Author's note: This idea just jumped into my head, and I had to write it, it just kind of pushed itself out. I know it's very overdone, but I have my own spin to put on it, and I really, really, loved it in my head, so please, review and be kind.
Just a little background info: This is obviously set over a hundred years ago. Obviously, the language isn't going to be exactly like it was then. Having not lived in the Edwardian era, I wouldn't know exactly how to speak in that manner, but I'll do my very best. I'm going to keep the characters as much in canon as possible. So, anyway, without further ado...
-Prologue-
The dress was black velvet, swathed tightly around her waist and gathered just under her chin with large, gold buttons. Long sleeves clung to her slender arms and white lace hung over her pale, pretty hands. The skirt was large and heavy, it would have been less restricting had it not been for the many underskirts and petticoats it concealed. She wore no jewelry save for the large, gold pendant her mother had given her for her last birthday, and her hair was rolled up in a tight bun.
The maid stood back to admire her handiwork, and her surveying mother clapped her hands and pranced in delight. This had been the effect Catherine had been going for. A pretty, well mannered daughter, the epitome of decorum and dignity. When Lord Chamberly came to dinner, he was sure to fall for her, there would be a wedding within a year, and Lady Catherine would finally be able to relax in the knowledge that both her daughters had made suitable matches.
`You look beautiful, my darling.'
Her daughter smiled, clasping her mothers hand with her own.
`I can't but help feeling anxious mother, what if the Lord doesn't like me?'
`He will be quite smitten with you, my darling, and quite rightfully so. What man wouldn't want a wife as accomplished and beautiful as you?'
The daughter blushed quite endearingly, and her mother stroked her face fondly.
`I shall go downstairs and see that Nicholas has set the table properly. I don't want to take any risks with this evening. Mary, come, leave my daughter to herself for a few minutes, to prepare.'
Lady Catherine swept regally from the room, with her ever faithful maid following right behind her. The very second they left; the smile was dropped from the young girls face as she turned around to survey herself in the looking glass.
It was too tight, this dress. Her father had given it to her just the other day, a present from Paris. It was the latest design, apparently, and her parents had been delighted when it was found to fit her most perfectly. This was just the dress her daughter could wear when Lord Chamberly was to call. It gave off just the right impression, of a rich, innocent girl, with a pleasing figure and a stately manner. It clung to her slim body, restricting her breathing and her movement.
It was her shroud.
The pendant, an old heirloom, had been passed from generation to generation of youngest daughters for many years. It was an antique, worth probably more than the dress, in the shape of a swan, with intricate patterns, all completely in gold.
How she hated gold jewelry. To her, it looked cheap and tasteless.
Her mother had called her beautiful, and she supposed she could agree with that, to an extent. She was tall and slender, with a milky complexion, a buttoned nose, rosy cheeks and an alluring smile. Her eyes were emerald green, almond shaped, and she hated them. She hated them because, even though she could smile and laugh, her eyes would always give away her sadness, her despair, her hunger for a life that she couldn't have. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily for her, no one ever noticed when her eyes were screaming with pain. Sometimes she hoped, in vain, that someone would notice, and sometimes she hoped that no one ever would.
Something she loved, almost as much as she hated her eyes, was her hair. Her hair seemed to signify the pent up personality she was in possession of. It was red. Not a carroty red, nor a blondish red, but a dark, fiery, crimson. It was thick, wavy, abundant and wild. When she let it down, it would tumble down past her shoulders and landed at her waist, flying this way and that, and never behaving itself. Her mother insisted that her hair be kept in a bun at all times, but at the end of the day, she would let it down and twirl in front of the mirror, feeling free for just a few moments, before she would tie it back up again..
Her mother had called her accomplished, but she didn't consider herself to be so. She could play clarinet, read French and German most easily, sing beautifully, sew, knit and crochet, and this was all her parents seemed to think she needed as an education. No one knew how she would sneak down to the library in the dead of night and read as many books as she could find, books that her mother deemed inappropriate for a young lady. No one knew of her interest in politics, in travel, in helping the lower classes or in poetry. No one knew how she had befriended the servants. No one knew that she would practice advanced magic, or that she was surprisingly adept at it.
No one knew how good an actress she was.
She bit back the tears that were threatening to escape her eyes, smoothed a stray hair, and fixed a smile upon her face. There was to be a dinner party tonight. Her father's business partners would be in attendance, as would some of her mother's acquaintances, her sister, her sister's husband, and his cousin, Lord Edward Chamberly. The man she was to be betrothed to.
He had spotted her a month ago at a country ball, and enquired as to who the enchanting redhead was. When her mother had gotten wind of it, she had invited him over to their next dinner party on the spot. It was widely known that the rich, charming and handsome Chamberly was looking for a wife, and her daughter was just the right age to marry. She had spent the most part of the day giving her daughter instructions.
Agree with everything Lord Chamberly says, remember to curtsey, sit up straight, don't let him know that you're a witch, don't talk too much, don't talk to little...
She had heard it all before, when her sister had been looking for a husband. As opposed to her, Petunia had been most delighted at the prospect of being betrothed, and as luck would have it, she had managed to marry a man she loved.
Somehow, she doubted that the same would happen to her.
But there wasn't time to worry about that now, her mother was calling her. She walked sedately towards the door, breathing in and out as deeply as her dress would allow her, and going over appropriate dinner conversation. Before she opened the door, she turned back and looked at the girl in the mirror.
She would go downstairs, have dinner, smile graciously at compliments, behave charmingly, and have a lovely time.
And then she would sign her life away.
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