|Summary:||Roslyn tells Rosanna of likely happenings.|
|Date:||July 8, 2012|
|Related Logs:||Kit/Roslyn, Rosanna/Rutger stuff.|
|Gardens — Braeburn House|
|July 4, 289|
The gardens of Kingsgrove are more than a little lovely; the holding might not be the largest in the Riverlands, but it must be one of the most beautiful. Rosanna is showing off the apple groves to her good, dear friend, given a bit more independence within the confines of Braeburn House to move about without guard or handmaiden particularly close. "And this," she announces as she comes across a particularly good climbing apple tree, "is my absolute favorite spot at home."
Roslyn's escorts remain with Rosanna's at a distance, acknowledging some level of trust between friends or houses. Already having a tour with Kittridge, she still seems attentive to the other lady's tour as well. Her gaze drags consideringly over the tree, a twitch of a smile at her lips as she says, "A very good spot, Lady Rosanna. Your gardens are very beautiful."
"Aren't they?" Rosanna says, pleased at Roslyn's good judgment to recognize such. "I think our grounds are the loveliest in the Riverlands." She has visited all of them, you know.
"Likely so," Roslyn agrees easily, friendly warmth playing over her words. "I would like to stay here forever myself, after seeing it." Hazel eyes slide towards Rosanna subtly at that statement, watching and weighing the young lady's reaction.
"Well, I'm sure you may visit whenever you like," Rosanna says with airy graciousness, not quite getting any importance of Roslyn's statement.
"But if I were to stay, would you mind that overly much, Lady Rosanna?" Roslyn questions, trying again with a softness of tone.
"You are welcome to visit as long as you wish, Lady Roslyn," Rosanna says with friendly warmth. "Of course."
A hint of hesitation passes over Roslyn's features, shoulders drawing tight as she braces herself to say bluntly instead, "But if it were more than a visit, my lady? If this were to become—my home as well, would you be as welcoming?"
Rosanna frowns. She looks over at Roslyn, her dark eyes searching over the older woman's form. Then, finally, she says a bit primly, "I'm sure I don't understand your meaning."
"They are pursuing a marriage between Lord Kittridge and I. My brother will come soon to finalize the offer of dowry and hopefully sign a betrothal agreement," Roslyn answers carefully, her gaze apologetic where it meets Rosanna's.
"Your brother," Rosanna echoes. Anger is not yet wholly manifested, but its early hints are gathering on the edges of her expression. "Your brother is courting me."
Roslyn nods, a quiet, agreeable gesture to Rosanna's statement. She answers just as softly, "I assume the courtship will end if the betrothal is agreed upon."
"Well of course it will," Rosanna says with rising temper, pink flushing her cheeks. "They're not going to make two marriage alliances between the same families."
"My family might consider it," Roslyn starts, "But Lord Kittridge made it clear that your family could not afford to do the same. Which is understandable." She stops at that, however, her brows drawing together slightly as Rosanna flushes with anger. She adds, quietly, "I am sorry, Rosanna."
"This is all your fault!" Rosanna accuses her, fists balling in her skirts. "You've been mooning over my brother like a common — hussy. You made this happen. Why else would he want such a — a — spinster?!"
It is Roslyn's turn to color, though guilt causes the slight darkening of her cheeks at Rosanna's accusation. She defends herself, lowly, "I did not. It is a better match for your family, despite my age."
Rosanna glares at her, too furious for words. Then she reaches out with the full force of her anger to try and slap her hand across Roslyn's cheek. "You are a liar," she says, words shivering with ire. "I'm sure I know exactly how you were so convincing."
It comes as a surprise to Roslyn, and really, she is neither quick enough nor trained enough to defend herself against such a physical assault. She can only lift her fingertips to the bright red cheek with a parting of lips, hazel eyes growing wet in reaction. "It was never like that, Rosanna. It was never supposed to be this, nor did I ever intend you harm," she replies, slightly breathless.
"My name," Rosanna says, lifting her chin with furious eyes that mirror a certain wetness in Roslyn's, "is Lady Rosanna. But you will not address me as anything, because you will never speak to me again." She turns with a toss of bright, copper hair and starts to storm off. STORMILY.
"Lady Rosanna," Roslyn entreats to the younger lady's retreating back, waving off her guard as he steps to her side with a dismissive air as she looks after her former friend with a twist of a frown.
Rosanna offers no hint that she's even heard Roslyn. She keeps on storming. Like a stormer.
Roslyn brushes fingers along the line of redness caused by the slap, blinking away tears fiercely. Where Rosanna ignores her, she instead takes a deep breath and moves to leave the gardens as well through a different path, though it is slow and steady steps that take her away.
BE MY FRIEND, ROSANNA.