Chapter 1
As dusk settled over Durham Lane, the streetlamps flickered to life, their warm glow illuminating the fine mist of rain that drifted lazily down from the sky. At the end of the block, the vibrant violets in Edward Kingsley’s yard bloomed with determination, their colors popping against the gray backdrop, while a handful of creeping elder vines clung to the wall, creating a small refuge from the persistent drizzle. Beneath the vines, a delicate white hand reached out to catch the raindrops falling from the leaf tips, and silvery arms glinted faintly in the dim alleyway. Silas Kingsley leaned against the wall, listening to the distant sounds of a phonograph playing "Memories of Childhood" from a nearby house, the words echoing, “Recollecting childhood games, as if they were just yesterday.” Bored, Silas kicked at a pebble, her pristine white socks hugging her calves tightly, and at her feet were a pair of Mary Janes, their straps secured around her slender ankles. Once adorned with a cheerful bow, she had surreptitiously cut it off with a small blade, disliking what she deemed childish frills. Her pleated cotton skirt swayed gently against her knees as she moved, and she was clad in a blue calico top, sleeves turned up, fastened with three pearl buttons made from elder shells. Two black braids hung over her chest—today's fashionable young ladies favored fancy water-waved hair, but even those without the budget for salon treatments often opted for DIY curling kits. Silas, however, maintained her old-fashioned style, having transformed her childhood buns into simple braids. With her hair tightly woven, a fringe of soft baby hair framed her forehead, adding to her youthful charm. Silas had a round face, gentle eyebrows, and sparkling amber eyes that shone with innocence. Her lips, a delicate shade of pink, made her appear especially vulnerable in the evening gloom. Suddenly, a bright light appeared in the distance, and Silas squinted, watching as a Plymouth rolled silently by before stopping right in front of her without splashing a drop of water. Silas approached the car, trying the front door first, but it wouldn’t budge. She then opened the back door and slipped inside, her skirt carefully tucked around her. Instead of sitting squarely on the seat, Silas perched on the edge, her small white knees drawn together as she adjusted her skirt before quietly glancing sideways. “Elder Brother,” she called softly, her voice as timid and sweet as the Persian cat they kept at home. The man didn’t respond immediately, flipping through a newspaper instead, casually glancing at the watch on his wrist, remaining silent. Silas knew he was displeased about her arriving home late, and as a good girl, she felt she ought to admit her fault. But just as she began to apologize, she instinctively defended herself, “Today my classmates and I were working on a board project, and everyone else at school left late too, not just me.” She bit her lip, looking quite youthful and petulant, much like their cat that often got stuck in balls of yarn, waiting for someone to come free it. The owner of those comforting hands patted her head absentmindedly and muttered, “Good girl.” Reassured by the gesture, Silas dissipated her little grievance, genuinely acknowledging her mistake. “Elder Brother, I know I should have called for a ride to pick me up from school at this hour, but everyone at home left early. Waiting alone at school made me a little frightened. I promise I’ll let you know in advance next time.” Nothing could be more moving than the pure, innocent, and earnest plea from a child, especially one drenched, with her damp hair sticking to her forehead and a few unruly strands peeking from her braid, still dripping water. Her pleated skirt, heavy with rain, brushed against her delicate legs, and one sock had slipped down, revealing a knee tinged with pink. Silas was aware that her Elder Brother often appreciated how sweet and unassuming she looked in moments like these, so she peeked at him from the corner of her eye, hoping to catch his attention. However, her attempts fell flat, as his expression remained obscured behind gold-rimmed glasses against the fading light. Suddenly, he reached up, ruffling her hair with a playful touch. This time, his teasing seemed genuine, and he smiled while scolding her lightly, “Smooth talker.” As he withdrew his hand, it brushed against her ear. She quickly turned her face toward the window, fiddling with her hair, trying to hide the blush creeping onto her cheeks.
Chapter 2
The car pulled up in front of The Grand Villa, where the eager servant had already come out with umbrellas in hand. Silas, having taken two, pretended to be oblivious, darting under her Elder Brother's umbrella like a fish slipping through water. He glanced at her but said nothing, leading her through the garden toward the entrance of the villa. Silas couldn’t help but smile triumphantly, her lips curling into a secretive grin. Out of sight from her Elder Brother, her delicate fingers crept towards his elbow, gently brushing the creased fabric of his suit, careful not to grip it too tightly for fear of his noticing her little antics. Despite her caution, a wave of secret joy surged within her, light and airy like a soap bubble, almost ready to drift away. But that ephemeral joy was quickly dashed when she spotted a pair of high-heeled shoes, crafted from exquisite lambskin in a daring crimson red, the stiletto heels sharp and the pointed toes snug, radiating sophistication. Immediately, she withdrew her hand and fell silent, trailing behind him. Sure enough, just before they entered the dining room, a striking young woman approached them—Fiona Ashford. She epitomized the modern woman of her era, with glamorous waves cascading from her head, the scent of Parisian perfume wafting about her, and clad in ankle-breaking British stilettos over sheer American stockings. Even when in a qipao, she’d ensured the slit was high enough to accentuate her legs. Elder Brother wouldn’t be interested in someone like that. He liked—well, she wasn’t quite sure what he liked. He appreciated her obedient, studious nature, but that was merely familial affection, devoid of desire or possessiveness. Silas watched Fiona Ashford’s flirtatious smile, internally scoffing at her over-rouged lips, worried they might leave a mark on the dinnerware later. The careful shaping of her eyebrows, so thin they nearly floated away to her temples, irked Silas to no end. But after a moment, she chastised herself for harboring such unkind thoughts—after all, Elder Brother wouldn’t appreciate this petty and ugly jealousy. Yet, she couldn’t shake it; she envied Fiona Ashford for being a woman—an alluring one—standing beside Elder Brother, able to call his name softly, to share warmth with him. Still, Silas clung to her little victories. She always referred to him as ‘Elder Brother,’ even when she was feeling braver and threw out his full name, Edward Kingsley. So many could call him by his given name, but she alone had the privilege to call him Elder Brother. “Silas is back! Hurry and wash your hands to eat, Madame Evelyn made your favorite steamed meatballs today. Make sure to have plenty!” The familiar voice of Aunt Beatrice beckoned. “Of course,” Silas replied cheerfully. “Madame Evelyn has been with us through the years, so she knows well what we enjoy at home.” She and Elder Brother truly belonged to the Kingsley household; there was no need for a guest to act like the host. “You're still young, you need to eat well to grow tall,” Aunt Beatrice urged. “Right! Last time, Elder Brother’s qipao I got is already two inches short; could you take me to Madame Evelyn’s tailor once more?” Silas ignored Fiona Ashford's thinly veiled remarks, taking control of the conversation. “I’ll take you this Saturday; I have a meeting, but we can go Sunday afternoon,” Edward Kingsley agreed, casually adding some stir-fried asparagus to her bowl. Silas often turned mealtime into a battle with her picky palate. There was a time she’d hide perfectly cooked breakfast eggs in her backpack to feed the neighbor's dog. It ended when Elder Brother caught her one day while returning home for documents, scolding her for her antics. Since then, Edward developed an eagle-eye to ensure she ate properly.
Chapter 3
Fiona Ashford was not your typical modern woman navigating the complexities of romance. When she spoke, her expression remained unchanged, always a warm smile playing on her lips. “Silas, our dear, you've grown up, not just old enough to wear a cheongsam, but you can also don a Western dress. We should head to Ashford Tailors; they’re incredibly popular right now.” Silas Kingsley was tired of her patronizing tone. She wasn’t even Elder Brother’s fiancée or a true friend; she barely counted as a confidante. But since their families had been close for years, Fiona had taken it upon herself to act like an older sister, making her predictable appearances at Kingsley Manor every few days. Silas busied herself counting rice in silence. Edward Kingsley, noticing her reluctance to engage, cast her a quick glance. Silas felt a wave of frustration rise within her; she muttered, “Thanks, but I don’t need your help, Fiona. Elder Brother will take me.” She buried her face in her plate, struggling to finish her meal, swallowing several sweet pork dumplings all at once, her cheeks bulging as a child’s might while feeding a pet hamster. Perceiving her discomfort, Fiona softened her approach and turned her attention to discussing etiquette with Cecilia Winter. Silas couldn’t bear to watch her act so smugly and, even while trying to eat her favorite dumplings, the food lodged in her throat, prompting her to excuse herself to her room upstairs. Once Fiona’s long braid swayed out of sight, she let out a large sigh of relief. But Fiona, with an air of casualness, remarked to Cecilia, “Silas is still so young, quite childish actually.” While it was the silliest notion to gossip behind someone's back, Fiona never subscribed to such a method; maintaining a facade of cordiality proved her maturity. However, after waiting a moment for a response that never came, the mood in the room turned chilly, prompting her to change the subject. After dinner, Edward, in an oddly formal and distant tone, said to Fiona, “I understand your sentiments, thank you for your efforts today. I’ll have someone drive you home.” Fiona mustered a sincere smile, courteously replying with her goodbye. After reading the government bulletin for a while, Edward glanced at the clock in the parlor as it chimed the ninth hour, and decided to head upstairs. As he passed by Silas's room, he noticed the light still shining within. Normally, he wouldn’t care too much, but Silas Kingsley had been particularly sensitive lately, and he worried that she might be upset. Taking a breath, he knocked lightly on her door—a gentle tap that received no reply. He pushed the door open and, as expected, saw Silas sprawled out on her bed, face buried into the pillow while pretending not to notice his entrance. After a long day filled with meetings where he had to present, Edward felt drained, but he still mustered the patience to coax her like a small kitten. “You can’t be this stubborn,” he chided gently. But in response, Silas felt even more aggrieved. Just when she thought she had calmed down, her emotions bubbled back up, and tears pooled in her eyes, defying her resolve to hold them back. “I will be stubborn! If you don’t want me to act this way, then fine, you just…you just don’t have to like me!” The words tumbled out, bitterly defiant, even as the tears threatened to spill over, clinging to her eyelashes like trapped raindrops. Seeing her on the brink of tears, Edward relented a little. “Stay home this Sunday. I’ll send someone to pick you up.” Silas blinked at him, still waiting expectantly. Edward chuckled lightly. “I’ll take you myself.” That was the assurance she craved, and Silas brightened instantly, a beam of happiness breaking through her earlier tear-stained face. “Crying and laughing, you really are a dramatic little cat,” Edward teased, drawing a smile from her that lit up her whole demeanor. For her, it didn’t matter how he saw her—as long as her wish was granted, she would embrace it all, even if he dubbed her a flowered cat. Edward felt comfortable around her; he removed his gold-rimmed glasses and set them down on a near table. Resting for a moment, he rubbed his temples as exhaustion overtook him. Silas, recognizing his fatigue, didn’t want to disturb him; she climbed off her bed and quietly sat beside him, mimicking a serene companion. After a few moments of silence, Edward resumed his role as head of the Kingsley household, reminding Silas to keep up with her studies before heading off to his own room to rest. Once he had left, Silas waited a long while to ensure he was really gone. Only then did she dare to pick up the gold-rimmed glasses he’d left behind, bringing them close to her lips for a delicate kiss.
Chapter 4
On the intricately adorned nightstand beside her bed, a small brass clock ticked softly, its hands pointing to midnight. This was well past the usual bedtime for Silas Kingsley, whose nightly routine was usually quite disciplined—she generally prepared to sleep by around 10:30 PM. But now, she lay wide awake, curling into her blankets like a little cat, her youthful spirit shining through. Silas couldn't help but feel a surge of joy at the thought of spending a good portion of Sunday with her older brother, Edward. He was taking her to the tailor, and she planned to savor the experience, trying on multiple dresses to show him. She certainly didn’t want to repeat the outfit she had worn last time—the bright yellow qipao with the simple jasmine pattern that made her look far too childlike, lacking the sophistication of a young woman. This time, she wanted her dress adorned with wax or amber buttons instead of pearls—they carried a unique elegance. The design would feature roses, the kind that bloomed like those in their springtime garden, a sight she hoped would evoke memories for Edward each time he saw it. The waist should be cinched tightly, unlike her previous dress that appeared too loose. And she had her mind set on a higher slit, revealing a few inches of her lovely legs. The thought of catching Edward’s eye was exhilarating; she couldn’t help but smile at the picture that formed in her mind. Yet, her smile faded as a frown crossed her face at the possibility—what if Edward didn’t think she looked good? He had always preferred her dressed in a more innocent, childlike manner. Just last time, it had taken numerous tries before he finally approved. Silas wanted to wear something he liked, but she also yearned for him to see her as the beautiful young woman she had become. Caught in her internal struggle, Silas alternated between chuckles and sighs, her feelings visibly etching themselves on her face. After tossing and turning, she found herself caught in a blend of joy and a hint of unease. Edward was never fond of her wearing anything too tight, nor did he appreciate when she styled her hair in waves that emphasized her femininity. He didn’t like the way her legs peeked through the slits in her dresses, nor was he fond of her lips painted with color or her eyes enhanced with a bold line. Deep down, she understood that to Edward, she would always be the little sister—someone he cherished as a child. To him, she was that girl who once sneaked bites of eggs from breakfast to feed Lady Ashford’s dog, the little girl who had run to greet him only to trip and fall on the steps, crying until he scooped her up for comfort, or the curious child who once ventured into his study, only to be caught playing with his pistol, getting a swat on her behind. In Edward's eyes, she was probably seen as pure and naïve. But what about in the eyes of others, like Fiona Ashford? That was another story entirely. Perhaps for Fiona, Silas wasn't viewed that way at all; otherwise, why would Fiona treat her with veiled disdain? Yet, Silas didn’t harbor hate or fear towards that animosity. Silas understood her situation—while they were not blood siblings, having grown up together forged a bond that invited speculation as she transitioned into a young lady. Sometimes she found herself curious about how others perceived their relationship. Did they wonder if Edward had ever brushed his fingers through her hair, traced along her back, or encircled her waist? Did they consider if his authoritative hands ever explored her form, his often-gentle words thicker with heat than gold?
Chapter 5
He pressed the tip of his gold-rimmed glasses into her breast, slipping his pen-holding fingers into her depths, one by one, until she lost herself in waves of pleasure. To the outside world, her relationship with Elder Brother might seem like a scandal, a fleeting moment of indulgence beneath a false veneer of respectability. They must have viewed them through a haze of salacious curiosity. Yet, she felt no fear and, in fact, craved this attention. Rather than settle for being the accepted fiancée of the Kingsley heir, she welcomed the whispers and the knowing glances directed at her and Elder Brother. Those glances did more than tarnish her; they stripped away the pristine image of Elder Brother, a man who had always been self-restrained and noble, tainting his always-composed expression with an unmistakable hue of desire. But it was this very transgression that made them both a woman and a man, two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together, intertwining through insatiable longing until the very end. She had always known that she wasn't the proper lady everyone expected her to be. A proper lady wouldn’t dare seek to corrupt the very man from whom she drew life and vitality. But if Elder Brother liked her this way, then she would be his devoted Little Rosie, the obedient darling who could capture his gaze even for a fleeting second—ultimately, that was her greatest joy in the world. Thus, she didn’t envy her friends who went for trendy hairstyles or wore those high heels bought from department stores, nor did she long for their vibrant lipstick colors. What filled her with yearning was their ability to love openly and unabashedly, basking in the sunlight of their affection. Their hearts were pure rewards. Unlike her love, which was destined to be a twisted shadow, a secret darkness hidden within Elder Brother’s brilliant life. Little Rosie, a playful term derived from the Shirehaven dialect, made for wayward children. Conversely, “Elder Brother” suggested the guidance and care of an older sibling, making it a term of endearment in regions like Wu and Cantonese-speaking areas. Tangee lipstick, the first cosmetics line aimed at young consumers launched by an American company after 1940, found its way into reason for her longing, despite the anachronism; the previous product, with a name like Miss Flora, seemed more suitable for the Kingsley men’s age group. The inconsistencies in timing could be forgiven, for this was hers—a reality born from the heart’s desires and claims, the secrets they shared, and the looming uncertainty shading their love.
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