“He seems boring.” Rosalind frowned. “You forget I know him as well. I can’t believe they’re considering him for my marriage when they know I love you. They let my sisters marry for love.”
“Yes, because they fell in love with reasonable prospects.”
“You must ask them.” She was near to tears again. “Have you ever asked for my hand in marriage?”
“No, sweeting.” And do not ask me to. Please.
“Can’t you call upon them and talk to them, and explain how much we care for one another? I will tell them too. Please, at least try. Don’t you regard me that much?”
“You know I do.” But I will be rejected.
“Please say you will call upon them tomorrow. Please. If you esteem me so, it makes no sense that you would not at least try—”
He put a finger upon her lips. “Enough. Fine. No more begging. I’ll do as you ask because I esteem you beyond words, but I warn you it will probably come to nothing. You mustn’t raise your hopes.”
“Nonsense. I will hope and pray and beg them. I believe love is the most important thing in the world. There is nothing I won’t do in pursuit of it.”
She was beautiful all the time, but he thought she was at her most beautiful then, when she was alive with intent. Pure, gorgeous Rosalind, her own species of flower, so showy but soft and lovely at the same time. He would go to her parents and press his suit then, prepared for mortification and defeat. He would do it for her.
Even after she married that lucky clod Brittingham, he would do anything for her.