Dearest Lady Weis,

You very well know my reputation. Too much, in fact, that I do have a little resentment. You know me very well, yet I have no idea who you truly are.

Yes, there are lovers, but they are merely there to satisfy the desires of the flesh. You, I believe, do understand with a mind so open.

Although I do have to admit that I am starting to tire of this life I am leading. I feel that there are more that I must do and discover. I know something is waiting for me, yet I am hesitant to start reaching for it for I hate failure. The very thought of it brings my father's voice come ringing in my head.

Mayhap I ought to retire from my rakish ways and start to think of a future with someone else.

I envy you. You know what you want. You have someone you want. If you could only tell me more, I might give you advice like you've been doing so in the past year.

Yours,

William

*****

Dearest William,

I find that I can no longer continue to fool us both. I wish I can say more, but I am afraid it would ruin what we've built together through these letters.

This shall be my last letter, my friend. I wish you well in your endeavours and may you find the happiness that you deserve. As to I, I shall keep fighting for what I desire the most and I hope you do too.

Your friend forever,

Lady Weis

Wakefield had read the letter numerous times, as if the words would morph into something else if he read them one more time. But they were clear as the sun shining through a hole above.

She had ended it. Everything.

And he felt like throwing something out the window, at the same time he felt like coming down on both knees to grovel and beg.

Everything he thought he was not capable of feeling he felt because of her. And she had decided without giving proper reason that she was done.

He could not allow it. Not until he had her in his arms as his.

And so Wakefield reached for his pen and started writing.

*****

Dearest Lady Weis,

I do not accept that you will simply end this. As a matter of fact, I refuse any reason to do so. I know you think yourself in love with another, but I do not think he loves you in return. Two years, my lady. Two years you have been talking about this man and never had I read a single letter from you that he might feel the same about you.

I have tried to tell you what I honestly feel, but I stopped myself countless of times because I wanted to tell you personally, when you finally decide for us to meet in person. But due to this recent decision of yours, I decided that I should let you know.

I love you. I am in love with you for quite some time now. I fear the feeling, but I embrace it.

I do not care if you are without limbs, or that you are a mere servant. I love your mind, your wit and your heart. I could not wish for anything more. If you do not believe me, then it is safe to assume that you have not known me in the years we have been writing to each other.

And if you do really believe we must stop our correspondence, please be fair and show yourself. You know me, but I do not know you and I deserve, at the very least, a glimpse of the woman I had been conversing with in letters for years.

Meet me. I beg of you to meet me. Let me prove to you that I am ready for this, that I am the man for you. If you are not ready for that, if you are still inclined to have this other man, meet me still. Ease my bleeding heart and free me of this unstoppable force inside my chest for I do not think I could live the rest of my days wondering who you are.

I shall be waiting in the library after midnight.

Love,

William

Ysabella stared at the letters and allowed a tear to smudge his name.

He was not supposed to fall in love with Lady Weis!

Emma was correct. Everything had gone awry.

She had made him fall in love with Lady Weis.

Now, what could she do?

She carefully folded the letter with shaking hands and wiped the tears from her face.

No, she was not going to reply. She had promised not merely Emma, but herself as well.

This letter from Wakefield was enough proof that she had failed as Lady Weis.

She looked into the mirror and fixed her black hair and wiped her face dry. She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and let it out with a practiced smile.

Returning to the box under her bed, she hid the last letter from Wakefield inside.

Lady Weis was no more.

It was time for Ysabella Everard to do more.

*****

"Something is wrong," Aurora noted in concern, frowning at Ysabella's pale face. "Your eyes are swollen. Have you been crying?"

"No," she lied, averting her gaze.

"Is it Emma? Is that why she has not come out to see me since I've arrived?"

Ysabella shook her head. She was not good at this, truly she was not. The silence in the parlour was deafening, making her even more uncomfortable. "She is with Lindsay, making her sleep. She shall come down once she is done."

"Ysa, what is wrong? Please, I tell me. Is it your brothers? Have they—"

"No, it is not that," she snapped, looking at her friend and realizing that she was being such an arse. "I am sorry. Please, forgive me."

"Then is it Wakefield? Has he said something more? Mayhap I should personally deliver his coat so he could hear a piece of my mind. The things he said to you in the lake were horrible!" Aurora reached for her hand it was the last straw. Ysabella's shoulders started to shake. "Oh, Ysa, I hate to see you like this. Tell me what to do."

"There is none," she sobbed, desperately wiping at her tears to put up a brave face. "I have done this to myself."

"Why? What have you done?" Aurora asked.

Ysabella stared at her friend, her lips trembling. And then she started talking. "Nearly three years past, I made a wager with Samuel Theobald. You know of him."

"Of course, I do."

"He is a friend of Ralph's and Emma and I. He told me that mayhap the reason why Wakefield would not look at me as a woman is because I am the sister of his friend. Mayhap, if I could find a way to reach him as someone else, he would notice that someone." She saw Aurora's face start to change into that of disbelief to what would come next. "And so I wrote a stupid missive, one I thought he would ignore."

"But he did not," Aurora said in astonishment.

Ysabella nodded. "I introduced myself as Lady Weis. I shared it with Emma and she was opposed to the crazy idea. I was fooling him, see? So I said I would not write more. But he wrote another letter and I could simply not help myself but reply."

"Oh, Ysa," Aurora sighed, holding her hand tighter.

"And it went on for two more years." She lifted her eyes to Aurora. "So you see? I merely do not love him as someone I see in balls or social events. I love him because—"

"You know him," Aurora interjected, her face softening with understanding. "But I must agree with Emma, Ysa, that you've been fooling the man. He will surely be hurt if he knew the truth."

"Which is why I stopped our correspondence. I've hidden his letters and they shall be destroyed soon once I get the courage."

"But should you not tell him? Should you not confess?"

"I am afraid to."

"Why?"

"He admitted he is in love with Lady Weis. I did not mean for him to fall for her. I wanted Lady Weis to merely be his friend, to give him advice on love and even in dealing with me, Ysabella Everard!"

Aurora frowned in confusion. "But you ought to be happy that he loves Lady Weis. You are Lady Weis. He is in love with you."

"He cannot love her, Aurora," Ysabella cried in desperation. "I do not expect you to understand, but he cannot love her. He ought to love me!"

Aurora's mouth fell open and she scoffed in disbelief. "Are you jealous of yourself?"

Hearing that from her friend made her feel even more foolish. But she hated to explain herself. She hated to explain why she found the need for Wakefield to love her as Ysabella Everard, not as Lady Weis.

Lady Weis was but a tiny part of her person, a piece of her mind, a tinge of her life. Ysabella Everard was something more!

"So what do you intend to—" Aurora started, but the door to the parlour flung open and Nicholas stormed in.

"Good," he said, glancing over at Aurora and Ysabella. "I finally found you. I wish to speak about—"

"The incident in the lake?" Aurora asked, eyebrow arched high.

"Yes," Nicholas snapped, lifting his chin as if he expected the two of them to tremble in fear in his presence.

"I believe the matter has already been resolved, my lord," Aurora said nonchalantly. "I have already admitted that it was I who took the foolish risk of dipping into the lake, not Ysa. She tried to stop me but I did not listen. And to my knowledge, the lake is not within the hunting grounds. If it were not for my foolishness, nothing untoward would have happened."

Nicholas frowned. "What untoward thing are you talking about, Miss Randolph?"

Ysabella groaned. Aurora had slipped. No one was supposed to know about the accident!

"That I ruined one of my best dresses, of course, what else?" Aurora simply uttered as if it was the most honest thing she had ever said.

When the frown did not leave Nicholas' face, her friend further risked being thrown out of the estate by standing to her feet and say, "Now, my lord, if you have nothing else to say, Ysa and I were talking about a sensitive topic." She motioned her hand toward the door.

Nicholas' eyes slanted to Ysabella. His frown deepened. "Have you been crying?"

"No. It was dusty in the corridor," she lied. "Now, brother, unless you truly wish to discuss with us the latest collection of unmentionables and the terrific laces that come with them, thanks to the genius of Madam Vernice, you may leave the parlour."

"Unmentionables?" Nicholas asked, nearly in horror.

"Chemise, drawers, stockings, corsets—however you like to call them, of course," said Aurora, taking her seat once again.

"Bloody hell, women, do you have nothing else to do?" he cried before storming out of the parlour.

Ysabella giggled when her eyes met Aurora's. And they giggled some more until Ysabella was once again bawling, her laughter diverting back to tears.

All the while, Aurora held her hand, patiently waiting for her tears to stop.

*****

Wakefield knew who was about to enter his mother's parlour when the butler came in.

He almost cursed under his breath when Ysabella Everard walked into the room, flower in hand. The smile on her face froze when she saw him standing in one corner of the room.

"Oh, stop standing like a statue, dear, and come over here," Lady Hayward said, motioning with her hand. "You have met both my sons, of course?" she asked.

Ysabella's eyes sauntered toward Thomas sitting across his mother, leg crossed over the other in an easy fashion. He green eyes widened even further in shock.

"Sometimes children have to obey their parent's need for their presence even though they detest each other," his mother uttered as Ysabella finally curtsied. "Where is Emma, dear?"

"I am afraid she is currently quite busy," Ysabella murmured in reply as she straightened to full height. Something in her eyes made Wakefield doubt her words.

"Good afternoon, Lady Ysabella," Thomas said, coming to his feet, eyes focused on the newcomer. "Do not mind what our mother said. William and I are—"

"Do not bother, son," their mother said, "Ysabella knows my sentiments."

Thomas' eyes glowed with understanding before he turned to Wakefield with a look of understanding and said, "Ah, so I see now why she pulled you away from me the other night at the ball."

Wakefield had remained motionless in his corner of the room, still cross that Ysabella appeared to be quite calm after what happened during the hunt. But he stiffened at his brother's words. His head snapped toward Ysabella who was laughing off Thomas' statement.

Was it true? Did she truly rescue him that night at the ball?

But he was not able to think more about it since Ysabella went straight to his mother to give the woman a peck. His eyes settled on the yellow flower in her hand which she carefully placed on the cushion beside her.

He had to admit that he was quite baffled that she did not go straight to him to deliver the flower personally. He was even more surprised when she did not bother to give him too much attention as she talked with their mother and even Thomas. It was as if he was not in the room!

And even much to his own surprise, he spent the next full hour pacing in front of the window, brooding like a mad dog for being utterly ignored by his mother, his brother and even Ysabella Everard herself. Had he done something wrong? He was about to excuse himself to wait for the dinner his mother had so demanded he share with her and Thomas in some other part of the house when Ysabella relayed her goodbyes.

"I must cut my visit short," she said, standing to her feet. Thomas stood as well and Wakefield watched as his brother offered to walk Ysabella back to the Everard estate, one she gracefully refused. She bent down to pick up the flower and turned to him.

His heart, blast it, started to hammer. "Will you be attending the Cinderella ball, Lord Wakefield?" she asked, her smile gentle. But it was not the same as the previous ones. Somehow it had changed. He saw—was it sadness or regret?—in her eyes, mingled with quiet determination.

"I might not," he lied, eyes on the flower in her hand. If she ever hand it to him, it would be the first in the two years that he would have to personally take it from her.

"I gather you will attend?" asked Thomas, brows cocked high, urging Ysabella to tear her eyes off Wakefield.

Ysabella frowned at Thomas' expression. "You sound bothered about it, my lord."

"Well, quite so, yes," Thomas said with a shrug. "Aren't service people in attendance as well? Everyone will be wearing masks and we can barely recognize them. It is quite a worry, really. You will never know what those people can do when dressed in gowns and suits."

Wakefield saw Ysabella stiffen and blink her eyes, looking at Thomas incredulously. "Well, I beg your pardon, my lord, but we have given our own servants blessings to attend the ball. It is not every day that we can make them feel as equals."

"A call it fraud, really. Why give them the illusion? It will merely make them want for more."

"You and I disagree on that regard then," Ysabella said, her voice clipped, almost snappy, before she straightened and smiled at everyone. "I might be attending the ball," she mysteriously provided, slanting her eyes toward Wakefield, the familiar glimmer in her eyes returning, "but you shall never know for I will be wearing my mask."

Giving Lady Hayward a peck, Ysabella exited the room with her flower in hand.

Much later that afternoon, Wakefield went home and found the same yellow flower sitting on his desk along with the coat she demanded from him in the lake.

What game was Ysabella Everard playing now?