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Chapter One of "A Season in Summerton"

13 October 2013

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.



1

            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on Downing St. for seventy years, and those in the village consider her memory of local events more reliable than a historical document.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.”  
 


 

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Chapter One of "A Season in Summerton"

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.



1

            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.”  
 


 

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