Words of Love by DearDiary
Chapter 1: Rose
Chapter 2: John
Chapter 3: Rose
Chapter 4: John
Chapter 5: Rose
Author's Notes: Hello, wonderful people!
I had this idea for some time now. This will be a series of short letters written by John and Rose, and I hope that it will be entertaining to read. Also, it's a companion piece to my short fic "Two of a Kind", and it won't make sense without reading it first, I'm afraid.
That said, I hope it's to your liking.
P.S. Words in brackets and italics are the thoughts that both John and Rose think but don't write, or they write and then cross it out. I used crossed out style at first but I thought that it was too straining to read, so...italics and brackets it is.
(I’m so excited about seeing you)
(I can’t wait to see you sooner)
I’m waiting with my heart still to see you at Lady Lynda’s ball. I (pray) hope that you (will be with me) will be present there (you promised you would! and I wish I could dance all the dances with you!) and I hope that you know that I’ve put your name near the waltz and cotillion on my dance card. (I wonder if you’ll wear my favourite cologne of yours…it makes me think about adventures that you’ve been to.) Mother is still feeling unwell after (her hysterical fit) learning about our secretly-discussed engagement, but my father is not against it. He says he’s happy as long as I’m happy, and that my happiness is the only thing that matters to him (even though he's still vary about the age gap, which matters not to me). (Mum thinks me ungrateful and spoiled.) I can’t understand my mother's logic! First she wants to marry me off, and when I (find the perfect man to be a partner to) tell her that there’s a special someone I (fancy) enjoy being with, she throws a (huge scandal) scene.
Oh, how I wish it wasn’t so stifling to live by society's rules. If it is ever known that you proposed to me before speaking to my father, and that I agreed to that proposal instead of slapping you for your impertinence, I’d be the pariah in town. You’d be simply frowned upon because of being a man (and all your mistakes would always be forgiven and forgotten about), but I’d be shamed and banned from all the respectful households in the city and alienated from the ('good’) people (oh, what a loss, how shall I ever live if something like this happens). It means nothing to me, of course, but (mum) mother would be destroyed entirely. Being loved and respected in society means so much to her, and our family’s reputation is necessary to uphold for my father’s business to prosper. (I wish…) I wish we could just…run away. Run fast and far, and forget about the dos and don’ts of the modern world, about the unfair differences between a man and a woman. John…I wish I could run away with you by my side. Oh, look at me being silly and sentimental. I know you don't like it (and I want so much for you to like me!), and I shall stop.
Still, I’m waiting impatiently for your reply and for meeting you at the ball.
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Author's Notes: John's reply to Rose's letter.
(My precious Rose)
(I’m writing this letter and I still can’t believe that our engagement is not a fever dream. That you are engaged to me of all people. You! Such a sweet girl betrothed to a harsh, soulless soldier like me! Unbelievable.) It was such a pleasure to receive a letter from you. I’m sorry your mother is feeling unwell (that’ll teach her to not cause a scene! such a loud woman!), and I sincerely hope that she recovers soon.
(My silly love!) Oh, Rose, it wouldn’t matter in the least to me if you were disowned by your (harridan of a) mother and London’s best of the best, now would it? I’d take you far away on a ship under the dark blue sails, and we won’t ever look back at the backwater society that we have to live in.
(The scandal would only help your father’s publicity, don’t you worry, that’s the nature of people: to be attracted by all things loud and scandalous. But I’d never do that to you, I’d never cause you distress willingly.)
However, I promise you that you have nothing to worry about. I swear that your secret is safe with me (that you are safe with me, dearest Rose), and that I will protect your and your family’s reputation from society’s vicious minds.
(I’m so relieved that your father isn’t against our engagement. 16 years is not the biggest age gap ever seen in London’s marriage history, but it’s still noticeable, and I’m only 5 years younger than your father. Honestly, Rose, what do you see in me? Why do you want me?) I’m glad that your father supports our intentions to marry. I only hope that he can persuade your (uncooperative, stagnated) mother to kindly reconsider her opinion on our marriage.
(Jack is here, and he’s laughing like a madman about me writing a love letter. What a pig. He is sending you a kiss on the lips, and he's calling me a jealous fool after that. I wonder why we're friends at all, I do, he's such an idiot sometimes.) Jack is sending you his kindest wishes, and he hopes to see you when you visit his sister Donna’s luncheon party on Thursday.
(I will be there, too, Rose, and I’ll see you! And I will hold your hand!)
Of course I will be present at Lady Lynda’s ball. Thank you for allowing me to be your dance partner. (Thank you for being with me.) I cannot wait to see (radiant, brilliant, glowing you) you there.
(My heart is yours, Rose Tyler)
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Author's Notes: Rose shares her impressions about Donna's luncheon.
(Remember how you promised to sweep me off my feet and take me far, far away on the ship with the bluest sails ever? Now might be the right time to act on your promise.)
Mother has been fretting about me not fitting into any of my ball gowns, and we had to go to the tailor's to make more. She says I must be lying about (being madly in love with you) my affections to you because if I were truly in love, I’d be losing my appetite (and therefore, my shocking weight). My appetite is as healthy as ever, so, according to (my mum) mother, I’m lying ('Girls in love get all pale and thin, darling, and you're as pink and plump as ever!'). (Do you think me too plump, John? Do you like my appearance? Am I too ungraceful to your taste? I'm so worried about what you think of me...) In her mind, I’m deceiving everyone about the mutuality of our (passionate, ardent love) fond feelings for each other (and she's sure that you’re actually corrupting me, blackmailing me into a marriage to have my dowry and later inheritance. Ridiculous.) Mother thinks that you are forcing me into being with you. (She still can’t get over our age gap, John, this is not amusing at all.) I’m sorry that you had to live through the unpleasant encounter with her during Donna’s luncheon. I’m sorry she called you a child stealer (I swear to God that I would have believed her offended feelings if I didn’t know just how much she enjoys reading those dime novels where female leads are much younger than their beloved, dashing heroes. If mum knows that I know about how her companion Clara brings her those novels…she’ll have a heart attack. Although I don’t see why it’s such a big deal, honestly, I’ve seen many mother’s friends from high society enjoy such literature. Lord knows I do.) You shouldn’t allow her to treat you like that, John, you should stand your ground and protect your dignity. Don’t you worry on my account, (mum) mother is all bark and no bite, she won’t do or say anything truly hurtful to me because I’m her daughter, and no matter how much we fight and how different our worldviews are, we are family, and she’ll support me when she sees the depth of my (love) feelings. (Even if that takes months and months, if not years, to persuade her.)
You needn’t worry about Jack (darling). (I won’t lie, he’s charming as hell, and he can flirt his way into any person’s good books, but there is no one but you for me, John.) Jack is an experienced flirt, but I chose you. You, John, are the man that I (love dearly, completely, with all my madly beating heart) want to be with, and nothing, and no one will change my mind. I’m proud to stand by your side, and I’m proud to tell the world that I’m your bride (and I will always protect you from my mother, I swear.) (By the way, sitting with you on the sofa, catching the other girls’ jealous stares is the best feeling ever.) Thank you for being so attentive to me during the luncheon party. No man acts like you when it comes to their ladies, and I feel so lucky to be with you. Thank you, John, for always listening to what I have to say. Thank you for not being dismissive. I appreciate that more than you can imagine. And thank you for sharing the last of the raspberry tarts (that that witch Cathica stole right from under me, ugh!) that I love so much.
(Uh-oh, mum’s hollering for me to hurry downstairs because dinner's about to be served.) Alas, I have to go immediately, (my love), John, but I will write more, and I will wait patiently for your reply (I pray that you aren’t tired of my lengthy, saccharine scribblings).
(All my love)
Thinking about you,
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Author's Notes: There are some improvements in communication between John and Rose's father.
(My beloved Rose)
(My precious girl)
I’m writing to tell you about the improvement in our understanding with (Mr Tyler) your father. While you and Donna were taking a stroll in the garden, your father and I had some time to talk in private as well as talk over the things that burden (us both) your father. (Thankfully, he is aware that I’m agreeing to signing the nuptials for our future marriage that will still leave you the sole heiress of your father’s business and money. He’s not deluded that I’m a con man without a penny in my pockets pretending to be a well-off gentleman. Sod the money issues! Who cares about money?) The necessary documents for our upcoming marriage were discussed, as well as my honest intentions (there are some dishonest intentions, too, but in a good way, I think, I hope, I wish…I wish to know you intimately, Rose. I wish to kiss you freely, and I wish to hug you close to my battered heart without throwing a shadow on your reputation. And many more things, too, Rose, but they aren’t appropriate to discuss in such a crude manner. Not with you, love) to you. We did discuss our future living arrangements but we did it briefly. I know how you dislike it when things are done without your presence and your (bright, wilful) opinion.
Rose. You should never, ever listen to what people say about you, be it your mind, soul or your appearance. Never. (I wish I could make Jackie swallow back the demeaning words that she says about you.) But she’s your (wicked stepmother, surely, because there’s no way an angel like you…okay, you’re far from being an actual angel sometimes, and I don't mind that in the least, but still…there’s no chance that Jackie Tyler is your birth mother. No way. You’re far too sweet and far too kind to be her daughter. And if Jackie were to know my thoughts…Let’s just say that it wouldn’t have ended well for me) mother, and I will respect her because I respect you, Rose (even if being cordial to the woman makes me grimace like I’ve eaten a dozen of lemons). Rose Tyler, you are beautiful. You are the most beautiful woman that I've laid my eyes on. You won't believe it but it's the truth. (I love you, and I love how your body glows in health, and I adore your round, ruddy cheeks, and I enjoy holding your smooth hands my palms. God help me, Rose Tyler, I love everything about you. I love you mind, body and soul, but I’m not sure I will ever be able to express the depth of my feelings to you adequately.)
You have to forgive me (my darling). I’m a cripple when it comes to words, Rose. I’m not as eloquent as your other admirers, I’m afraid (as I’m afraid that one day I won’t be enough for such a vivacious, excited about life person like you). But I ask you to believe me when I say this, Rose: there is not a single thing I would change about your character or about your appearance (I only wish I could change mine).
I would buy you a thousand ball gowns if it made you happy, Rose, but I know it wouldn’t…you’d be happy with three or five, (my dear) (and I love your ungreedy soul all the more) and you won’t have to worry about your figure once you’re (free from your mother’s tyranny) a woman no longer living in your father’s house.
Please, remember that and eat whatever it is that you desire to eat (your mother can go to hell with all her fancy diets.)
I’m restlessly waiting to see you at the ball which will take place in two days. I’m grateful for having the opportunity to correspond with you. As I am grateful for what you write to me (my sweet girl). What a fantastic thing it is to receive a letter from your (beloved) fiance first thing in the morning.
I promise to always respect you and what you have to say, Rose. You don't have to thank me for that. I value you and our relationship deeply. That's a given.
(A package of your favourite raspberry tarts is on its way to your residence, Rose, but it’s a surprise. I hope it’ll make you beam with happiness. And I hope it will give Jackie a nervous tick.)
(Kissing your palms)
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Author's Notes: Rose is entirely in love. There was a kiss involved.
(I’m floating…I’m floating in the air like a hot air balloon and there is no chance of landing. You, my love, are to blame. And you are the only person who keeps me tethered to the ground). I could barely sleep at all even though I spent half the night dancing. My body was exhausted, my eyes were closed, but my mind was awake with the sweet memories of our secret meeting in the gardens. You’re such a fox, you are, tricking my mother like that, telling her that Donna wanted to discuss the chapel decorations for our wedding! Poor Donna! You should have seen her face! She was not amused by your antics at all, although my mother is suddenly delighted by the prospect of having the strawberry meringue cake at my wedding.
(My shy beloved…) How blue your eyes were that night, (my dear) John. The coldest blue that turns the brightest, warmest shade when you lay your eyes on me. (I swear to everything that I deem holy that I almost lost my mind when you kissed me. I nearly lost myself in your icy eyes and to your heated lips.) I’ve never considered hand-holding as something sacred, intimate, as something utterly romantic, but holding your hands felt like the most exciting experience of my life at that moment. The most exciting moment is the day you offered me to be your bride! (Me! Your bride! Rose Tyler, John Smith's betrothed!)
I cannot stop replaying our kiss in my thoughts. Oh, that kiss... (I’d love to lie and say that a kiss from you was the first I’ve ever received but I love you too much to mislead you like that. Still, the less you know, the better. Lord knows you get all jealous and sulky when there’s someone trying to get my attention. You’re the one to talk! Lady Cassandra has been trying to slay our love ever since she learnt about our engagement, that ancient lipstick-painted hag! Don’t think I haven’t noticed how uncomfortable you are when she’s around.) It was like suddenly the wings grew on my back, and if it weren’t for your hands placed on my waist, I’d have flown away into the starry skies of London. You are a wonderful kisser, John (even though I wonder when and with whom you acquired the kissing skill). You are a very considerate (lover) (partner) man, (and you held me like I was made of porcelain, and I felt so cherished), and I appreciate it to no end (Shareen told me that her kissing experience was awful at its best, and I was half afraid it would be the same for us because she told me that men only think of themselves. But of course, of course it’s not like that with you. You’re a special man, John. And I’m clueless as to why you chose me to be your beloved.)
Anyway…What did you think of my dress? I think it is entirely too pink. I looked like a wedding cake! I had to fight my mother for not putting a wreath of roses on my head. I draw a line at…at…gaudy. (Yes, I believe that’s the word). You, (my love) John, looked (positively edible) dashing in your black suit. I know that you dislike playing dress up (much to my chagrin because I adore it) but it suits you so well. Never think for a moment that I don’t like your casual attire (those beige breeches of yours…yum! Oh, Lord, my mind is like scattered marbles these days, and you’re to blame, my melancholic love).
It’s 7 a.m, John, and I ought to try and catch some sleep (I know I won’t sleep a wink but I’m scared of scaring you away with my inane scribbling). Mother will have me hanged if I don’t look fresh as a rose (Ugh! I hate that saying!) and all lady-like for tea with the Wyatts in the afternoon. Lynda is not a bad girl, really, but she gets on my nerves by talking about planning parties, arranging sitting places and flower compositions…and it’s too much. I start thinking about the blue-sailed ship when things get suffocatingly boring.
I promise to dream about you (my blue-eyed Northerner).
Dreaming about you this night,
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