Good Morning, Loves!

Thank you ever so much to Mel and Pamela!

XVI

ROSALIE

6 September 1897

London, England

It has been just over two months since my brother's elopement, and Father has not stopped raging. I have never seen him so furious, and though he has shouted at everyone who has come before him, no one has been able to produce my brother. I have not yet told him what I suspect about Edward going to India, but it doesn't matter. Father immediately dispatched letters to both his siblings, demanding that they return Edward home should he come crawling to them.

It is strange to exist in the house without Edward. Certainly, there was a fair amount of time when he was not here whilst he was in school, but I have since grown accustomed to his presence.

Liam remains, though he is far more subdued than I have ever seen him. I try to get him to talk to me, to unburden his troubles onto me, but to no avail.

He remains an elusive mystery.

It is particularly taxing to continue on, receiving social calls and keeping appointments and engagements, pretending as if my family has not fallen to pieces over Edward's abandonment. The tedium of conversations about lace when real issues are in desperate need of action is sometimes more than I can bear.

But my family simply cannot afford another scandal, so even though it is vexing, I continue on, smiling at the right moments, being seen in the right places.

I have not encountered Mr. Whitlock again, though I know where to call on him should any more questions arise for me. I do not wish him to know the depth of the shame my family is facing, so I keep his card hidden at the bottom of my wardrobe, tucked away to save for emergencies.

Since my brother pulled his stunt, my family has not sat down for a meal together. Father keeps himself sequestered in his study, while Mother drinks away her life in her salon. Most evenings, it is me alone at the table, facing down the empty chairs left by people turning their backs on me.

Tonight begins as no exception, though shortly after I sit, Liam surprises me by coming to take his place across the table. He looks haggard, his chin unshaven, his eyes hollow and distant. I try to offer him a warm smile as he settles, but he gives me a thin grimace in response. I want to ask him what is the matter, but a moment later, Mother is sauntering into the dining room, drink in hand.

"Oh, hello darlings," she says, her voice a soft slur. "What a pleasant evening." She plops into her chair, her drink splashing over the edge and onto her fingers. A maid is there to clean her up before Mother can even notice.

"Mother," I say in acknowledgement. I haven't seen her for more than a passing glance in two months. "What brings you to dinner?"

Mother opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Father is throwing the dining room doors open, storming in with such command, I jump in my seat.

"Good, you're all here," he says, his eyes cutting around the room before he moves to his place at the head of the table.

"Father," I say by way of greeting.

Father sits and, immediately, maids are scurrying forth to bring us our first course."I have good news," Father says as a maid slides a bowl of soup before him.

For a moment, I wonder if his news is regarding Edward. My heart tightens in my chest at the thought. Father seems to enjoy the fact that he has our rapt attention because he takes his time, examining a spoon before reaching for his drink and taking a long swig. When I feel I will burst with questions, Father finally continues.

"Tomorrow, an emissary of Czar Nicholas will arrive as our personal guest," Father says, looking over the table. "Due to the Grand Duchess' indiscretions, the Czar agreed a marriage could not take place; however, he feels confident another match is quite possible." Father turns his hard gaze my way. "The emissary will be here to bring you back to the Russian court to find a suitable husband."

My stomach tightens. I am to leave for Russia to find a husband?

"Your Grace," Liam begins, and I am surprised to hear a note of concern in his voice.

"My mind has been made on the matter," Father says firmly.

"Darling, really. We cannot send our daughter to the Russian court without a chaperone," Mother protests.

"I will hire a chaperone," Father begins, but Mother waves her hand through the air between them.

"Nonsense. I am her mother. I will be going with her."

If Father is surprised by this announcement, it does not show on his face.

I, however, am taken aback. I turn to Mother, confused. "Mother, are you certain? It is so far, and all your friends are here, and—"

"Rosalie, I will not be throwing my only daughter to the Russian wolves." She sniffs, and I am for a moment surprised by the sentimentality in her voice. "Besides, the Russian court has always been so insaisissable," she says, hiccuping through the word. "Getting an inside look at the court life will certainly be of interest to me. I shall return to London the absolute height of a brand new fashion from the mysterious north."

This is far more expected from her, and I let out a breath as I nod.

"Your Grace," Liam says, drawing my attention to him. "Might I ask to accompany your family to the court and offer both my support and protection?"

Father chuckles—genuinely chuckles!—and reaches for his drink again. "What protection can you offer, boy?"

Liam has the sense not to argue with Father, who laughs again before setting his cup down. "That being said, I would like to have a man I can trust on the inside." Father stops and studies Liam, his eyes slanted as he assesses him.

"I'm a quick study in languages," Liam provides. "And I owe your family a great deal. It would be my honor to serve your lordship in this way."

How can Father possibly say no? Liam is so charming, so convincing, it seems impossible anyone could deny him.

Father lets out a soft snort before nodding. "Very well. You shall accompany my wife and daughter. We will discuss later your role and expectations," Father says, giving him a stern look. Liam nods and Mother sighs.

"A trip to Russia," she says, practically swooning over the idea. "All my friends will be frightfully jealous." She looks delighted by the sheer thought of it.

I turn to my soup bowl, which is growing cold, and let out a breath. Mother and Liam might be looking forward to the journey ahead, but I hold nothing in my heart but trepidation. I have a terrible feeling that once I leave for Russia, I shall never return.

…

The emissary from Russia arrives around noon the next day.

I can hear the procession on the cobbled courtyard outside my window, but when I glance down, all I can see are white horses and a gleaming carriage.

I let out a long breath, preparing myself to head downstairs and face my new fate.

Before I do, I return to my writing desk to finish the letter I have been trying to pen to my brother for two weeks now.

Dear Edward,

Two months now have you been gone, eloped with that woman, and yet my heart still burns with both anger and sadness that you did not even hint to me, your only sibling, of your plans. I never would have approved, but I want always to be given the chance to support you.

Even when you are being foolish.

I have found your location inadvertently, so do not be concerned that any of your confidences have been broken. I know you well enough to have guessed where you would go anyway.

Since your absence, it has become my duty to step in and secure the legacy of our family. As I write, an emissary from the Russian court is arriving to bring me back to find a suitable match.

I am certain I will find a husband Father approves of, though I feel less certain about my ability to navigate a foreign court. Mother is coming with me, as are Maggie and Liam.

I admit, knowing Liam's penchant for language and diplomacy brings me a degree of peace over the whole affair. I am certain with him around, I will successfully persevere the coming months.

I wish you were here, even though I might give you a good kick for how selfish and shortsighted you are behaving. We all have a role, Edward. None of us can escape that in the end.

I hope that despite our differences, you will find the words to respond. Devonshire House has been lonely and quiet without you.

I mean this in the most sincere way I can: I hope she was worth it.

Your frustrated but devoted sister,

Rosalie

…

As soon as the letter is finished, I descend downstairs to the main parlor where I can hear Father speaking animatedly.

I hesitate outside the door a moment before drawing a deep breath to steady my courage and soothe my nerves.

A moment later, I enter the parlor, my eyes sweeping around the room quickly, taking in the foreign faces.

The first man I see is sitting opposite Father in the best chair in the room. He has a thick black beard and deep-set eyes that are quite striking against his pale face. Behind him, there is a second man, this one much younger, with similar dark curly hair and light eyes, though on him, the combination is rather attractive, less unsettling.

"Ah, Rosalie," Father says when he spots me. "Come, my darling."

Father only calls me his darling when he is in a generous mood and wants me to remain docile and sweet. I understand his unspoken expectation as I move closer to the party.

"Dimitri Aleksandrovich Vassiliev, emissary of the Czar."

I curtsy as the emissary stands, inclining his head toward me. "It is a pleasure to meet you," I tell him.

His gaze drifts over me a touch too long before he says something in a booming voice. I realize a moment too late he is speaking in Russian, and my cheeks begin to heat.

"He says," the younger man says, stepping forward. "That it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Cullen."

I look at the younger man and breathe a sigh of relief. He really is quite attractive, and he either has a mastery of the English language, or he is a fellow British citizen.

"Ah, yes," Father says, motioning toward the young man. "This is Emmett McCarty, an official translator of the court."

Emmett McCarty. That doesn't sound Russian at all.

"How do you do, Mr. McCarty," I say, offering him a shallow curtsy. He gives me a smile and a nod of his head in return.

The pink of my cheeks refuses to diffuse.

Father continues his conversation with Dimitri, and I find a place to sit quietly and listen. It seems that the emissary speaks no English at all, for it is Mr. McCarty who offers answers to Father's questions. I wonder how a man of the empire came to be living as a translator in the Russian court, but I find no opportunity to ask him.

Mr. McCarty recounts their voyage—pleasant by their standards—and expresses the interest of the Russian court to receive me. Despite his charming smile, a part of me wonders if the court will be far more nefarious than he is painting it out to be.

Father excuses me less than an hour later, and I know it is so that I might prepare myself for supper. When I am safely tucked back in my room, I let out a long breath, pacing the length of my chamber.

My mind is swimming in increasingly distressing thoughts. I do not speak Russian, and though Mr. McCartney is a more than adequate translator, I reasonably know he will not always be there. I will have to learn, especially if my husband-to-be does not speak English.

The thought is mortifying to me. To not be able to speak to my own husband in my mother tongue breaks my heart.

I think of Dimitri with his wandering eyes and heavy presence, and I shudder. What if all the men are like him? What if I am doomed to marry a much older man who will leer at me any opportunity he gets?

My stomach twists in agonizing knots. I've never been a fool. I did not expect to marry for the sake of love, even if my heart longed for such a fantasy in my youth. I have known for a long time now that love is not my fate.

But, I realize, some part of me had hoped companionship might still be in my future. How can it be when I will be leaving the only world I've ever truly known? How will I find a companion in such a foreign landscape?

My mind flits to Mr. McCarty, who by my account is both handsome and talented at his work. What if I could find someone like him? What if…

There is a knock on my bedroom door that jolts me out of my thoughts. I let out a small cough to clear my throat and mind before calling my visitor to enter.

To my great surprise, it is Liam.

He does not enter my room, though he leans in the doorway, arms folded across his broad chest.

My heart skips a beat to see him leaning so casually, watching me.

"I take it you met the emissary?" Liam asks, and at my side, my hands roll into fists.

"Yes," I say quietly. I don't want to talk about the emissary.

Liam studies me a moment before a sad smile slips over his lips. "The Russians won't be able to get enough of you," he says finally. "You'll be a crown jewel in their court."

I don't know why his words make me so uncomfortable, but I shift on my feet, my eyes dropping to the floor.

"I wish I didn't have to go." I have never spoken to Liam so candidly. Though I have known him for years, I've never let myself lower my guard this much with him.

Liam seems to recognize that because his tone is gentle for once, lacking any note of teasing or mischief.

"I know," he says softly. "It won't all be bad," he offers. "I hear the Russians make excellent cocktails."

I snort a laugh and Liam flashes me a grin. He knows I hardly drink.

"I'm glad you'll be coming," I admit.

At this, Liam's face sobers and he looks at me with a heavy gaze. "I would not leave you to your fate alone," he says quietly. "I owe your family more than that."

I'm not sure what to make of his words, though part of me is wounded that he has not declared his intention to come is strictly because of me. It is such a silly thing to be hurt by that I brush it away and draw a breath.

"We have quite the adventure ahead of us," I tell him.

Liam nods. "That, we do, m'lady. That we do."