Rosalie Mallory
02-19-2010, 01:22 AM
Rosalie sat up, her eyes burning and her body feeling like it had been beaten. Yesterday had been hell and heaven, and she was paying for both now. The servants had woken her in the morning, and she had excused herself from the day's activities, citing food poisoning. Sure, it was a nicer way of saying she had a hangover, but both were lies, so why not pick the nicer one? There was a pitcher of water and a plate of broth and bread on the table beside her bed, and Rosalie dragged herself into a more upright position and got a drink. As much as she wanted to stay in bed all day, she had a job to do, and she'd promised it'd be done today.
Off handedly, she wondered what Ramira made of her this morning. She wasn't in the room, so Rosalie had to assume she was off being social, as surely she herself should be doing. Rex would be pissed at her, but he could sod off; how many days had he wasted lying in bed after drinking too much? He had no need to know that she wasn't buried in mugs of ale in some random tavern last night. She was actually surprised he hadn't come in her room and made her wake up; he'd probably just add this to her list of offenses when he got around to speaking to her.
Slowly, Rosalie made her way to a standing position, walking somewhat unsteadily to her trunks where she retrieved her writing desk. Then it was back in bed. The letter was one that was going to be difficult to write. After all, she couldn't just write "Dear Fletcher, your pony is ashes, you're welcome, Rosalie." But she wasn't sure she had the brain power to write anything that was more heartfelt. Still, she had to try. Quill to paper, she nibbled on the chunk of bread that was left for her as she wrote.
"Dear Lord Leiham,
The task you asked of me has been completed. She was found in time to prevent any further tragedy, and taken care of with as great a care as if she were my own. I'm incredibly sorry for your loss; it is truly a viscious blow, and I hope you may draw on the strength and love of those near to you to get through your hard time. If there is any more I can do for you, please don't hesitate to ask.
Your saddle and bridle have both been cleaned, and are in the stall they previously occupied in the stables. The blanket, I'm afraid, was unsalvagable, but was put to a good use in the end.
I would like to offer you one of the horses from my personal stables; I know nothing can ever replace your beloved Penelope, but perhaps some new stock in your stables will be of some benefit to you. Please let me know if you'd like to accept my offer, and we can arrange the details then. If you choose not to accept, fear not; I will take no offense.
Enclosed is a momento from the one you loved so much; were I in your position I would have wanted such an object, and so I hope you are of a similar mind. If I have been mistaken, please forgive me and accept my sincerest apologies.
Please, give my best to your mother, and know that I am praying for a swift recovery for the both of you.
Cordially yours,
Rosalie Letalis"
Rosalie looked over the letter once more, frowning at how impersonal it sounded. She wanted to tell him in person how sorry she was; she wanted to comfort him if he needed it, to make sure he had been seen to properly, to be there for him if he needed to scream or cry or both. But she knew it was not, and never would be, her place. Already she had probably overstepped her bounds in even doing the favor for him, but she could not deny a man who had been in such a state. Anyone who would condemn her for what she did had no heart, of that she was sure.
Standing, she pulled the lock of Penelope's mane from her bag, still wrapped in the leaf from the day before. She didn't bother unwrapping it; it went into her letter, sealed into the envelope with the red wax bearing her family's seal. Once that was done, she rummaged about in her trunk, finally finding a dress that was loose and comfortable, a dull rust red colour and not particularly fancy in any way, but made of a soft raw silk. Her brush found its way through her hair just a few times, and then her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, held in place with two short sticks. Soft slippers graced her feet, and then Rosalie was off to find a servant.
A maid was walking the halls, a basket of laundry perched on her hip. Rosalie stopped the woman, ignoring the look of annoyance that crossed her face at being delayed. "This letter needs to find its way to the rooms Lord Leiham's family is staying in. Can I trust you to see if there, and quite soon?" She showed the maid the letter, two silver coins also visible in her hand. The maid eyed the coins, then Rosalie's face, before nodding vigorously and taking both the letter and the coins and hurrying off down the hall. Rosalie returned to her room, her intention to wait and see if Ramira would be back any time soon.
The maid hurried down the halls, trying to remember where the Leihams had been stationed. She passed their rooms before remembering, wheeling around and knocking on their door unceremoniously. "Letter for Lord Leiham!" she said, handing the letter to whomever had opened the door before turning and hurrying back off down the hall, scurring away before she could be asked anything else.
Off handedly, she wondered what Ramira made of her this morning. She wasn't in the room, so Rosalie had to assume she was off being social, as surely she herself should be doing. Rex would be pissed at her, but he could sod off; how many days had he wasted lying in bed after drinking too much? He had no need to know that she wasn't buried in mugs of ale in some random tavern last night. She was actually surprised he hadn't come in her room and made her wake up; he'd probably just add this to her list of offenses when he got around to speaking to her.
Slowly, Rosalie made her way to a standing position, walking somewhat unsteadily to her trunks where she retrieved her writing desk. Then it was back in bed. The letter was one that was going to be difficult to write. After all, she couldn't just write "Dear Fletcher, your pony is ashes, you're welcome, Rosalie." But she wasn't sure she had the brain power to write anything that was more heartfelt. Still, she had to try. Quill to paper, she nibbled on the chunk of bread that was left for her as she wrote.
"Dear Lord Leiham,
The task you asked of me has been completed. She was found in time to prevent any further tragedy, and taken care of with as great a care as if she were my own. I'm incredibly sorry for your loss; it is truly a viscious blow, and I hope you may draw on the strength and love of those near to you to get through your hard time. If there is any more I can do for you, please don't hesitate to ask.
Your saddle and bridle have both been cleaned, and are in the stall they previously occupied in the stables. The blanket, I'm afraid, was unsalvagable, but was put to a good use in the end.
I would like to offer you one of the horses from my personal stables; I know nothing can ever replace your beloved Penelope, but perhaps some new stock in your stables will be of some benefit to you. Please let me know if you'd like to accept my offer, and we can arrange the details then. If you choose not to accept, fear not; I will take no offense.
Enclosed is a momento from the one you loved so much; were I in your position I would have wanted such an object, and so I hope you are of a similar mind. If I have been mistaken, please forgive me and accept my sincerest apologies.
Please, give my best to your mother, and know that I am praying for a swift recovery for the both of you.
Cordially yours,
Rosalie Letalis"
Rosalie looked over the letter once more, frowning at how impersonal it sounded. She wanted to tell him in person how sorry she was; she wanted to comfort him if he needed it, to make sure he had been seen to properly, to be there for him if he needed to scream or cry or both. But she knew it was not, and never would be, her place. Already she had probably overstepped her bounds in even doing the favor for him, but she could not deny a man who had been in such a state. Anyone who would condemn her for what she did had no heart, of that she was sure.
Standing, she pulled the lock of Penelope's mane from her bag, still wrapped in the leaf from the day before. She didn't bother unwrapping it; it went into her letter, sealed into the envelope with the red wax bearing her family's seal. Once that was done, she rummaged about in her trunk, finally finding a dress that was loose and comfortable, a dull rust red colour and not particularly fancy in any way, but made of a soft raw silk. Her brush found its way through her hair just a few times, and then her hair was pulled back into a loose bun, held in place with two short sticks. Soft slippers graced her feet, and then Rosalie was off to find a servant.
A maid was walking the halls, a basket of laundry perched on her hip. Rosalie stopped the woman, ignoring the look of annoyance that crossed her face at being delayed. "This letter needs to find its way to the rooms Lord Leiham's family is staying in. Can I trust you to see if there, and quite soon?" She showed the maid the letter, two silver coins also visible in her hand. The maid eyed the coins, then Rosalie's face, before nodding vigorously and taking both the letter and the coins and hurrying off down the hall. Rosalie returned to her room, her intention to wait and see if Ramira would be back any time soon.
The maid hurried down the halls, trying to remember where the Leihams had been stationed. She passed their rooms before remembering, wheeling around and knocking on their door unceremoniously. "Letter for Lord Leiham!" she said, handing the letter to whomever had opened the door before turning and hurrying back off down the hall, scurring away before she could be asked anything else.