March 18th, 1891 — Ross Residence, North Bartonburg, Hogsmeade

Four courses were not, in themselves, enough time to get the measure of a man—but then, Roslyn Ross was quite certain she had the measure of Alfred Darrow.

In spite of this, she was quite resolved to give the man one last-ditch effort to change her opinion of him, for Zelda's sake—and if not, well, hopefully four courses would be long enough to show Zelda how utterly unsuited Mr. Darrow was to life within their family.

(Fleetingly, it had occurred to her that Zelda might fit perfectly well with the Darrows even if Mr. Darrow did not fit in with the Fisks. While this might be a risk in other families, though, Ros knew her sister far too well to worry about such an abandonment.)

Ros had been quite insistent that Zelda arrive early, had given her sister a once-over, and had sent her sister upstairs to have her hair styled, as, "We're entertaining, even if it's mostly family."

Roslyn Ross had never much wanted to entertain outside of the family. Fortunately for Zelda, even if she became Mrs. Darrow, Alfred was unlikely to ever become Minister Darrow.

The witch sat in a chair nearby as her sister had her hair tugged hither and fro, nodding in satisfaction when the styling was completed.

"Why Alfred Darrow?" she half-sighed when her maid had left the room, closing the door quietly, and left the sisters alone. Ros had never asked Zelda that question outright before, but now seemed as good a time as any.

— @"Zelda Fisk"/Cassius Lestrange —

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She'd had the sense to change out of her Ministry robes and into a soft green gown for the evening, and had of course arrived exactly at the time Ros indicated, but had never expected to be ushered upstairs for styling before the dinner. Zelda was feeling distinctly anxious about this, especially as her hair was removed from its usual braiding and pulled up into - whatever. A style, she supposed.

Zelda thought she might finally get a chance to breathe when the styling was done and Ros' maid left, but started at the question. She tilted her head at herself in the mirror, and watched her sister's reflection in it.

"You want to know why I love him?" Zelda asked, not expecting I love him to be enough of an answer on its own - but maybe, just this once, it would be.

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Roslyn stiffened.

Love. Zelda loved Mr. Darrow. On the one hand, she oughtn't have been surprised—after all, why would her generally sensible have kept an utter buffoon about for so long if she wasn't in love with him? Hearing her younger sister say the words aloud, though, was an entirely different matter entirely, as Ros was now forced to process, to accept on some level.

She did not like it.

It would only make it harder on Zelda when he proved utterly impossible to be with.

"Yes," she settled on at last. "That would be the question."

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Zelda had a vague sense that she misspoke, for all that it had been true, as she watched her sister's reflection in the mirror and waited for her to reply. Finally Ros spoke, and Zelda turned in the chair; her arms rested over the back and she rested her chin on top of them. She didn't know what to say to Roslyn: she could be honest, or logical, or distant. She could brush Ros off if she had to.

She went for honest.

"I want to be around him just - all the time," Zelda admitted, "I think about him all the time. I - it's as if -" she sighed; her cheeks were turning pink "- he sees me, and he chose me, the way I am."

Alfred had never asked her to change; her family, though, did with some frequency.

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"Yes, yes that does sound like love," Roslyn murmured, more to herself than to her company. It was much the same with Justin, of course, though rather a more mature tree than Zelda and Mr. Darrow's sapling.

Unfortunately, love was never the whole of the equation.

"I am glad, dearest, that you have a love to appreciate," she offered carefully, her smile tentative. She did not wish to encourage Zelda down this path by any means, but love was a rarity in so many lives that she could not ignore the declaration altogether. "But I worry, Zelda—you cannot eat love, cannot burn it for warmth. It does not keep a roof above your head, nor does it give you status among society—and no matter what path you choose to walk, you will need status in society."

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She was sort of surprised that Ros accepted the explanation for love so quickly, but the question of being supported was - well, it was more complicated, and their father was certainly abundantly concerned about it. "I know," she said, "That it's not everything on it's own."

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Ros raised both blond brows, the simple action saying all that needed saying: but?

  

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"Mr. Darrow -" Zelda said, and it felt weird in her mouth, both because she usually called Alfred Alfred and because really he ought to be Captain "- wouldn't be courting me if he didn't plan to be able to support me. And I don't have any intentions to waste all my status." Well, probably. She didn't have intentions, but she knew she had the option.

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"Planning and doing are two very different things," Roslyn pointed out, "and while you wait for his grand schemes to bear fruit, your own...blossoms are...are dying on the bush."

It was not a perfect metaphor. It was barely even a coherent metaphor.

"That is to say," Roslyn clarified, "that every day you spend in his company without certain assurances—such as the support of our father—that status dwindles."

Alfred Darrow was nothing like Justin Ross. He was not in a position to support a wife, did not have a reputable (even boring!) history to recommend him. He was, at best, a risky gamble, and Roslyn Ross had never been one to roll the dice.

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Zelda furrowed her eyebrows at Ros, having lost the fruit metaphor almost right away. "I'm not sure what you mean about blossoms," she admitted, because while she was hesitant to admit to misunderstanding, the clarification implied that Ros didn't understand, either, "But I - I know. And I never wanted any of - marriage, courting, any of it, until I met him. I'm not going to be like Xena."

It was Alfred or it was nothing, as far as Zelda was concerned; until after she graduated, she'd wanted to be married to her job, anyways.

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"You could not be Xena even if you tried," Roslyn reassured(?) her sister kindly. "You have been altogether your own person since the day you were born, and there is very little in this life that I wish for more than your happiness. But I am older than you—even if you will not concede wiser—and so I must look ahead to your long-term happiness, not just what brings you joy here and now."

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   Zelda Darrow

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Zelda frowned at her sister. "I know you're older and maybe even wiser," she said, with a wry little smile, "But - have a little faith in me, please, if not in him? It's going to work out." Surely that was what Ros was angling for - the dissolution of the courtship (or 'courtship'). But it was abundantly clear to Zelda that Alfred was going to marry her, she just - needed things to settle a bit, first.

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Roslyn sighed, remaining quiet for a long moment. Her sister was stubborn, a trait they shared, and she could not say with one breath that she loved and respected Zelda and in the other completely ignore her sister's wishes.

"If," she offered, her words coming out in slow and reluctant, but steady, progress, "you cannot imagine any situation in which Mr. Darrow might prompt you to regret choosing him in a year, a decade, a century from now, then I suppose I must trust you—at least for the length of dinner."

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Zelda blinked. She hadn't really anticipated this; actually, if anything, she had expected more reminders from Ros that she was being irresponsible.

"Really?" she said with a grin, pleased for all that she was still deeply stressed about dinner. "Thank you for trusting me, Ros. Even if just for dinner."

She couldn't imagine regretting Alfred. If there was anything that would have caused it it would have been the events of last week, but he had still chosen her; he had chosen Zelda over something that would have been more casual and certainly easier, and he was planning on adding her to the map of his tattoos.

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"Dinner might not include dessert," she cautioned wryly, already wondering if she ought to regret her choice in this instance.

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"Understandable," Zelda said, too bolstered by Ros' bending to be deflated for long. Because if Ros was bending then Brannon might too.

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