I DIDN'T SEE MATTHEW for another fortnight.

Leticia became a true companion as the days unfolded. I don't think I'd ever laughed so much with anyone in my life. Maybe I had with the small part of my childhood where my mother had been alive but I certainly hadn't had so much fun in my adult life so far. Leticia was a breath of fresh air. I didn't know how much I needed to breathe until we'd met. And the night before before her departure, I felt myself aching with loss. We were drinking hot tea in my room that night, which was a change from our normal night routine. Nearly every night consisted of some sort of alcoholic beverage, but Leticia had refused to drink to night, and I followed suit.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," Leticia said softly after a lull in the conversation.

"Back to your palace and your dreadful husband and your wonderful Byron."

Leticia winced at the mention of her husband. "Don't remind me of my husband."

"I'm going to miss you." I must've sounded incredibly forlorn, because Leticia peered at me in surprise.

"Good God Rose, I'm not dying. You can always write to me, you know."

I rolled my eyes. "Like the princess will ever reply."

Leticia sipped her tea smugly. "Not with that attitude, I won't."

"I mean it, though." I stared wistfully into my teacup. "You're going to forget all about me."

Leticia shook her head at me. "You think too lowly of yourself, Rose. It won't do. You can't go through life hating yourself, it'll eat you alive."

"I don't hate myself," I replied incredulously, as if it wasn't the god honest truth.

"You do. And you shouldn't need me, a woman you've known all of two weeks, to tell you we'll be life-long friends and write to each other devotedly. You shouldn't need me to tell you that you're worth something...that you mean something. It's unbecoming."

Her words sliced through me like a knife. And the salt to the wound was that everything Leticia said was true. I had the weight of twenty years of self hatred on my back. I knew it wasn't my fault all these hatred had been spooned into me, but I still indulged it. And though Elizabeth had always been a good friend (until recently anyway), she was nothing like Leticia.

I wanted her to pat my hand and promise she'd write letters. I barely had anyone I could call a friend, a loved one. Was it so wrong that I wanted to claim Leticia as one? I brushed my hands against my skirts, absently. "It's been a very long day, Leticia. I think I shall retire now," I replied quietly.

"I don't like writing letters to distant figures," Leticia went on. "It's tiring."

"No one told you had to write anything," I said calmly, but I could feel myself bristling. "Really, I'm ready for bed."

"So I won't be writing regular correspondences to you."

"That's fine," I replied coldly.

Her amber eyes connected with mine. "I throw a great many balls, and one will probably be this weekend. I'll be sure to include an invitation." She took another sip of tea. "It'll be one of many, so be warned."

"You don't have to," I said stiffly.

"I don't have to do anything Rose, I'm me. I want to. And now and again I might extend an invitation to tea. I would be very insulted should you choose to snub me." I remained silent. Leticia raised a brow at me.

"I might attend," I shrugged. "If I feel so inclined."

Leticia clicked her tongue at me the way one would at a child. "Are you still tired?"

"Very."

Leticia rang the bell for a servant who came on minutes to clear away our tea. She kissed me on both cheeks. "Goodnight, my dear."

"Goodnight."

🥀

Matthew summoned his lawyer to meet him that morning at early hour of 9 o'clock. It had taken him a fortnight to muster the nerve to do this, and even now the task weighed on him. He sat expectantly in his drawing room, uncharacteristically restless, staring longingly at his bottle of brandy.

"Mr. Crawford, sir," Bert announced. Matthew was both disappointed and relieved to finally see his solicitor.

"Mr. Whitfield," his lawyer greeted. "What purpose have you called on me for today?"

Matthew usually liked when people got straight to the point, but this time, it kind of pained him. He would've preferred talking about the weather or the upcoming boxing match for ten minutes instead. "I'd like you to file a suit of divorce."

"Of course, sir. What are the grounds?"

Matthew ground his teeth. He'd forgotten you needed a reason to file for divorce. He knew he couldn't cite adultery, it absolutely ruin her reputation. Matthew didn't want to be responsible for damaging his wife any further. "The marriage was never consummated," he said instead.

"That would be an annulment then. If the marriage was never consummated, it was never true to begin with. The process of annulment is also much easier than a divorce. There is no lengthy division of properties and allocation of salaries."

"You mean...we return as we were?"

Mr. Crawford nodded in the affirmative.

"Meaning she would return under the guardianship of her parents or closest relatives?"

"That's correct, sir."

"Would divorce be the better option for her to remain alone?"

Mr. Crawford blinked at him curiously. "Mrs. Whitfield is under age, is she not?"

"She's a year shy of twenty-one."

"Mrs. Whitfield could likely live alone at twenty-one if she so wished. But as a divorced, underraaged woman she will have to be under the guardianship of her closest male relative. This includes residence and possession of all financial accounts."

Matthew grimaced. In a few short months, his baby would be born, and they must be born with his name. He couldn't afford to wait a year for Rose to turn twenty one. "Are there any other options?"

Mr. Crawford hesitated. He hated telling clients they had no other options. "You would like to divorce your wife in a way which she can be legally independent?"

"Yes. Financially independent, at least." Matthew knew the Axels had no real love for Rose. If he provided a residence for his wife, they would gladly be rid of her. But he knew that they wouldn't shirk the opportunity to bleed her dry of any and all funds Matthew allocated.

"Would you be kind enough to give me a few days to look into the matter? I might be able to find a loophole."

Matthew nodded. "Of course."

Mr. Crawford stood up. "I'll be sure to give you an answer in a couple days time, Mr. Whitfield."

They exchanged good-byes before his solicitor took his leave. Matthew spent the next twenty or so minutes drumming his fingers against his chair, his mind swirling. What would he really do if there was no other way to divorce his wife but hand her off to the clutches of her family? He shivered at the thought. He had to do right by her. It was the very least he could do, considering.

Bert entered the drawing room again. "This arrived for you, Sir."

Matthew took the letter from him curiously. Before he ripped open the seal, his fingers froze. It bore a royal seal. Matthew blinked once and then two more times for good measure. Why on earth would anyone of royal blood send him a letter? Matthew slowly opened the letter, as of it might disappear from his very eyes. The missive was addressed to he and his wife.

Crown Prince Edwind and Crown Princess Lettie would be honored to have your attendance at an upcoming ball Sunday evening.

Matthew's eyes almost exploded from his head.

Upon seeing his expression, Bert stalled his exit. "Sir?" he asked. No doubt had his butler seen the royal seal before his master, and was curious to glean some answers as well.

Matthew waved him away. "That'll be all."

The Crown Prince just invited him to a ball? Whatever for? Matthew was a respected an established part of the gentry, sure, but he was nowhere near noble enough to get invited to a royal event. He'd attended parties hosted by dukes and such, but never a prince. To be invited to a ball by the heir to the throne required an amount of social and political clout Matthew knew he didn't have. He stared at the letter in unbelief. He'd chalk it up to a mistake, but he knew of no other Matthew Whitfields in the kingdom but he. Matthew didn't know how long he sat there in shock before the door opened and his mistress appeared.

"Victoria," Matthew managed to say. "Why are you awake? It's still so early."

"My maids were buzzing like birds outside my door. They were gossiping about a letter," Victoria replied. Her eyes narrowed at the document in Matthew's hand. Before he could protest, she quickly snatched the letter from his hand. She peered back at her husband in surprise. "My God, Matthew. Whose new acquaintance have you made?"

"No one."

She beamed at him. "You're being modest, darling. The heir to the throne wouldn't invite you to a ball for no reason."

"I agree. But for the life of me. I can't seem to figure it out."

Suddenly, Victoria's face dropped. She looked downright stormy. "It must be her then," she muttered darkly.

"Who?"

"Her," Victoria said pointedly. "The prince wouldn't just send you an invitation for no reason, and they certainly don't make mistakes. So she must've met someone."

"Rose is a recluse, Vic. The only friend she has is Elisabeth."

"She's been gone for two weeks, Matthew. You don't know who she's met."

That was a fair point, Matthew thought. He knew he wasn't responsible for this mysterious invitation, and it certainly couldn't have been Victoria. But who could his wife have met that secured her such an enviable invitation to the most important house in the country within two weeks? "It's unlikely," Matthew offered.

Victoria was now flushed with anger. "No, it's very likely. It's the only other answer." It clearly pained her to the core that his wife had budding social capital. Matthew watched her souring mood with concern. His thoughts were only with the baby. Victoria was extremely volatile when she was angry.

"It'll be me taking you to balls soon one day, my dear," he offered sweetly.

"It could've been me going to this ball if you'd divorced that hideous harpy already," she snapped.

"Don't call her that," Matthew said before he could think it through.

"Excuse me?" Victoria asked. Her voice was dangerously soft.

"Don't call her that," he repeated. "Don't call her anything that resembles an insult in my presence again."

"Why not?"

Because you're the one who plotted to have her killed, he longed to say. If anyone is a scheming, hideous harpy, it's you. But Matthew knew she couldn't handle the accusation coupled with the news of the ball. It was too much. She really might do something to his child. "Because I said so," he said coldly. "And if you want your wishes of becoming my wife fulfilled, you'll do what I ask without question."

Victoria face folded in an ugly grimace before she stormed out. Matthew, ever used to running after Victoria during one of her tantrums, stayed glued in his seat. Instead he reached decidedly for his glass of brandy and a crystal cup.

🥀

After seeing Leticia off that morning, I explored the grounds of the resort once more. It struck me as I was walking that I hadn't written any poetry in a very long time. With that thought in mind, I obtained quill, ink, and paper, and sat at the little desk situated in my room. But I couldn't think of a single thing to write. Well, there was one thing that itched to be spilled on paper. One person. But I refused to immortalize those subjects on paper. So I sat there, stubbornly staring at a blank page. It was during this fruitless exercise that a letter arrived for me. I knew before I opened it that it was from Matthew. I hated the way my heart fluttered with this knowledge.

The letter read as follows:

Dear wife,

It seems that we've been invited to a ball by the Crown Prince himself! I think the whole thing is rather odd, and though I can't imagine how, I'm sure you have something to do with it. I'll be collecting you from The Georgia to go to the ball and dropping you back off once it's done. While you have very many dresses, something tells me you'll want a new one. I already have a line of credit going at Voss' Modiste, so you may go there if you wish. I'll send a carriage there so you have transportation to and from. Don't hesitate to write me with any concerns.

Your husband,

Matthew Whitfield

He didn't address the letter with Mrs. Whitfield or Ms. Axel. Matthew also knew better than to call by my first name. And yet, somehow, wife sounded the slightest bit soft. Endearing almost. Not for normal people of course, but Matthew had never called me that before. I rolled my shoulders, as if I could just as easily shrug off my current thoughts and the feelings that accompanies then. I really did need a new dress. Voss was one of the most respected shops in the kingdom, I was relieved he already had a line of credit there. But would I wear? It was strange. I'd always grown self conscious thinking of balls, thinking of how my large hips and wide waist compared to the slender figures of my peers. But now, for the first time, there was a determination to steer away for my persistent insecurities and...shine. Instead of being a weed or wallflower, I resolved to be a rose.