A Note: This is a middle chapter (I think) of a much longer story (I think) with a solid, defined storyline (I think). haha. Honestly, I only uploaded this because Diana asked me to. However, if you're not Diana, I welcome you just as much to peruse my little scribblings. Originally, the five chapters as I've published them now are a single, 14-page Word Document. I separated them into 5 parts because when I open an FF story and it's just a gigantic wall of text, I immediately despair in a sea of TL;DR and click the back button. I hope you, unsuspecting reader, choose to press through the disparity of the TL;DR.

This is the story (all about how - my life got flipped - turned upside down-errmmpp I mean...) of the three daughters of George and Lydia Wickham, focusing on the oldest, sensible, introverted Esther, and her sisters: lovingly enthusiastic and compassionate Hazel, and busy twelve-year-old Agnes.

Tip: If you're finding it too wordy, try reading it out loud.

Please comment if you're so inclined and do other such things to respond and engage as the site allows.

-AC

On the morning of the ball, Esther regretted her decision to agree to attend. It turned out to be the hottest day of the year. There was no breeze. Everything about the weather and her feelings told her not to go. Only Hazel's smiling, innocent face could pull Esther from her bed. Her mother and Hazel had to take turns preparing her as she complained loudly that she would much rather go back to bed. She did not feel good. She was surely going to faint of heatstroke. Everyone would talk about her. She did not remember how to dance. She did not want to stand up with any gentlemen.

Hazel and Mama were so good to ignore every complaint and made her look presentable. Unlike a private ball, which were invitation only, and, by extension, the same people over and over again, nearly everyone was invited to an Assembly ball, and that offered an excitement in which Esther could not fathom being comfortable. Certainly she would not be able to work the crowd as usual in her cunning, almost cat-like stalk of prey. Instead of hunting, Esther felt certain she would be nothing but hunted.

That evening, the moisture in the air clung to her skin. She felt as if every inch of her skin was covering in a slimy layer of sweat. Every curl languished against the elaborate army of pins and ribbons in her hair, wilting in the heat like the plants. Hazel, after puffing her own sleeves, insisted on puffing Esther's, as they were pear-shaped instead of their usual round fluff. Her petticoat was not as full as usual—the heat tired it, too—and her stays strangled her. Outside, the horses lapped up water from the trough and the carriage drivers of rich families passed a bottle of liquor between them, cursing and jeering at the ladies. The smell generated from them overpowered the constant smell of horses.

The last thing Esther wanted, a rush of heat, hit her as she entered the Assembly Room. Everything about the Assembly Room felt warm: the flicker of hundreds of candles felt seared her skin like coals in hell, the heat of ovens baking hor d'oeuvres in the kitchens and the heat of footman running in between the two rooms carrying trays and trays of steaming hot food and wine, the heat of hundreds of people crammed in like sardines. She was soothed by some rolling notes of a violin, the jangly music of the six-piece band, and the click-click-click of the dancers' shoes on the worn wooden floor.

The rectangular dance floor composed most of the room, where light dress fabric of every imaginable color and print billowed and flashes of jewelry gleamed. The ceiling stood at least twenty feet high, supported by beautifully decorated walls and strong copper-colored columns.

The entrance doors were along one of the shorter walls of a rectangle room, to her right, huge windows that had been thrown open inviting a breeze. Along the long wall to her left, four doors lead to the food preparation areas and dining halls. Against the far wall sat the band in a neat semi-circle.

On the outskirts of the dance floor, chairs had been set up and circled as a location for gossip and observation, mostly filled by mothers and plain sisters in deep colored dresses and haphazard hairstyles, their fans furiously waving in an attempt for a breath of air. They stood or sat in small circles of four or five speaking animatedly or laughing at the funniest new joke. Their eyes roved over the crowd to find conversation pieces or reminders of the latest gossips. There was a serious lack of chairs for the number of people attending; as many people were standing as sitting.

As she walked into the main room, she instantly knew the Assembly had been too soon. Everywhere Esther looked, the noise and flashes of quick movement overwhelmed her.

The thought of the old protocol, the old rhythms of the Assembly Room made her uncomfortable, but as she thought of the alternative—not knowing, having no protocol—that gave her no comfort either.

Usually, she strode into the room with a hairdo that took six hours to complete, a dress that had been cleaned, pressed, and mended for a full day, skin that had been scrubbed and powdered, and a stomach that had not tasted food in a full day, and likely not to see much food during the actual ball itself.

Once inside, her father took off immediately for the card tables. Her mother took a chair and persuaded Esther to dance with every man she found the least bit handsome.

Just as her feet had blistered terribly and she had done enough of the initial flirting, she sat with her friends and gossiped about each man and the women with whom they were currently dancing.

Hazel saw any ball as opportunity to dance with every man she thought handsome and every man she did not think handsome until her dance card was full and she ached with every step the next day. Her beautiful delicate dancing shoes were consistently torn to shreds. Whether there was any new, exciting people or not, Hazel was enthusiastic that every ball was the best night of her life and would inevitably lead to a wonderful marriage for herself and Esther.

Each dance possessed an opportunity to meet a new gentleman, flirt delicately, and come home with new social prospects, new visits, new letters. Each night was different, a chance to do something or meet someone unexpected.

This night began no differently.

Her family, excited to finally be at their destination, broke apart without thinking and ran after their own personal delights: Hazel found a group of pinched and powdered debutantes and began speaking excitedly about things she would forget as soon as her head was turned, Mama ran after a servant with a tray of wine and a comfortable chair next to a good conversationalist, and Papa sauntered off to join a card game. Esther was fairly sure she was experiencing hyperventilation for the first time in her life.

Esther stood alone. Frozen. On the vestibule.