I hated this man beyond all reason, yet at the same time, I was fascinated by him. Lord Bernard Fawcett. He was practically perfect. He'd been that way since we were children. Whenever I'd get a high mark in tutoring, he'd get a higher one. I'd practice for days on an oral presentation, and he'd effortlessly deliver his with that annoyingly perfect and innate oratory skills. Oh, he had his flaws, he was awfully spoiled and naïve. No reader, we were never friends, nor did we have those childhood squabbles. Well, perhaps sometimes, is it not customary in any rivalry to be competitive? He did way too well with Lookabout. I always picked the least obvious places to hide my item, but he found it all the same. His spinning top always stayed up longer than him. For a few years, I thankfully had the upper hand at Chess. But, soon he found a way to even beat me at that. But all the while, he was polite… Too polite. As per our station, I was as well, but I kept sneaking in soft glares, and perhaps lingering glances. All curiosity of course, I was only a girl after all. They meant nothing of depth.

Alas, when we reached the age of 15, we were sent off to boarding school, thus ending our tutelage rivalry. I attended the seminary in the western mountains, while Bernard Fawcett was sent abroad. Odira lost a great man that day, yet also, a nuisance. My newfound friends had all had that one individual they were glad to leave behind, so at the first morning meal, we all proposed a toast.

"Fiddle dee dera! Freedom for four eras!" exclaimed Georgina, raising her teacup, "Who is it you're liberated from?"

"My brother Atticus, who loved to soil my dresses with his mudpies," said Suzette.

"Sir Harper Bowman, who had stolen my first kiss in a game of dares," said Ilsa.

"What about you, Veronica? Who are you less likely to miss?" Georgina inquired.

"Lord Bernard Fawcett, whose mere presence and need to outdo me in everything made me want to pull my corset strings until I faint out of pure frustration!" I exclaimed.

At that moment I swore I felt a fire burning within me, what, at the time I assumed to be passionate hatred. I probably should have figured otherwise from Georgina's mischievous expression.

"Why, Lady Veronica Halifax, we were toasting to those we hated," she said, "Not the ones we want to be courted by."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You're all flushed," Suzette giggled.

"I-I'm enraged at very thought of that man. I… I would never! I would as much as Ilsa wants to court Sir Bowman," I replied.

Their gossiping stopped for the moment, but not without reminders. Every time I returned from the winter holiday, Georgina would ask me how my "secret love" was faring. I always replied that I never see him. It was the truth; Mother and Father had informed me that Bernard Fawcett oddly preferred to stay abroad in Lochere to celebrate with his newfound comrades. I personally thought it was due to his hatred of airships. I could never understand why that was; perhaps if it was because he was afraid of heights, I would finally have the upper hand for once. Abroad, he was probably exchanging gifts, sneaking liquor, and meeting girls. I wasn't sure why the thought of him flirting with another lady sickened me so much; I possibly pitied whoever decided to put up with him. He'd probably show off what a gift from the gods he was, and she'd be blindly enamored by his performance. If only the hypothetical girl knew what he was really like. Or worse yet, she wouldn't care about the man he was, and be after his family's fortune.

Disgraceful. I, of course, would never do that. I know who he is. He's very intelligent, levelheaded, courteous. He may have not been an Adonis as of when I last saw him, but he has the potential to become one. Even with a face like that, it would not be all I cared about, if he even dared to look my way, perhaps I would humor- No! No! Absolutely not! What is it you're thinking, reader? You think his well-being matters to me? You think the reason I hate the thought of him with another lady sickens me because I desire to be in her place? Absolutely not! I may hate Bernard Fawcett, but he's also my neighbor and former classmate. Even if we were rivals, I only wished misery upon on him to a certain degree.

Those four years away passed all too quickly, and I returned home with a heavy heart. Georgina, Suzette, and Ilsa each lived a few miles from my hometown of Netherham, so I would still see them on occasion at galas, but I'd always miss the days of mischief at boarding school. Not even a week after I arrived home, Mother had informed me that we were having guests for tea, though she kept mum about whom. It wasn't until they arrived that I found out why. A balding man with a smug smile, and an overdressed older woman with graying hair entered. I'd seen them many times in childhood. The Earl and Countess Fawcett. Of course, Bernard Fawcett had to be with them. But of course! My eyes darted straight to him as he appeared from behind his parents. There was something different about him. Reader, Lord Bernard Fawcett certainly was not ugly in childhood, but I didn't remember him being this handsome. I wasn't quite sure what he'd done with himself in Lochere, but his physique had transformed from slightly chubby to slightly built. His dark brown hair was a lot more luscious, for lack of a better word, than I remembered. His eyes… I was more drawn to dark eyed men, but for some reason, his green eyes had me captivated. But that cheeky smile still remained, and I snapped out of my trance. He bowed deeply and kissed my hand. I felt a chill run up my spine, likely in anger.

"Lady Veronica Halifax," he greeted, "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Too long," I muttered.

Tea was worse. The parents conversed among themselves, leaving Bernard and I with only one another to speak to, but we merely stared. I suppose he hadn't gotten a good look at me due to the protocol of greeting the hosts first, but he was certainly taking a chance now. I in turn kept my own eyes on him. I had been told that men become more attractive as they age, but as for him… He's no Adonis, but fairly attractive. There was no way he hadn't any other ladies after him. How dare they. How dare they look only on the surface. They have no idea who he is, how intelligent he is, his sense of humor, his… irritating naivety. No. Meeting him again changed nothing. I hate him! While I was alone with my thoughts, I hadn't noticed his stare had become more of a gaze. I swore I felt myself burning up and began to fan myself more quickly. Another bout of rage? But this was exhilarating. Although, this hadn't been the first time. At times, my heart would beat faster and my face would flush at the thought of him, as my dear friend Georgina had pointed out many a time, but it was in no way passion as she thought, more like passionate hatred. Ugh, how I would have loved to make my way to the opposite side of the table, take his face in my hands, and just-

"Are you feverish, my lady?"

Upon the sound of his voice, I nearly jumped, and my fan slipped from my hand. Just like him to interrupt my thoughts.

"N-No… No, I'm fine, thank you," I said, "But… I do have a burning question."

I had to think of something, anything to prevent him from getting any ideas about my expression.

"I… Is it customary in Lochere to slurp one's tea?"

Ha! He seemed to be caught off guard!

"I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"You were slurping it quite a lot. I notice everything. It's still quite rude here."

"I see you haven't changed," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Neither have you," I replied. "That is, in the mental sense."

Now why did that leave my mouth? That would only feed his pride.

"Is that so?"

I detected a certain arrogance in his tone. Just what had he been up to in Lochere? And why was that half smirk forming on his face suddenly so alluring?

"P-Perhaps it is so, but there's no need to be so smug about it."

"My apologies, my lady, you're right, I shouldn't be," he replied almost sincerely, "That's your specialty, not mine."

I was utterly appalled. How dare he speak to me like that! How I wanted to act upon my previous thoughts… But unfortunately, we still weren't alone in the room. Any outbursts on my part would cause a scene, not to mention he'd have the upper hand once again as he did when we were children.

"Well then, I see how it is," I said, "Whatever you happen to think of my ego is irrelevant right now. You've just displayed the extent of your own. As if their excellencies spoiling you rotten wasn't enough, I see your time abroad has only inflated your own pride, Bernard. And yet, I see you're just as naïve. You can't expect me to fall at your feet just because you've changed in the slightest."

He seemed taken aback for a split second, but that damned half-smirk was quick to return. But of course, he'd taken pride in defeating me in anyway he could! He certainly wouldn't back down from a challenge now.

"Why Veronica," he started, "I'd say it's completely relevant. If anything you're as spoiled as you think I am, and my ego could never compare to yours."

At that moment, I felt a bit of satisfaction. I was finally superior to him in something. Although if he was trying to insult me, it may have been a hollow victory. However, he wasn't done.

"As for your 'falling at my feet,' I don't remember giving you that idea. You came up with that on your own."

Oh, no. He clearly did instill that idea in me. I'm not sure how, but I know for certain he did. How to catch him, you ask? I can't have him making completely false assumptions, of course.

"Come off it. Surely those foreign ladies in Lochere would swoon over you if you gave them so much as the slightest attention, and you definitely wouldn't mind giving them more than that. As long as they stroked your ego in return. Tell me, how many were there?" I replied.

I smirked, anticipating how he would possibly counter that. What had come next, I hadn't expected. He chuckled. It wasn't as if he hadn't as a child, and I'd think it were a pleasant sound if I wasn't guessing at what was going on in his head… That, and of course, if I didn't hate him beyond all reason.

"Since when are you interested in foreign affairs, my lady?" he asked, "And my alleged affairs in particular? And what about you? Look at you. You must have had your share of men in the mountains. I suppose I should ask you about them. How much money did they spend? Were they from good families? And most of all, how many?"

Just when I was about to open my mouth again, Father rose from the table.

"Daughter, I see you're invested in your conversation with the young lord, but we have other affairs to attend to."

I scoffed. I wanted very much to put Bernard Fawcett in his place, but it would have to wait.

"This isn't over," I muttered to him, "Write me. By the way, perhaps there were some, but none I was interested in."

He simply smirked and left the manor with his head held high. Damn him. Damn him to hell! He had the NERVE to think I was interested in him? And to assume that I'd been with as many men as he had ladies? Although… Was he insinuating such a thing as a counterpoint, or did he really believe that? "Look at you?" Was he saying I was attractive to him? I daresay I may have "blossomed" a bit since we'd last seen each other, but I was definitely not Venus incarnate. Nevertheless, he thought me attractive enough to be pursued by a large number of suitors? My cheeks reddened at the thought of the possibility. Yet this time, I hadn't felt any rage at first. It was almost as if I was forcing myself to be angry. But no. That cannot be it! I truly hate him. No wonder I'd feel an onset of rage, no matter how soon it took place. And yet… Why would his possibly thinking that I was attractive matter to me anyway? Why would any of his opinions matter to me?

A few days after "the incident," I received a letter from Fawcett, as well as a package. The oddly giddy feeling returned as I began to open the letter, but I tried to push it to the back of my mind. The letter read:

Dearest Veronica:

I trust you're doing well, but I think you would prefer if I skipped the formalities. If you were truly interested, I admit there were a few ladies abroad that may have taken a liking to me, and a few I may have in return, but none of them stood out as someone I'd want to court. Besides, there was a lady here I'd already set my sights on. You can ask all you'd like, but I won't reveal her name. I doubt I'd have a real chance with her anyway.

Now, about those alleged gentlemen. Did they truly spend enough on you? Did you consider courting any of them? Above all, did they treat you well? I only ask because as you're my former classmate, your well-being is important to me, no matter how arrogant you are.

While you haven't asked much about my travels, I thought you would be interested in something I'd brought back. I would have brought it over when I came for tea, but I didn't want the Earl and Countess Halifax to be under the impression we were secretly courting. The package included in this letter contains a music box made by a friend of mine in Lochere. He hadn't any lady friends at the moment, so he told me to give it to someone who would appreciate it. Not that you would, of course, as you're impossible to impress, but I suppose there's no hurt in trying. I remember you enjoying music; hopefully that stayed with you at boarding school. You may recognize the song it plays.

I eagerly await your next letter with your answers, and perhaps a few more jests at my supposed ego and time abroad.

Yours,

Bernard

I admit I was expecting something different, perhaps more to the tone of our conversation a few days earlier, but I didn't mind this at all. He was being civil at the very least, and that one passage about him being concerned about how those gentlemen supposedly treated me… Why would it matter to him if he believed I was so arrogant and persnickety? And who was that lady he had his eyes on? Did I know her? Would she be a good match for him, aside from appearance and wealth? What do I care about some mystery lady? I remembered the package and opened it to reveal, as promised, a small music box. It wasn't overly ornate, but at the same time it was beautifully painted with gold plated hinges and key; certainly nothing an amateur mechanist would create.

Curiously, I wound it up and opened it, and an all-too-familiar song began to play. Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata." It had been one of my favorite songs, one I'd loved to play on the pianoforte since I was a child. Of course, Bernard Fawcett had the same music lessons as I, so of course he'd know something like that, but that was years ago. How could a simple song that could have inspired all kinds of memories make him think of me? As the song continued to play, I closed my eyes and sighed to myself. I hated him. I hated him… Yet maybe now not as much as I had initially. As soon as I gathered my thoughts once again, I penned my reply.

Dear Bernard

I must thank you for the music box. It may not be the most extravagant gift, but I appreciate it nonetheless, I suppose it's flattering that "Moonlight Sonata" made you think of me. Please do write your mechanist friend, thanking him on my behalf.

As for the matter of the gentlemen, I may have been on outings with a few, and they did spend a lot on me, knowing I'm from a good family, but I didn't bother to court any of them. I knew their intentions. They wanted my father's title and money. They didn't seem to care about me at all. They were all boring anyway. You know I prefer to hold more interesting conversations. Were those ladies after your money? I bet they were. I trust you stay away from those types, they don't deserve are beneath you.

I wish I could give you a gift in return, but I haven't anything interesting in the mountains. Enclosed instead is a sketch of you, to fuel your ego, and perhaps if I see you again, I could play "Moonlight Sonata" for you. I actually would like to hear more about your travels, and if you wish to know more about my time in the mountains, all you need do is ask.

Sincerely,

Veronica

The exchange went on for a number of weeks. I spoke about the antics my new friends and I had endured at school, as well as our adventures in the nearby town. He wrote of the adventures he had while exploring the foreign land of Lochere, and occasionally bragged of his achievements in his studies. He had called upon me a few times as well, so we could talk face to face. We had our squabbles, and they were exhilarating as usual, though as time progressed they were more playful than confrontational. But still, I hated him. I hated him so much. I always felt this burning sensation, and the familiar frustration when I was around him, but I dismissed it as pure hatred. It's what I thought it was, reader, until that fateful night.

The Blind Dance Card Gala. It was the event of the year for the unmarried, and I was finally eligible to go. When I received the white fan with my name embroidered on the side, I was excited. I would get to dance the night away, possibly see Georgina, Suzette, and Ilsa again, and… I felt I shouldn't have been, but I hoped than Bernard was invited, obviously because I'd wanted to prove that I was a better dancer than him, of course. As I strode into the room in my simple purple gown, I was simply ecstatic. Georgina had spotted me right away and almost ran up to greet me.

"Veronica! How nice to see you!" she said as she embraced me.

"Likewise to you. Are you also anticipating which gentlemen will sign your dance card?"

"Oh, yes! I'm not getting any younger, you know."

Soon enough, Ilsa and Suzette found us and we caught up on each other's lives after school. Ilsa was still avoiding Sir Bowman and had taken up painting. Suzette was dabbling in medicine; although she'd wanted to be a doctor, such a thing was not accepted yet, so she'd become an herbalist, after she eventually chooses between two suitors, both of which I heard were in attendance. Georgina, as per her extroverted ways, was on her way to becoming a fantastic hostess, but there were no interesting gentlemen in the picture for her yet. Not wanting to disappoint, I shared with them my desire to be a pianist, and glossed over my correspondence with Bernard. As I was getting to the story about the music box, I noticed him enter the room.

"Well, speak of the devil," I muttered, looking away.

Georgina was quick to get a look at the man of the hour, despite my pleading with her not to.

"That's the famous Bernard Fawcett? You never said he was that handsome, although it would explain your blushing whenever you spoke of him," she remarked, "If you don't give him your calling card, I'll definitely give him mine."

"Shush," I muttered, "And I told you not to look. Besides, I said not to look."

"You are writing each other," Suzette piped in, "That certainly says something."

Thankfully, the hostess announced that it was time for the ladies to retrieve their fans, as the first song was about to begin. I wouldn't have to explain anything to them, although at the moment, I struggled to come up with an explanation. I hadn't the time, as a gentleman approached me for the first dance. He didn't seem to want to be here and was likely attending at his parents' behest to find a suitable bride. I welcomed it, as at least he would not make any remarks about my family fortune or how I was ripe for childbearing like the bold men of the mountains had. As the night went on, I danced with several more men, although I was focused on one in particular. As per the gala's tradition, he was dancing with several ladies, many of which may have presented him with their calling cards. Whenever my eyes locked with his for a brief moment, I had the urge to dance my best, though… I had been thinking about being better than him, but also the other ladies. Later into the night, I had become so lost in my task that I almost hadn't felt the next hand on my shoulder. Yet another was waiting to cut in. As I turned to face the gentleman in question, my eyes widened on who it was. Bernard Fawcett. Of course we were writing each other, but I didn't think it meant anything. I opened the fan just to be sure, and there was B. Fawcett on the tier. It was. I looked back up at him, and he was holding out his hand.

"Might I finally have this dance, my lady?"

Not reluctantly enough, I gave him my hand, and we'd begun to dance. I felt strange. I suddenly had the desire to give my all to the dance, and I could tell he was doing the same. Even though it was customary for a waltz, his holding me close made me burn once again, but this time, I felt no rage. Perhaps briefly, but only toward myself. I should not be feeling this way toward my rival, yet… I started questioning everything. Did my face truly go red every time I spoke of him as Georgina claimed? Why did I long for his letters? Why was I half impressed when he pointed out my arrogance that day at tea? Why had I been thinking so much about him? Why did I care if he had been with other ladies in Lochere? It didn't matter. It wouldn't happen.

"I'm not as naïve as you think I am, Veronica," he said out of the blue.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I know how you feel."

He did truly? Was I that readable? Perhaps that would explain a few things, why I'd obviously been on his mind when it came to that gift. All too soon, the song ended. I wished we could continue for another, but I had another gentleman waiting, and he obviously had another lady to dance with. Still, I was curious about what he'd meant. Before I was lead away, I presented him with my calling card in hopes he would call upon me at the end of the night.

I got my wish. Bernard Fawcett was riding with me in my carriage while his own followed closely behind. His face was stoic and almost solemn. Did he wish he was with another lady? No… If he'd truly wanted to, he would have ridden with her, but he was here… with me of all people.

"I need an explanation," I said plainly, "What you told me when we were dancing, that you said you knew how I felt."

"I mean, I know how you feel about me. I'll always be someone inferior to you, and I thank you for the courtesy of giving me your time."

He'd just admitted he felt inferior to me. I should have taken it as a victory, but I couldn't.

"That's not true," I replied, "You've always been superior to me. You've had the need to show that since we were children. And I daresay… I don't mind giving you my time at all."

"You truly are never impressed," he said, "I'd tried to impress you many times when we were young, but you had none of it. Even now, when we see each other, you're never satisfied. I doubt even the music box pleased you, but-"

"No! I truly enjoyed it. In fact… I suppose it's flattering that you remembered I liked 'Moonlight Sonata'…"

I stopped, realizing what he had just said.

"You wanted to impress me? That was what all this was about?"

"Yes. You're truly arrogant and persnickety, Veronica, but growing up with you, I know there's a lot more to you than that. You're very intelligent, witty, musical, and on rare occasions, kind, and… fairly attractive. Who wouldn't want to try to impress you? However, I doubt I amount to anything aside from the other gentlemen you know, in fact, I'm under the impression that you hate me."

I wanted to tell him that he was right, I hated him. I hated him beyond all reason, but I realized… That wasn't the case at all. I cared for him. I cared for him much more than I'd wanted to. The reason I wondered so much about those other ladies was because I wanted to be in their place. I thought he deserved much more than a fortune hunter because I truly knew him, and as I cared for him, I'd rather he ended up with someone who loved him for himself. I would, but… It couldn't happen.

"To be perfectly honest… I thought I did. I thought about nothing but besting you, yet I still thought about you when I was away. I longed for your letters to arrive, and now I cannot listen to or play 'Moonlight Sonata' without thinking of you. I-I… I believe I care for you, but… I thought it would never happen. I thought you thought of me as the sister you never had. I don't remember you ever looking at me other than someone to best, or simply a playmate."

He took my hand and planted a tender kiss, obviously no formality.

"No, I don't. You may be arrogant and impossible to impress, but I love you. I've loved you since we were children. Would you allow me to court you?"

"I… I…"

It hurt to swallow my pride, but I had to say it.

"I love you too, Bernard. It took me a while to realize it, but I love you. And yes, you may certainly court me."

We simply gazed at each other for the longest time, until he broke the silence.

"I wish I could kiss you, but we are not yet engaged."

I pulled him closer, longing for the same.

"You may if you'd like. We're alone, there's no one scolding us for their old-fashioned impropriety at the moment."

(Authors note: For another story on these characters, go here)