A/N:

Q: Who is Rose to you guys so far?

A: I know I've made her out to be the sort of "pity me" protagonist so far, but she's more than that, trust me. Rose has l a y e r s.

"ROSE," HE MURMURED as he sank his face into the crook of my neck.

"Matthew," I returned quietly. It wasn't warm at all, outside in the garden. But despite the chilly temperatures, I had trouble feeling cold. When Matthew's lips met mine, I thought I might burst with exhilaration.

Happiness.

Excitement.

I returned his kisses with a fervor I thought might be deemed too much. Not that I really cared. I had been hoping for him to pay me any type of positive heed (without pity), let alone the years I had waited just to be kissed.

Finally.

He moved from my mouth to my neck again, placing kisses in the tender corners. "Rose," he whispered again. The mention of my name yet again on his lips, delivered so sweetly, was honey to my ears.

"Matthew, I repeated, Matthew."

"Ma'am?" came a voice. There were no kisses on my neck, or Matthew saying my name. I opened my eyes. I was in my bed chambers, not the garden. My head was atop my pillow, which appeared to be stained with drool.

It was a dream.

The house girl, Marigold, was staring at me with growing perplexity. In her hand was my breakfast. "Put that on my desk," I rasped. Sitting up, I felt incredibly weary. My bones felt as if they might melt. Which was, under most circumstances, quite strange. I hadn't taken alcohol at the ball, which usually caused side affects like this. Marigold complied, but still stood in the middle of my chambers, staring at me.

"You may go," I snapped. Only then when she was gone did I give a wail of exasperation. For the love of everything, Matthew could never think of me like that. Kiss me. Hold any type of affection that was required for what had happened in my dream.

What the hell was I doing dreaming about him anyway? I bit into my cheese, biting with a great fierceness, almost as if I could chew and swallow away what I had dreamt.

But I couldn't. For, take it or leave it, I felt every single kiss as if it had really happened. A shiver possessed me before I could shake it off. Maybe, if I penned a poem it would help the 'memory' leave my mind.

White hot

Like fire

You rip through me

Like a current.

It was alright, there certainly wasn't anything amazing about it. At least those were my thoughts when I took my first glance at the poem.

It didn't help me get over the dream at all. If anything, the rush of excitement and exhilaration washed over me anew. I felt unexpectedly warm, feeling as if his his breath was 'still' on my ear.

Rose.

The words on the page suddenly seemed to grow, becoming more passionate in meaning.

Like fire.

However how had that description found itself on my page? I had a few misplaced feelings for Matthew, yes, but I never recalled feeling anything that strong. That ardent. My heartbeat began to quicken suddenly, as the meaning of my short poem starting to absorb itself into my mind. In one quick action, I took the paper and crumpled it into a small ball. I then tore it hurriedly and decisively into long strips, then small squares, until there was nothing left of it. I didn't realize the rate of my breath had increased as well until the deed was done, and my chest was heaving. I sat down at my table and then began to eat my breakfast.

🥀

After consuming my morning meal, I made my way to the library. Among seemingly hundreds of books, I picked a worn cover titled in gold. Temptations of Love.

I sat down on one of the divans to read.

"Temptations of Love," pronounced a masculine voice. I looked up. It was Matthew. He wore a slight smile on his face. I inwardly groaned. No. Not after I had just recovered from that lustful dream, and that poem...

That was only besides the point anyway. What was he doing here? It wasn't his wing of the house. Matthew's expression sobered. "I'm sorry, I know this wing is your...territory. I just, he held up his book, needed a bit of quiet time."

"As long as you are actually quiet, I see no reason to be petty and object," I responded coolly. He gave a small nod.

"That's my favorite book. Temptations of Love. It's quite a...quite a read," he said.

"Oh?" I remarked with the type of disinterest I expected to put him off.

"Yes. It is about two lovers. And they don't want to be, you know, in love. But they are," he summarized.

Did he just not say that he would be quiet?

"And, let me guess, their love is forbidden?" I predicted. Matthew's eyes widened in slight surprise.

"How did you guess?"

I shrugged.

"It's always how those novels are, it's usually a something forbidden. A lot of secrecy. Something that cannot be allowed, something that they must withstand and deny themselves."

He swayed his head in agreement.

"I suppose that's true," he affirmed. "How do you like them though? The books that require the characters to resist their love for one another?"

"I think it's ridiculous. The kind of love that lasts, that goes on forever, is rare. And yet, it is mistaken for something that everyone will find, something commonplace. It's not. Love isn't common, it's something hard to come by. And when you do fall upon it, to ignore because of barriers or restrictions, is madness. You'll never find that type of love again, it's highly unlikely. You'll forever regret why you gave it all up to begin with," I said. Matthew tilted his head.

"So you believe in soulmates?" he asked.

"Soulmates? What an utterly preposterous idea. I think it's an over-saturated, overly-romanticized notion. Soulmates don't exist," I dead-panned. Matthew shook his head.

"That is where I have to disagree with you. I hold a firm belief in soulmates," he contradicted. "Besides, I think you would be inclined to agree with me. You yourself said that 'love is not commonplace'. By that rhetoric, you can only find real love with the person you're meant to be with," he reasoned.

"On the contrary, that's not what I mean. Real love, true love, itself is not commonplace There is an abundance of people to have it with. People often mistake love with passion, lust. They marry in the heat of things, and come time their years with each other extend, they are surprised that it never lasts. They say they 'fell out of love with each other', when really, there was no love in the first place. Love is not borne out of passion, desire, and need. That's why it is rarer than people think. Then there is the love that is temporary, that only lasts for so long. Like a fleeting kiss, like a good memory. That isn't true love either. Real love will outlast almost anything, it won't die out even as the years extend. But people, what are people? The idea that you are pre-destined to be with someone, that you can only have that 'real love' with 'your person'...it's so dreadfully idealistic that it hurts. No, it is love that is rare. Not a breed of people," I stated.

"You sound dreadfully cynical. Why is it so difficult to believe that there is someone out there, someone that was created for you? The person that you were supposed to have the purest love with, the 'real love'," he asked curiously.

"That, I pondered, is likely very impossible. Like the imagination it takes to believe in fairies and ghosts. Its all nice and dandy, but it couldn't ever be real. Not for a moment," I disagreed. I stared him straight in his eyes. "Do you believe, for a moment, that Victoria is actually your soulmate?" There was a long stretch of silence. I expected the question to get at him, at the very least, harden the placid features on his face. But he only lifted his eyes to the ceiling in thought.

"I love her, he dragged out the last word, very much."

"I don't doubt that. But that's very much besides the question. Do you actually believe that she's the woman destined for you, the person that you can have the ultimate 'purest' love with. Is that, truthfully, your belief Matthew?" I asked. His cheeks darkened to the slightest shade of pink. Almost imperceptible, if my eye wasn't so sharp.

"I don't know, if I'm being frank," he said. His response shouldn't have given me the type of satisfaction that it did.

"My point wins," I declared with a smile. Of course, it wasn't one he could see, but it must have reached my eyes, for Matthew smiled back. And it was, I'm pained to admit, dazzling.

"Just because I'm unsure doesn't mean it can't be true, for other people at least," was his feeble defense. But he knew I had won the argument. Just then Bert entered the library. As if by instinct, my bravado disappeared as well as his grin.

"Good morning sir, he nodded in Matthew's direction, and good morning to you Madame."

"Good morning to you to Bert," Matthew and I both returned, at the same time.

"Is there anything we can help you with?" Matthew asked. Bert nodded. In his hand, I noticed, was a cream white envelope with a red seal.

"A letter has arrived. It seems that it has been addressed to the both of you sir," Bert said. He extended the envelope to Matthew, but I hurriedly intervened by snatching it myself. Written in clean font and slightly smudged ink, were the names: Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield. Mayhap it was a letter of apology from the Thompson's. That was, putting it lightly, overdue. Breaking the seal, indelicately I might add, I took out the letter to examine the contents. It read as follows:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield,

I write to you on serious matters. First, of course, I must introduce myself. I'm Mrs. Whitfield's cousin, Anna, borne of William and Sarah Axel. I haven't seen you, my dear cousin, in years. In over a decade. After your accident, I was forbidden from ever visiting you. And though we never came to know each other, at least not very well, I always felt a kind of love for you Rose. A sort of devotion. And whence I learned that I was your elder, and you being an only child, I began to fancy you as a little sister almost. Something I must protect at the expense of anything, even if I couldn't necessarily be by your side. So this is why I write to you now. I've learned, through the 'grapevine', that everyone has traveled to see you. Mother and Father, Uncle Hector, Aunt Agnes, and Uncle Andrew, the whole lot of them! And I can tell you, assure you, that their purposes where you are aren't any good! No good at all! I don't know exactly why they have visited you, and I likely never shall (unless you write back), but I want to warn both you and your husband together. This is as much your business as his. Tread carefully, dear cousin. And, whatever they are there for, do not concede. Please remember that.

All my love,

Anna

My hands trembled slightly. A blurred image entered my mind. I couldn't have been more than seven when we had last met, and she had been...around twelve? Caramel-colored skin and a mane of fiery red curls. Not exactly pretty, but something to look at. Something singular. And the kindest eyes, goodness the kindest eyes, I had ever seen. Anna had been her name then? I had forgotten the existences of all my cousin, till now, and I thought they had done the same. Only she hadn't.

"Rose?" Matthew said softly. He had the same tone as when I had removed my veil, and I was close to tears. I felt touched my veil, pressing the silk against my dampened skin. Goodness, I had been crying. I silently handed him the letter. It took him save a few seconds to read. "It's a very short," he observed after a while.

"Yes. I feel...I feel it was hurried you know," I answered.

"She could just be paranoid," Matthew suggested. I felt white hot anger wash over me.

"Paranoia? Really? Surely, you jest. You think a cousin of mine, the only relative who has ever cared for my welfare since my beloved mother, is writing out of overworked nerves? That after the abrupt arrival of my relatives, which logically makes no real sense at all, that what she says bears no relevance?" I retorted. Matthew looked away, as he wouldn't have to meet my eyes.

"Really, you're such pathetic excuse of a man that it's utterly astonishing."

He looked up at me.

"Victoria must be my wife. Whatever motive or whatever design your family has for our divorce cannot be a factor. I have to marry her," he said.

"And, pray, at what expense? You, Matthew Whitfield, have treated me horribly during these past four years we have been wed. Could you really forgive yourself if something did happen to me, if I became entrapped in something impossible, because of your desire to marry again?" I asked.

"One way or other, we must divorce Rose. Our marriage is beyond any repair. I'm not old-fashioned in the least, I don't believe in staying in something that you cannot fix. This isn't, and won't, go anywhere. ...Especially when you love someone else," he responded.

"Oh don't give me any of that! Do you honestly think, my throat was already raw with emotion, I want to be stuck in this good-for-nothing marriage anymore than you? Nay! I have a life I intend to love without the restrictions this whole relationship has costed me! But I'm not taking my cousin's warning with a grain of salt, for what she says makes more sense then this whole bloody mess with my relatives visiting in the first place. I ask, with good reason I think, that we delay this whole business of the divorce. At least, until we have better sense of why we should receive a warning like this in the first place." And what I said, it must've at least sounded final, for Matthew didn't try to say a thing afterwards.

"One more month then. One more month to try and find out why your family would to try and put us anything having to he finalized.

"Give me a sheet of paper, I replied drily, I could give you more than a few." I rose to take my leave, to find Matthew dash to block me. "Is there something else?" I asked.

"I'm sorry. For my responses or making you feel duly uncomfortable. It wasn't...it wasn't my intention," he said. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the faintest smile growing on Bert's face. Smiling? Bert? What an odd thing.

"Well I'm not. Very sorry. But I suppose one must accept this apology, especially when they rarely come," I said. Turning to Bert, I made a request. "Bert, would you be so kind as to have a discussion with me in my chambers? It would be much appreciated."

"Yes Madame," he replied compliantly. I left without further word, Bert's soft footsteps trailing behind me.

🥀

Once we had arrived in my bed-chambers, I made myself comfortable in my bed. "What is it you'd like to discuss Madame?" I let the faintest smirk grace my lips.

"Did I see you smile in the library when Matthew apologized? Or was the light playing tricks with my vision?" I asked. Bert reddened, and I had to laugh. The whole thing seemed comical.

"May I speak...frankly Madame?" he asked.

"Please," I motioned.

"I think that you and Matthew are meant to be together. And that isn't me being old-fashioned, and I'm certainly too old to be naive. I have a good sense of how the world works, how things should be. And though Matthew has done a great deal many things that would certainly qualify his not deserving you, I have faith. I have faith fate will put you in each other's hands," Bert told me. I felt astounded. The old butler was probably the only one in this kingdom, nay this earth, to think I should ever forgive a man like that.

That despite the many things our 'marriage' had endured, that I had endured, we could still prevail in some marvelous way.

"Why do you think that Matthew and I should end up together Bert? In perfect honesty," I answered quietly.

"For your husband to end up with Victoria wouldn't just mean the end of Matthew, for it would. She's more than malicious that one, she's as cunning and clever as the devil. If one had to guess, I think it's more than envy and ambition that makes her want the place of being Matthew's wife. I think it's more. She has a blindfold wrapped tightly around his eyes, but ours as well. No one really knows her motives. No one but me," Bert said.

"But what else would Victoria and Matthew ending up together mean the end of? And why do you think you know so much?" I urged.

"It would mean the end of the beloved, the sacred Whitfield name. The disgrace of the whole clan if I'm being honest. And the doom of the child in her womb. I mean, think seriously Madame, you cannot believe for a moment the child that lies within her is actually Matthew's, could you? I've seen a great deal of things as the help, he made a sour face, and they do not coincide with her position as the devoted mistress." I felt more than shock fall upon me. I felt immense relief.

"You mean...how can that be possible?" I asked incredulously. Bert looked at me as if I was stupid.

"I certainly don't need to tell you how people have children...do I Madame? I mean I know no man has never visited your bed but-" he started.

"Bert!" I cried. I didn't know whether to be delighted, mortified, or outright shocked that he had really said something like that to me. The delight must have won over, because I erupted into a fit of childish giggles. He joined in with his own deep chuckle.

"I just had to make sure," he assured me. Swiping a stray tear from my cheek, I flashed a humored grin his way. My stomach was clutched in an effort to ease the ache I had created.

"But really, I said more seriously, what have you seen?"

"Quite a bit Madame," he evasively answered.

"Like what?" I pressed.

"Well, he started, for instance, your Uncle Hector is a lot closer to Victoria than you. And when Matthew is away, on journeys of business, she sneaks men from one of the entrances, to her and Matthew's wing."

"Oh dear! Well I already knew the bit about Hector but-"

"Madame, what is that in your bed?" he asked. I looked over to where he was staring. Underneath the sheets, was quite a large sized lump. It surely hadn't been there before. I carefully turned back the sheet to reveal a nasty surprise. There was a clump of rose stems, with the flower plucked off. All that was left was the stem and the thorns. Bert sighed as he eyed the sight. There was only one person that came to mind when I thought of who would, who could, do something like this.

Victoria.

"What could she possibly gain from this? What could she possibly be trying to tell me? Victoria and I are both fully grown women, we're not adolescent girls!" I exclaimed. Bert shook his head at me.

"Don't you see?" he asked.

"See what?" I snapped.

"It is a sign, Madame. A message," he explained.

"And pray, I asked, what could that be?"

"She plants to hurt you. And she will draw blood when she does."