The following is the first chapter of my new project. This is only the first draft, so it is by no means flawless. Therefore, it would be much appreciated if you left your thoughts and opinions in the comments below! My main concern is whether I have introduced too many characters for the first chapter. Let me know what you think! I apologize for the weird formatting.
It
has been nearly a decade since the last eligible bachelor worth mentioning came
to Summerton. Or at least, so Ms. Helen Baines claims. She has lived in the
same cottage on Downing St. for seventy years, and those in the village
consider her memory of local events more reliable than a historical document. Of
course, other young available men have passed through before, yet none of them
captured my fancy. Not that I had
their heads turning; when it comes to the game of catching men, I certainly
have my work cut out for me. For example, last spring, a well-endowed fellow
happened to pass through, and Cecilia Carmichael had him in her clutches in
less than a fortnight. Don’t
ask me how. The fact that Cecilia’s face could
have been carved by angels might have had something to do with it, yet I prefer
to think he saw something more in her than a pretty face. Her dowry, held
in envy by all, could also have been what induced him to propose. For the next three months nothing was spoken
of but the cancelled wedding. She mourned like a proper widow, however, a
leisurely spell in London quickly restored Miss Carmichael. Needless
to say, when my best friend Katherine Roskin came to report the arrival of Mr.
Charles Turner, I, though excited, could not dare to hope for my own success. I
could easily ascertain from Katherine’s description of his handsome face and
even handsomer fortune, that brazen flirting from every eligible young lady and
painfully obvious insinuations from their mothers, would ensue. “But is he a man of admirable character?” I
asked, arm in arm with my friend. “I
haven’t met him.” She confessed with a sigh. “I only saw him arrive in town,
though he had a pleasing smile, and welcoming eyes…I think you and he would
make a divine pair.” “Nonsense.”
I scoffed. “If Cecilia or some other rich, available woman does not have him
wrapped around her finger before he has a chance to call at Windemere House-- you will.” “Of course I
could.” Said she, with a playful toss of the head. “But so could you. You always
get on so well with the men.” “Yes
and I think that is just my trouble. Men don’t look among their chums for
romance—that I have learned the hard
way. No, this time around I intend to try something new.” “Oh?” she winked teasingly. “I hope you don’t
mean to turn into an aloof peacock for mere attention.” “Of
course not. And whatever I do shall not be for sheer pleasure. I have designed
an experiment, and Mr. Turner sounds like just the proper proponent for my
equation.” “And
this “experiment” as you put it, is highly scientific I am sure?” We both smiled.
“Indeed!
You know I would work with nothing other than the latest developments of science.”
“But
honestly,” She continued, “What do you intend to change?” “Now,”
I stopped, and held up one hand. “This change is only to take place around
acquaintances. There is no need to act the part of someone not myself around
old friends like you.” Katherine nodded, the dark brown curls in her up-do
bouncing a little. The corner of my pink lips twitched as I suppressed a smile.
“You, and I daresay everyone in the parish know me to be what we shall label
as…bold.” “Outspoken,” She continued, touching
the tips of her fingers as though counting. “Giggly.” “Yes.” “Untraditional.” “Agreed.” “Prone
to clumsiness,” “Alright
I get the idea.” I laughed, shaking back my auburn hair which had fallen loose
during the course of the day. “But I mean to act completely different. No
outlandish speeches, or too many smiles.” “It won’t be easy for
you.” “I
know. But that is what makes it a challenge. I always wanted to be one of those
quiet, witty, yet cunning sort of women who always seem to so readily grasp the
attention of the admirer in question.” “Well not all men prefer the same
type. What if this Mr. Turner or another man comes along who would prefer your
true character?” I
raised one eyebrow and stared down my friend, whose luminous blue eyes danced
in reply. “Seeing as that has never happened I doubt it will. The facts cannot
be avoided; I’m not woman enough for most men and it is high time I grew up
anyway.” When we reached the front door of Windimere House I knew
it would be supper time soon for clanging pots clamored through our modest
house. A summer breeze that came swelling through the apple orchard filled my
lungs with a warm fragrance and illuminated every nerve. “I would invite you to dine with us, but mother
has already invited guests.” “Who?” she asked. No
question is rude with old friends. And
Katherine could conclude from my lack-luster mouth and sarcastic gaze that
whoever they were, they were not anticipated. “The Bromwells.” I rolled the
name off my tongue like a bratty child being forced to apologize. She
nodded and clasped her hands behind her back. “Yes, I have heard of their
daughter Penelope.” “Have you heard that she is dreadfully
giddy as well as flirtatious?” “Rumors
have circulated. But they only came to Summerton three weeks ago I am certain,
so I would not consider local gossip reliable.”
“No.”
I huffed, untying the ribbon on the back of my dress as I knew I would be
forced to change clothes. “I’ll give her
a chance to prove herself. However, if the rumors prove true, this will not be an enjoyable meal.” Katherine smiled and kissed my
cheek. “Farewell friend. You must call soon.” I gallantly waved one hand behind
me, stumbling through the front door and I found the cook rushing in and out of
the kitchen while Mrs. Lockhart tidied the sitting room. “Hello mother.” I absently
kissed her cheek and slowly approached the stairs. “Ella
Lockhart.” I tensed and slowly turned my head; anytime mothers address their
child by their full name, it never seems to entail anything pleasant. “Yes
mamma?” “Your
hat.” “Yes?” She
put both hands on her hips and tilted her head, batting her eyes expectantly.
“Where is it?” Despite being eighteen
years of age, I nervously bounced on my feet like an awkward child. “Uh,” I
stammered. “I didn’t wear it out today. T’was such a lovely spring afternoon I
didn’t want that shadow covering me.” “The
shadow is to save you the pain of further freckles, and sunburn. You forget how
fair your complexion is, you might soil it forever!” I
relaxed and laughed, slipping my arms around mother’s waist. “Oh mamma, the
freckles on my face are numerous enough as it is, I don’t think wearing a hat
would help.” “Only because
you refused to wear it as a child.” She lifted her nose and proceeded to fluff
every cushion in sight. “Do you
really dislike my speckled complexion so much?” I teased, yet mother felt the
need to reconcile herself and thus she cupped my face in her hands, delicately
murmuring, “My child it
is not that I dislike it. However,
society dictates that women should have nice, pale, clean faces.” “I
am afraid mother, that Ella will never be considered by society as what a woman
should be.” said Edmund, who came bounding down the stairs with one coat-tail
tucked in his trousers. Mother squinted her eyes in disapproval as Edmund
joined our embrace, wearing a goofy grin. “Now
is not the time for your smart remarks, son.” She slapped his shoulder with her
handkerchief. “And you have no room for teasing either. Look at you! Nearly one
and twenty years old and you couldn’t care less about your appearance! Both of
you, go upstairs and change into your supper clothes and try to look
respectable for our guests at least.” My brother and I giggled to each
other as we climbed the stairs two at a time, and when we reached the second
story where no ears were listening Edmund leaned into my ear and whispered,
“Who are these Bromwells anyway?” “Newcomers.
They are not reputed to be entirely agreeable.” “Then
why did mother invite them?” I raised my
eyebrows and licked my lower lip. Edmund threw back his head and groaned,
viciously running his fingers through his thin brown hair. “Ugh! They have a
daughter my age don’t they?” “Presumably.” “Father
arranged this didn’t he? Why can’t they let me find a wife in my own time? Even
if this Bromwell girl whoever she is proves to be worthwhile, I can catch a
woman without their help.” “Indeed?” I haughtily
waltzed past him. “Are you really so sure of your own charm that you consider
the game already won?” “Well
look at me!” He faced his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall and
straightened his coat with pride. “Have you ever seen a finer fellow?” We faced
each other, and burst out laughing at the same time, for boasting in our own vanity
was a constant joke. I entered my small bedroom to find several gowns spread
across the bed, and the ladies maid fluffing each with care. “Good evening miss.” She curtsied.
“Your mother asked me to give you a choice of these gowns to wear tonight.” I
bit my lip to refrain from any improper remark, and grunted under my breath.
With skeptical gaze I viewed the options: black, butter-cream yellow and rose
pink. I turned towards the wardrobe with lustful eyes, sighing longingly after
my favorite green and blue gowns, but I knew they would not please mother. “Alright.” I sighed,
gesturing towards the pink muslin. “That will do.” I knew the routine, though
I had not grown to like it any more with time. Grasping the bed post I sucked
in while the corset was being tightened and sighed when the heavy material
touched my skin. I wobbled over to the vanity, and exhaled when sitting down.
As always, Beth, my maid, glared at my thick auburn locks which could not hold
a curl for their life. “I
know I am a disappointment to you Beth. You do not know how many nights I lay
awake as a little girl wishing for pretty hair like my friends.” “Nonsense
miss! You do not know how many women envy your hair. The color is unmatchable
and the thickness is a blessing.” “You are good to me
Beth.” I kissed the lady’s wrinkled hand. “A simple braided bun will do.” As
the maid fixed my hair, I took to groaning over facial imperfection which to me
seemed ghastly. Pink was not my favorite color, simply because it made my hair
look more ruddy than usual and it didn’t do my skin any favors. But goodness
knew it was better than yellow or black! I would have wished for my green silk,
as it matched my eyes and contrasted my hair, but mamma thought it an
unfavorably vibrant frock. Critically running my finger along my nose that had
just the slightest bump in the middle, I gave my head a shake, choosing not to
despair over my physical shortcomings and instead rose and fled downstairs as
soon as my hair was presentable. Mother must have been in
the kitchen, for her cries could be heard across the house, though she was
nowhere to be seen. Mr. Lockhart sat in a chair in the corner reading, very
slowly as it took him nearly ten minutes to comprehend an entire page. “Hello
papa.” I was his youngest child and especial pet, so I sat down next to him and
snuggled under his arm, unashamedly reading over his shoulder. “Hello
my dear.” He kissed the top of my head. “Where is your brother?” “Coming!”
Edmund shouted as he scrambled down the stairs, shaking every item in the house
that weigh less than him. Swish went the door and mamma appeared, fanning her
flushed cheeks. This gesture served as queue for her family, for my father,
brother and I promptly stood and assembled beside her. “Welcome!” mother stepped forward
with outstretched hands and Mrs. Bromwell, a fat, unassuming woman took them
with a smile. “We are positively delighted
to have you dine with us this evening! And is this the Miss Bromwell?” When
a young lady close to my age appeared with big brown eyes and a ridiculous
smile, Edmund coughed lightly and mumbled into my ear, “And is this, my supposed conquest?” “Shh!” I warned, trying not to
laugh. The young adults stared and smiled
as the parents introduced themselves to one another, and I knew that me and my
brother were thinking the same thing when the rapturous young woman approached,
the feathers adorning her hair flickering as she drew forward. “Miss Lockhart!
What a delight! I’ve heard so many good things about you.” I
smiled, and took the young lady’s hand in my usual manner that gave adults the
impression that I was older than I really was. “You must be Miss Bromwell. Do
you like Summerton so far?” “Oh
please, call me Penelope!” Penelope’s brown eyes were entrancing. I could not
pinpoint the reason why, I could only admit that they were lovely, and drew the
observer in. Perhaps because they contrasted her blonde hair. The young lady
did not even answer my question; instead, she swept past with open mouth
towards my brother. “Hello.” Edmund bowed and politely
took her hand. “It is nice to meet you Miss Bromwell.” I stifled a giggle. Only
I could detect the under-lying condescension in his tone of voice. “Well hello Mister Lockhart!” Penelope held a hand to her breast and
smiled. “Your name is Edmund if I am right?” “Mister Lockhart if you please.” I
linked arms with the young woman and swiftly led her into the dining room; an
act of kindness Edmund later thanked me for. I
knew my brother was attractive. For
as long as I could remember, female passersby and even friends had to stop themselves
from staring at him. It used to irritate me. But not anymore. Now, I just
smiled and laughed over the fact that women thought him a prince in disguise,
when I knew, oh how I knew, that he could be as silly as a young boy. “How
old are you Penelope?” I asked, pouring her a glass of wine. “Seventeen.” She
replied with a little titter, as her eager hand stretched out to the shiny glass.
I looked down at the red liquid, and then up at the fervent eyes of our young
guest. I coughed and sipped the wine myself, giving Penelope a glass of tea. “How
long have you been in Summerton?” “Only
a fortnight.” She sighed, running a loose lock of hair between her fingers as
she batted her eyes at Edmund. “My grandmother who lives in the area is ailing,
so we have moved here in order to be close to her.” “Ella!” Mrs. Lockhart called from
the opposite side of the room, where the two hens were discussing the
accomplishments of their children. “Why don’t you show Miss Bromwell to the drawing
room?” Uncertain how to
entertain our guest, I obeyed. Among my friends I was known as a general
jokester--skilled in the art of making people split their sides. Yet in formal
situations, I was out of my element, and I didn’t know what to say. “Do you
play the pianoforte?” I asked, as Penelope ran her white fingers over the
exposed keys. “Oh yes.”
She said it as though everybody were aware of the fact. “Do you?” My head shifted
uncomfortably on my neck. “A little. I am more fond of painting than music.”
Presently, Mr. Lockhart announced that supper was served, and family and guest
immersed the dining room. Miss Bromwell sat beside me, and I
sat beside Edmund. As such, for the course of the dinner Penelope continued to
awkwardly lean over, and smile at Edmund. The adults talked of what adults do. The weather. Politics.
And prospective
marriages. “Are you engaged Mister Lockhart?”
Mrs. Bromwell asked. She had been chewing a single bit of beef for the past
five minutes, as her saggy jaw jiggled in a definable rhythm. “No ma’am.” He
replied with an elusive grunt. “I have no woman in my life.” “There’s no shame in
that.” Mr. Bromwell laughed, cradling his wine glass between his middle and
ring finger, as though he fancied himself a connoisseur. “Better to take your
time finding the right one.” “Speaking of beaus.” Penelope
thought she was whispering as she leaned toward me, although the whole table
could hear. “Have you heard about Charles Turner?” “No.” I tried not to smile.
“Pray tell, who is this man?” “Ahh!”
Penelope lifted up elated eyes to the ceiling and giddily stomped her feet.
“Such a catch! Handsome, wealthy, reportedly kind,” “Reportedly?” “Well,” Penelope dropped her head
and shoved around her food with her fork. “I haven’t met him, see.” “It
seems no one has.” I mumbled. “What?”
“Nothing.” “But
I have seen him and he is divine. We must arrange a way to meet
him.” Edmund
and I almost snorted into our glasses with laughter. “And…how would we do
that?” Penelope’s
eyes were starry again, as her pink lips slowly stretched into a smile. “Don’t
you think a neighborly call would suffice?” “If you think it is
appropriate for a young woman to call upon a single man.” Miss Bromwell was ecstatic
when she grasped my hand as though she had known me for many years. My green
eyes widened as she leaned toward my face, her blonde curls quivering with
excitement. “You must come with me Ella!” “What?” “I
am new in town, Mr. Turner is new in town and you have lived here your whole
life! And since we are practically friends it only makes sense for us to go
together.” I
turned my gaze to the head of the table, where I could see father slicing his
steak with twitching lips. When I shifted my eyes to mother, I found her busily
engaged in chatting with Mrs. Bromwell, presumably arranging her son’s marriage. I
tried not to sigh. “I’m not sure if that is the best idea, Penelope,” “Perfect!” The lady
nearly shouted, leaving Edmund to bury his face in his hands. “I will send you
a telegram whenever I am sure he is all settled in.” The rest of
the evening passed as you might imagine. Father learned to put with up his
companion the best of his abilities, the Mrs.’s continued their matrimonial
speculations, and when Miss Bromwell was not too busy flirting shamelessly with
Edmund, she carried on to me about how she missed all of her old friends but
was sure Summerton would be prove to be, “ ‘a nice, picturesque alternative.’”
When my family stood together in the front lawn, waving our guest goodbye as
the carriage wheels turned over pebbles, mamma grabbed the arm of her son and
raptured, “Was not Miss Bromwell a delight?” To
which he winked at me and said, “I have never seen the likes of her.”
