Rosalie sat by the campfire, holding the gold and emerald ring George gave her two days ago. She hadn't seen him since then, since neither she nor he had asked to speak. He was true to his word about giving her space to think. Even with the extra time she had no idea what to do with his proposal.
George was a good man. There was no doubt about that. She enjoyed his company, and he had been nothing but kind to her. He got along with her family… well, her mother's family… and he always went out of his way to make her feel comfortable. That was more than a lot of women could ask for. Many women her age married men for economic purposes, and were stuck with men who treated them poorly or simply like a roommate. She knew if she married George, he would treat her well, and they would enjoy their time together.
But did she love him?
Rosalie grimaced, staring down at the ring.
George was one for surprises, that was for certain.
"That's a mighty fine ring you got there," Hosea said with a deep sigh, easing himself onto the log she leaned against.
Rosalie sat on the ground with her back against the log, one knee kicked up and the other stretched out in front of her. She grimaced at Hosea's comment, throwing her arm over her knee. "Yeah, it is." She agreed.
The crackling fire filled the silence.
John was snoring in his shared tent with Arthur. Once again, Arthur wasn't at camp, probably off with Mary. Not that it even mattered too much. If Rosalie thought too long about what Arthur was up to with Mary she was sure to throw up.
"George asked me to marry him," Rosalie said suddenly, her gaze still trained on the ring.
Hosea raised a brow. "Oh?"
"I don't know what I'm going to do," Rosalie confessed, spinning the ring between her fingers. "I… I don't know. He's a good man, but I didn't expect him to ask me. He said he wanted me to stay here, and build a life with him. That he would take care of me. But I… I just don't know."
"Ah, you're considering marrying him for his money, is that it?" Hosea asked with a small, teasing smile.
Rosalie snorted. "If only it was that. Would make it easier if I was a greedy, angry woman who would marry him just for the high society life." She frowned. "He's a good man."
Hosea let out a deep sigh and placed his hand on his knee, rubbing it out. His brows knit in thought, the fine lines in his face wrinkling. "Well, I think if you choose to marry this man, it would be a good opportunity for you. A comfortable life, but that's only if you want one. I married a woman I loved a long, long time ago, and our marriage was a stressful one, despite the love we had for each other. It was mostly due to my stubbornness, and how I couldn't sit still. Bessie knew that I needed somethin' more, and I couldn't be contained to the house n' live a normal life. And I… reckon you are the same way." He said, glancing at her
Rosalie frowned, mulling over his words.
It was the same concept Rosalie had considered before when she discussed marriage with Isabella. The homemaker life was not something Rosalie was built for. She had never lived in a stable home, so to do so now would feel… strange. She liked to be free to go where she wanted when she wanted. If she married into the high society life, she knew she would have to give it up. There would be certain responsibilities a wealthy woman would have to take on, such as attending expensive parties or meeting with the wives of George's various business partners.
"I think it's also important to consider if you love this man," Hosea added. "It ain't the 1840s anymore. You're also in a different position than most women, as you're not livin' with a father who pawns you off to a family for economic purposes. If you wanna marry someone, it'll be because you chose to. I would advise you to marry him only if you love him."
Hosea gave her a knowing look, "...and if you don't have feelings for someone else."
Rosalie let out a breathy laugh and shook her head. She curled the ring in her fist and dropped her hand against her leg. "It doesn't matter if I have feelings for someone else. He doesn't care about me." She said, knowing already who Hosea was talking about without him even needing to say his name.
"I don't know what that boy wants sometimes," Hosea said. "I reckon he's in the same boat as you, but he's blinded by young love. As Susan said before, Arthur is a boy who needs to be free, and I ain't sure Mary is a woman who will let her man do that. I'm not saying that he should choose you over her or that you should be together, but I know for certain that if you have feelings for that boy, you should not marry George." He said.
"What Arthur chooses to do is irrelevant," Hosea added. "But you gotta think about yourself and what you want."
Rosalie frowned, unsure what she was to say in response to him.
It was true that she cared for Arthur. She cared about that man a lot, but her heart had grown cold and angry since he began spending time with Mary. Rosalie felt like a fool for thinking there was anything romantic occurring.
She thought they had something between them or at least the beginnings of something, but it obviously wasn't enough, as Mary had captivated his attention from the moment he met her. If he cared about Rosalie in that way, their relationship would have blossomed the moment they met as it had Mary.
Then, along came George, who was kind, had a good sense of humor, and did anything he could to make her comfortable. He took time out of his busy schedule to see her often and take her to places she'd never been.
But Rosalie didn't love him. She didn't have any romantic feelings for him, really. All she felt for him was a familiar fondness of a true, good friend. He had shown her kindness, and nothing could compare to the companionship he had offered. Hell, he had gone out of his way to find her father's guitar. Her father's long-lost possession meant the world to Rosalie, as now she had a piece of him to help comfort her when she missed him so much that her heart ached.
But despite all these kind acts, Rosalie didn't love him.
Hosea patted her on the shoulder and got to his feet with a deep groan. "Ah, but I think I've given you enough to think about." He said, giving her a nod, before turning and making his way to his tent.
Rosalie sighed and slid the ring into her pocket. She placed a cigarette between her lips and pulled out a match, striking it against her boot before holding it to the bud. Once it began to smoke, she pulled the match away and shook it out, before tossing it into the fire. The cicadas sang in the background as she pulled the cigarette from her lips with a slow drag of smoke.
It was all so difficult. She wished Arthur cared about her, or she wished she cared about George in that way. Rosalie wished she could find joy in the concept of high society life, but it was the complete opposite of anything she ever wanted.
Sometimes she even played with the idea of getting on Blitz and riding far, far into the west, just as her father wanted for her. Or maybe she would head north to Canada, or South to Mexico. She would be fine to just go anywhere, really.
Ugh, she didn't know what she wanted, but sitting still was not something she was capable of. Her, in a big, fancy house, dressed in clothes of fine lace and silk? Rosalie liked nice things, and she always liked to put together a nice outfit, but to be paraded around in it was another thing entirely.
Conversations about high society topics with other fancy ladies… she would be a big joke, and she didn't hold enough love for George to put herself through that.
The next morning, Rosalie got up early, woken by her furious tossing and turning. To calm herself in the early morning, the sun barely coming over the horizon as the birds chirped, she strummed her father's guitar outside her tent. It was a gentle melody that her father used to play, and she allowed herself to hum gently as she ran her fingers over the strings.
Woken by her playing, John came out of his tent with a big yawn, his arms stretched high above his head. His long brown hair was messy and wild, wearing his union suit as he meandered over to her.
John dropped to the grass in front of her and hugged his knees to his chest. He set his chin on his knees and watched her play, his eyelids still drooping with sleep.
Rosalie paused her strumming and smiled at him. "Hey, sleepyhead."
"Hey," He murmured, "What are you doin'?"
"Just playing for a bit," She answered. "Can't sleep."
"Seems like you always can't sleep," John said.
Rosalie snorted. "Yeah, it does."
John yawned and rubbed his eyes. "What are you up to today?" He asked, fighting off another yawn.
Rosalie smiled sadly at him. "Ah… I got some business in town… I'm meeting George Langley at his house later. Have something to talk to him about."
John seemed to deflate at this. "Alright then."
Rosalie pursed her lips and eyed his sad face. She rocked back and forth, patting the sound hole of her guitar idly as she mulled over her thoughts. Shrugging, she gave him a small smile. "If you wanna come with me, maybe we can see what they have downtown? Get you a new gun holster maybe?" She suggested.
John perked up, suddenly wide awake. His brown eyes were hopeful as he looked at her with a bright grin. "Really?!" He asked.
Rosalie's smile turned warm. "Sure."
Later that morning Rosalie rode into town on Blitz, John saddled behind her as she made her way down the street. She squinted from the bright sun, her face twisting as a bead of sweat ran down the back of her neck.
Even with her hat and pulling her hair out of her face in a half-up-half-down twist, it was still wicked hot in Louisiana. Lemoyne weather was terrible and Rosalie couldn't wait to leave the state. The heat itself wasn't the bad part, but the muggy, thickness of the air made it feel like her clothes were sticking to her skin. It was disgusting.
Rosalie came to a stop as she turned onto the strip of downtown New Orleans. She slid off the saddle and hitched Blitz there, afraid of running people over if she continued down the cobblestone street on him. John dropped off the saddle beside her. He looked around with wide eyes, excited about their shopping trip.
The street was littered with various shops and smelled of food. Aromas of spices, sweets, and fried goods filled the air. People walked up and down the street, women waving fans at their faces in an attempt to keep cool as men pushed up their shirt sleeves. Music came from somewhere, but Rosalie couldn't find the location. At the end of the street was a bubbling fountain leading to the iron-gated City Park she had strolled through with George.
"Let's go, John," Rosalie said, walking down the street toward the first gunsmith she saw.
John hurried after her, his little legs fighting to keep up. Though Rosalie wondered how much longer it would stay that way. She was tall for a woman, about 5'8, but John was sure to be growing like a weed soon. He wouldn't be so short for long.
Rosalie ruffled his hair as they neared the store. They climbed the steps, the brick steps clicking under their boots.
"You want brown leather, or you thinkin' black?" Rosalie asked, opening the door for him.
"Uh, I dunno. Brown?" He said, walking inside with a raised brow.
The man behind the counter was an older fat man. He looked at them with interest once they entered, his gaze lingering on John's rowdy appearance, then at Rosalie, his gaze dragging over her trousers and undone buttons of her black shirt. He rubbed his nose with the back of his wrist and sniffed, his cheeks red from the heat.
"How can I help ya'?" He asked, looking between them.
Rosalie patted John on the shoulder and gave him a gentle shove forward. "Getting him a new gun holster. He's been borrowing someone else's for some time and it's a bit big for him." She said.
The man nodded with interest, understanding on his features as he ruffled for a box under the counter. "Ah, alright. Here ya' go. Some small ones for ya' kid. We got some premium leather…"
John began looking through the holsters as the shopkeeper explained the material of each one.
Rosalie walked over to the far wall, her hand on her chin as she examined the various rifles locked to the display rack. She tilted her head, her gaze lingering on a particular rifle with dark wood and a long, narrow scope.
"Somethin' interesting you over there, ma'am?" asked the shopkeeper, coming around the counter to assist her at the rack.
Meanwhile, John was fastening one of the belts around his waist to try it on. He fidgeted with the clasp and grunted as he tried to tighten it, his brows furrowed in frustration.
"Yeah… actually, how much is this one?" Rosalie asked, pointing to the rifle.
The shopkeeper blinked at her in surprise. "Ah, well, that's a mighty powerful rifle there miss. The Rolling Block Rifle. This one here is equipped with a long-range scope, but it doesn't have a high fire rate." He said, looking at her sideways, confused about her interest in the gun due to her gender.
Rosalie pursed her lips, staring at the rifle. Her gaze flicked back to the shopkeeper. "Can I see it?" She asked.
The shopkeeper made a face, but nodded, unlocking the gun from the rack and passing it to her. He glanced over to John, noticing that he had put on a different belt.
"Ya' like that one better, son?" he asked, walking back over to John.
Rosalie lifted the rifle and pointed it toward the other end of the store, her hands on the side of the rifle and under the barrel, careful to keep her finger away from the trigger. She adjusted the weight against her shoulder and peered through the narrow sight. Her eyebrows rose in surprise at the magnification.
She could see the fine lines in the brick walls of the store, a level of detail unlike anything she had seen before—similar to looking through Arthur's binoculars. She couldn't help but think about how it would fare in her target practice.
"How much?" Rosalie said again, repeating her question from earlier.
The man's face deflated at her continuous attention to the gun. "Uh…"
Not too long after that, Rosalie and John walked out of the store, the Rolling Block slung over her shoulder and a brand new, shiny brown gun holster wrapped around John's waist.
John looked up at her with a grimace. "Man, that was expensive, Rosie."
Rosalie shrugged, adjusting the strap over her shoulder. "Hey, it's worth it! I like the way this felt in my hands. Arthur said that was one of the more important things when you have a go-to weapon. He may be pissin' me off lately, but I still trust what he has to say about guns." She said.
John's face turned sour at the mention of Arthur, but he only shrugged in response, his body language almost mirroring Rosalie's exactly. "'Kay, whatever you say." He patted the revolver securely attached to his waist. "Thanks for the holster." He added.
Rosalie patted him on the head. "No problem."
Weaving between people on the sidewalk, they made their way down the strip, stopping to peer in windows if anything looked promising. Patrons leaned against buildings reading their newspapers or chatting with friends. Cigarettes hung from loiterers' lips. Stagecoaches clacked by, pausing every once in a while to let out the rider.
They came upon a white man screaming at people and waving pamphlets. He was dressed in a fine suit and wore a tophat, but he looked awfully hot, sweat lining his top lip covered with a bushy mustache.
"Listen to the message of God, or you'll all be damned!" he shouted, waving his fist at a couple that walked by.
The couple looked at him in bewilderment. The woman clung tightly to her male counterpart, shifting closer to him as they hurried on, triggering the man to growl in aggravation.
At the sight of Rosalie and John, the man turned his attention to them. He looked at Rosalie with a gaze similar to the shopkeeper's, but his expression was twisted in disgust, eyes raking over her attire and the rifle slung over her shoulder.
"Look at you?! A woman, dressing as such!" He shouted, taking a step towards them.
Rosalie looked at him like he was crazy. She pointed to herself with a raised brow, coming to a stop. "Me?" She asked, not realizing that he was talking to her.
"Yes, you!" He cried, throwing his hands up. His face was turning red. "Have you no shame, dressing as a man?!"
Rosalie huffed and placed a hand on her waist. She turned to fully face him, slowly dragging her gaze over his form from his toes to the top of his head. The man shrank back under her scrutiny, surprised by the attitude she directed at him.
"Who do you think you are, yelling at me like that?" Rosalie asked in a level voice, raising her brow.
John looked at the man and then back to Rosalie. He shifted on his feet, unsure how the scene would escalate if the man didn't leave her alone.
"W-well…!" The man stuttered, the sweat pooling at his lip, not just from the heat now. His eyes darted around to the patrons who were eyeing him as they walked past, letting out quiet giggles and covering their mouths.
The man let out a shout of aggravation and curled one of the pamphlets in his fist. He turned his sights on Rosalie again. "Do you believe in God, Ma'am?!" He bellowed.
Rosalie made a face of discomfort. "Uh… I suppose."
She had never been particularly religious, but she knew her father would pray sometimes, or at least engage in his own form of prayer by simply talking to God. It was never something he imparted to Rosalie, though she knew he had been more religious in his younger years and was raised with those beliefs by his German parents.
The man was interested now and took a step closer. "Protestant, I would assume?" He asked with hope.
Rosalie gave him another strange look and wondered why this man had singled her out in the first place. Was he picking on her just because she wore pants? She just wanted this guy to leave her alone.
"...No, not Protestant. Catholic." She answered.
"Horrible!" Wailed the man as he crumpled the pamphlets. He tossed them into the sky, the papers floating in the air around them and to the ground. He pointed at her with an accusatory finger. "Shameful. Shame on you! There is time to repent, Misses! You shall be damned for your actions! Wearing manly attire, and carrying a weapon no less!" He gestured to her rifle wildly.
Rosalie's face screwed up, unable to believe her ears. This man was shouting at her in the streets and causing a scene! She knew people often gave her strange looks because of how she dressed or carried herself, but to be told she would be sent to hell for it? It was insulting!
"You listen here–!" Rosalie shouted, taking a step closer with her finger pointed at him, but before she could fully get the sentence out, there was a softer, more familiar feminine voice interrupting her.
"Now why are you yelling at women in the streets?" Came the feminine, but stern voice.
Rosalie looked over, both her and the bellowing man blinking in surprise at the sight of a smaller, brown-haired woman with doe-like brown eyes.
Rosalie wanted to claw her eyes out at the sight of Mary Gillis. What the hell was she doing here? First, she had to tell George she wouldn't marry him, then she was being harassed in the streets, and now Mary was here?
Mary's attention was not fully on Rosalie, but rather on the man who'd been lecturing Rosalie about damnation. Her face was stern beneath her pretty hat adorned with lace and flowers. Annoyance was an odd look for her; when Rosalie had met her with Arthur, she appeared only gentle and sweet. The girl standing here now didn't look that way at all.
Mary came over and pointed a gloved hand at him. "You leave the lady alone, you here! Don't need any of your prophetic nonsense bein' pushed on other people n' making them feel bad. I reckon you've taken enough time out of this poor girl's day just to humiliate her!" She cried, her brown eyes narrowed.
The man stumbled over his words and backed up a few paces, his back almost touching the brick wall. "W-well I…"
Mary shook her head. "No, I don't need to hear anything else out of you unless it's an apology!"
Rosalie blinked at Mary, looking between her and the bellowing man. Rosalie's mouth hung open, finger still outstretched, but faltering. She glanced down at John, sharing the same bewildered look with him at Mary's sudden appearance.
The man scrambled to pick up his pamphlets that littered the ground, grumbling under his breath as he held the crumpled papers in his arms. He glared at Mary, before shifting his nasty expression to John and Rosalie.
"You'll all go to hell for this! Doomed!" He cried, before turning down the street and marching away, shoving through loitering civilians who had stopped to watch the show.
Once he had gone, Mary looked at John and Rosalie, holding her clutch to her chest. "I cannot believe that man—oh." Her face fell, realizing who she had run into.
Rosalie grimaced and leaned back on her heels. She adjusted the grip on the rifle strap, practically biting the inside of her cheek. "Thanks for getting on to him. But I had it handled." She said, not in a mean way, but as a factual statement.
"Well, I just saw him yelling at a girl and wanted to do something about it," Mary said, fidgeting with her clutch. "I see him around the city. He's quite rude, yelling at people. Not just women, but anyone who ain't white. Makes me sick." she shook her head. "The man talks about repentance and following God… yet he acts that way! Foul." She huffed.
Rosalie eyed Mary with interest.
Upon the first meeting, it seemed like Mary was a soft-spoken, sweet-as-molasses girl. But it was apparent that she had a spitfire about her and more energy than Rosalie had anticipated before. If there was anyone who she expected to see defending her on the street, yelling at another person no less, it was definitely not Mary.
It was nice of Mary to defend her. Rosalie had to give her that—and it certainly didn't help the guilt she felt for not liking the girl only because she was romantically involved with Arthur. If they were courting one another, that was out of Rosalie's control. She knew that well enough. It was hard to hate her, as she obviously was a halfway decent person too.
Ugh, Rosalie was so spiteful. It drove her mad.
John spoke up, looking at Mary skeptically. "Well, thanks for your help, Miss."
Mary smiled kindly at him, though Rosalie could tell he was aware of the underlying tone John had. She could tell John didn't like her.
"Of course," She said.
Mary then glanced up the street, rocking on her feet a bit. She tucked her hair behind her ear with a gloved hand and gave them another smile. "Well, I uh, I should be goin' then. My Daddy is waitin' for me. It was nice seeing the both of you, though if it happens again, I hope it's under better circumstances."
Rosalie nodded, still doing her best to be polite even if she wasn't Mary's biggest fan. "Alright, Good day then," she said.
Mary gave them both a small wave, before she turned and walked the opposite way the man had gone, disappearing into the crowd.
John made a face and crossed his arms. "I didn't know she would be so firm. She seemed so uh… what's the word? Soft-spoken. When Arthur brought her around."
Rosalie nodded in agreement. "Yeah… I could have done without that today. Mary coming to my rescue? No thanks." She grumbled, not even attempting to hide her glare in the direction she had gone.
John gave her a sideways look. "Man, you said you don't have feelings for Arthur, but I know you're lyin'. Why else would you not like her?" He asked, throwing a hand up.
Rosalie glared at John. "Shut up." She started walking back up the street, heading towards Blitz so they could head to George's house.
"Nah, I'm just sayin'! No need to get mad at me!" John cried, following after her.
Not too long after that, Rosalie and John trotted down a barren street, well-kept trees in small round cages planted on both sides and lining the sidewalk. The cobblestone street clicked underneath the horse's hooves. There were few people out and about, but it was mostly empty. The manors were large with decent amounts of space between each of them, enough to put an extra building between each one, but still close enough together to be considered a proper neighborhood.
The houses were made of cream, brownish brick, each at least two stories with black roofs. Front yards were well taken care of and lined with iron fences. There was no foul stench of trash or waste that littered much of the inner city. Birds chirped overhead.
"This place is nice," John said, looking around.
Rosalie nodded in agreement. "It is."
They came to the end of the street where the largest house sat. This one had a larger, grassy plot free of too many plants or vegetation, and the house stood at least four stories tall. A towering willow tree was planted in the front yard, and a swing was tied to a low-hanging branch, swaying in the breeze.
Rosalie stopped outside of it, glancing at the torn piece of paper in her hand George gave her his address on. "This is the place," She said out loud.
Rosalie slid off her horse, passing the reins to John. "I'll be back. Shouldn't be too long, I don't think. If it is, feel free to roam around. Just come back in about an hour? Maybe an hour and a half?" She said, looking at him over her shoulder as she walked toward the house.
John nodded. "Okay."
Her nerves began to make an appearance now, and she walked down the long, concrete path to his tall, black front door. An aged rocking chair sat on the front porch, and an end table beside it littered with books and a partially drank glass of some kind of beverage.
George, or at least someone else, had been outside recently it seemed.
Rosalie wiped her sweaty palms down her thighs as she stopped before the door. She raised her hand to knock on it, but faltered before she rapped her knuckles against it. Her heart pounded in her chest as she drew her bottom lip between her teeth.
How would she even break the news to him? She would be breaking his heart, and she knew all too well how that felt. The guilt was going to eat her alive. George was such a good, kind man. She felt like an awful person for doing this to him.
Rosalie knocked on the door.
There were footsteps, and then the door opened. George stood in the doorway, his hair disheveled, and wearing a deep red button-down with no vest and black trousers. He wore no shoes, only gray socks. At the sight of her, his face lit up, but there was still anxiety in his eyes, as he knew why she was here.
Despite that anxiety, he still smiled at her softly. "Hey."
Rosalie breathed in, fiddling with her pinky finger to calm her nerves. She met his intense, green stare. "Hey," she said back.
George stared at her, his hand wrapped around the door. Rosalie didn't say anything else, just looking at him. A beat of silence passed. Finally, George stepped aside, gesturing into his home.
"Come on in," He said. "If you wouldn't mind taking off your shoes, you can leave them by the front."
Rosalie nodded and stepped inside. George closed the door as she pulled off her boots and neatly set them by the door. She took off her hat, holding it to her chest as she followed George into the open living room area.
It was a nice, quiet home. Three black couches were positioned around a fireplace in the front room, with a dark cherry wood coffee table in the center. A thin table stood behind the center couch, adorned with a vase of fresh flowers and surrounded by more books. The walls had limited art, except for a few oil paintings of landscapes like rushing waterfalls and flower fields. It was a well-cared-for and cozy home.
Rosalie couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if she lived in this house. She imagined herself coming down the dark wood staircase against the far wall, dressed in her knight clothes as she came over to George, who sat by the fireplace as he read a book. They'd sit on the couch beside one another and enjoy the firelight with idle conversation about their day or their future plans. It was a serene image.
Maybe Rosalie did have some small romantic feelings for George, mixed with complicated emotions of familiarity and comfort. However, the feelings she had for him were not the same as those she held for Arthur. With Arthur, her heart beat rapidly in her chest, and her stomach did flips whenever he looked at her. She wanted to hold his hand and sit with him by the campfire as he lit her cigarette, the smell of gunpowder and leather filling her senses.
Rosalie's heart ached at the thought of Arthur, the short interaction she had with Mary flitting in her mind soon after that.
If she were to live here with George, Rosalie knew she would live a life of plush comfort with a man who would be true to his word about caring for her. George would treat her well and do whatever he could to make her happy. But she also knew that comfort would soon be overshadowed by her longing for something more. She would have no opportunity here to be free, to go where she wanted when she wanted. Stability, as ignorant as it sounded, was not something she longed for.
George sat down on the black couch in the center. He patted the cushion as Rosalie came around. Hesitantly, she came over and sunk into the cushions beside him, her heart beating against her ribcage as she swallowed thickly.
George placed a gentle hand on her elbow as though he could sense her nerves. He smiled softly at her, though he held sadness in his green eyes. "It's alright. You don't… you don't have to say it. I already know." He said, his smile betraying the pain in his gaze as he looked at her.
The corner of Rosalie's mouth tightened as she looked at the ground, unable to meet his eyes due to the guilt coursing through her. "I'm sorry." She said quietly.
Rosalie reached into her pocket and fished out his ring. She held it between her fingers, eyeing it with tight lips, before turning and holding it out to him. "I can't… You're a good man, George. I value you as a friend, but I… I can't live like this, you know? I can't live in a big house attending high society parties. I'd make myself and you look like a fool. I don't know anything about this stuff. I'm the daughter of a poor, German con man who married a wealthy woman that ran away from home." She said quietly.
George stared at the ring, before gently taking it from her. He held it between his fingers just as Rosalie did a moment ago. He let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. "I know. I… I knew it the moment I asked you. But I still hoped that maybe… just maybe you would say yes."
Rosalie frowned, her heart aching at his confession. He knew, yet he still asked her.
She turned to face him, their knees touching as she took hold of his hands. She met his green gaze, her heart tightening even more so at the sight of his sadness. "You deserve someone who can live the way you do, and… and that loves you in that way. George… I care about you, maybe in a way I don't fully understand yet, but I don't… I don't love you. You deserve someone who will return your affections." She said.
George furrowed his brows. There was a silence before he spoke again. "You have feelings for someone else, don't you?" He asked.
Rosalie faltered. She didn't anticipate that question.
"I do," Rosalie confessed, glancing at the carpet. "But he doesn't like me in that way. I… I don't know if I'll ever find someone who cares about me in that way. I may never marry, and… and that's the truth." She gave him a small, but painful smile. "I think I'm content with that. Who would want to marry me, a homely, trouser-wearing gunslinger?" She teased, trying to make light of the situation.
George shook his head, laughing a bit. "No, I-I don't think that's true. Even if the man you have affection for doesn't come to love you, there'll be someone else who will. I know it. You're… you're too full of love and life to not find someone." He said.
Rosalie scoffed. "Don't flatter me."
"I mean it," George said firmly. "I'm sure there's someone out there for you. But if… if you come to find that you change your mind, whether it be years in the future… just know that I'll be waiting for you."
Rosalie shook her head. "No, George–"
He smiled. "Even if it's just as a friend."
Rosalie sighed deeply. She slowly nodded, sinking into the cushions now that the nerves of the situation were done and over with.
While it was true that Rosalie didn't love George, she did care about him. His affection for her was surprising, but it gave Rosalie some hope that someone out there, if it wasn't Arthur, would come to love her too. Part of her wanted Arthur to wake up from whatever had captivated him so deeply about Mary Gillis. But on the other hand, did Rosalie really want to be a second option? Her care for Arthur ran deep, but if he chose Mary so easily, even after Rosalie had been riding with him for months by then… she feared she would never be enough for him.
Rosalie didn't know what she wanted. She had herself for now, and maybe that was all she needed for the time being, even if her feelings for Arthur were still painful and felt like an open wound.
Hope you're enjoying!
Reminder that I have a discord for this fic! I did it for another fic I had before and they seemed to love it, so I made one for this too. Here's the link below!
/TYGVHKrFe6
