no mood to entertain; however, I straighten my spine and descend to the parlor, a practiced patience on my face.

The young man standing in the room looks familiar—though he is faced partially away from me, gazing at a portrait above the mantel—and it takes me a moment to realize who he is. "You were a companion of Miss Swan," I say by way of greeting.

He whirls around, looking startled. "Yes," he says, removing his hat sheepishly. "Forgive the intrusion, my lady, but I had a book that your brother lent me and—"

"Where is my brother?" I demand, cutting him off.

Mr. Whitlock blinks. He doesn't know me. I only saw him through the window as Edward had taken Miss Swan home the other day.

"I don't think…"

He stops, hesitating, and I realize I need to regather myself. It is not in my nature to try to be sweet and winsome to gain information. I favor the direct approach but seldom has this aided me. I try to picture how Liam might charm him, and I take a breath.

"My apologies," I say, my voice turning saccharine. "Would you care to sit? Can I get you a drink?"

He blinks at me in surprise before hesitantly sinking onto one of the leather chairs. "Perhaps a cup of tea?" he asks.

I turn and motion to a maid who is standing patiently at the door. She dips her head in acknowledgement before leaving the room. I turn back to the man and offer him a smile. "I'm sorry. I don't believe we've been formally introduced," I say. "Rosalie Cullen."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady," he says, with another dip of his head. I take a breath, trying desperately to remain calm and sweet.

It rubs against my very nature.

"Mr. Whitlock," I say, staying mindful to keep my voice soft. "You said you were returning a book?"

Mr. Whitlock nods, producing a slim volume and setting it on the table in front of him.

"Your brother lent it to me the other day. I felt it my duty to return it promptly."

I stare at the brown cover, trying to figure out if I've ever seen it before. I can't recall, though undoubtedly it has come from our collection.

I look up at Mr. Whitlock. "Thank you for its safe return."

One of the maids bustles into the room then, gingerly setting up tea. I carefully serve Mr. Whitlock a cup before helping myself.

"Do you know Miss Swan well?" I ask, trying to feign nonchalance as I bring the cup to my lips. Mr. Whitlock hestates, fidgeting in his seat.

"No," he says finally. "She is a recent acquaintance."

I take a sip of my tea, mulling the information over before I nod. "I see," I say slowly. "How did you two meet?"

Mr. Whitlock looks uncomfortable, but he lets out a breath before taking a drink of the tea. "She's a boarder," he says, lowering the cup from his mouth. "An unofficial ward of my landlady."

The more I learn of this Miss Swan, the less I like. "Is she new to town?" I ask, trying to keep my tone light.

Mr. Whitlock nods. "Indeed. She only arrived from Sheffield a few days ago."

He must be relaxing around me, I can see his shoulders dropping, and his words are coming out smoother, less strangled.

"What brought her to London?" I ask, setting my teacup down.

"I don't know," he says with a shake of his head. His blond hair flops forward into his eyes and he hastily reaches up to push it back. "As I said, I do not know her well."

My lips purse.

I would die before confessing to this stranger the scandal Edward has brought on this family, but it is my intuition that Mr. Whitlock knows my brother's whereabouts.

At the very least, he must have a sense of them.

Verbal games are not my forte. Liam is best at them, though Edward himself has picked up a few tricks. I don't know how to be indirect while still landing my inquiry appropriately.

It seems my silent internal struggle is enough though, because soon, Mr. Whitlock is setting down his teacup.

"I can't tell you where they've gone," he says softly. "I promised I wouldn't."

My mouth turns sour. That this stranger would promise my own brother to keep his location hidden from me…

"All I want," I say, taking a breath to steady my voice. "Is assurance that my brother will be safe."

It's mostly the truth, though it is not even close to the extent of what I want right now. But I think confessing a need to box my brother's ears might make Mr. Whitlock scurry out of here in horror.

Mr. Whitlock lets out a heavy sigh. "He's assured me he will be," he says slowly. "He's gone to stay with family. I don't know who. And he's confident that they will be fine."

Mr. Whitlock has unwittingly given me everything I need. We have family all over, but there is only one member of our family that Edward would ever turn to.

I try not to look victorious as I nod. "Thank you," I say softly. "If you hear from him, please let him know that his family is worried and that we want to talk with him."

I'm losing my patience, but it doesn't matter. Mr. Whitlock is gathering his hat, his fingers dancing nervously around the brim.

"I will," he says with a single nod. "Thank you for the tea, Lady Cullen." He dips his head before standing.

I rise across from him. "Thank you for returning our book." I motion to it where it is still on the table between us. Mr. Whitlock looks at it once before giving me a thin smile. I motion for a maid to see him to the door, and when he's finally gone, I sink back down onto my seat.

Edward has gone to India, he must have. He's always favored our father's brother, even though our uncle has turned his back on the title and status that was his birthright. He's the black sheep, the shame we've hidden from anyone of standing.

Of course, Edward would go to him.

I stand, wondering if I should take this information to my father. Surely he would drag Edward back home the moment he discovered his whereabouts. Maybe we could pass this all off completely, never let it be known the temporary insanity my brother is currently suffering.

I hesitate, sitting back down again. On the other hand, with Edward gone, there is a chance for me to finally have some semblance of importance. Perhaps I could aid Father's campaigns, prove to him once and for all that I am more than a contingency plan, that I am someone of value, an asset to his will.

Maybe finally it is my turn to gain power.