"And what was wrong with that one, Emily?"
"Too old! And he smells like rotten fish."
"He wasn't that bad."
"He had teeth missing! And anyway, I prefer someone close to my age and not yours!"
"He's not that much older than…"
"You? Father? Beatrice?"
"I was going to say…"
"Never mind. I'm not interested."
"Emily dear, don't I get a say in this?"
"Don't take this the wrong way mother, but I'm the one who's getting married. The bride gets a say as to who she marries – whether it's next week or in ten years' time."
Margaret Hunter sighed, rubbing her forehead with her long elegant jewelled fingers, watching her only daughter stand on the staircase, her light blue day dress cascading down the steps like a rivet of crystal water and her chocolate caramel hair flowing across her bare shoulders.
She had lost count how many times she had listened to Emily complaining about the lack of eligible bachelors in the village, whether it was their age, their status, their choice of clothing or their fragrance. The latest 'contestants' in the 'marriage game' had walked out of their door, either offended or disappointed by Emily's remarks. Not one of them were getting close to placing a ring on her finger or walking her down the aisle.
"Your father is not going to be happy. He's running out of men in the village."
"We'll have to stretch further than the village if you want me to find a suitable husband. There are other places in this world" Emily groaned, taking another step up the stairs towards her room.
"Emily, I wish I could create a man to your demands. You know making you happy is my main priority and if I had the power, believe me, I would find you the best husband anyone would ever set eyes on. But I can't. You have to make deal with what there is."
Emily sighed. She knew her mother was right, and it made her smile that her mother wished her to be happy – but why did all the single men in the village be so old, too young, despicable, or ugly? It didn't make sense. Where were all the good-looking men?!
"Mother…I'm with you on that. If I could design a perfect man for myself, you know what he would look like."
"Tall, handsome, dark-haired, cares for the woman he loves and marries for love, not money. Everyone's prince charming." Margaret Hunter nodded.
"My Prince Charming. Created in a world of fantasy and desire. Only ever existent in my dreams" Emily sighed to herself. "I'm going upstairs. I need a lie down. That fish odour has given me a headache."
Emily continued to climb the stairs, feeling her dress trail behind her. As soon as she was out of her mother's sight, she rushed to her bedroom, flinging the door wide open and shutting it behind her with a firm slam. She leapt to her bed like a fish in to water, and lay there on her belly as still as a statue, her arms folded up to her chin and her eyes focused on the wall ahead.
"Only ever existent in my dreams" she repeated to herself. "Why can't dreams be reality?!"
Rolling over on to her back, Emily dreamt of her prince charming – wherever or whoever he was. Finding her as the princess locked away in the tower, rescuing her from realities harsh truths and whisking her away to an exotic part of the world where only love, life and each other mattered. But no! Judging by the number of bachelors that came through their door, the definition of 'prince charming' was someone with money – never mind their scent, name or look. That's all everyone assumed marriage was about in today's society – wealth.
"They don't know about anything besides money."
Peeling herself off her bed and throwing her wavy curls over her shoulder, Emily walked over to her bedroom balcony, opening the French windows wide and embracing the fresh air that radiated across the village.
Taking deep breaths and tossing her head back to let the air through her hair; Emily gazed up at the sky and inspected the wispy white clouds that floated high above. Oh, how she wished she could fly high amongst those clouds. Like a free spirit. With only the air between her wings. Wings. 'What wings?' she thought. 'The wings on a little butterfly – delicate, blue, beautiful, fragile and feminine.' Everything a girl could be.
"Dreams and reality are two separate worlds Emily" she told herself, dragging her eyes away from the sky and looking down upon the village square, lightly buzzing with life and laughter. The little children playing with their wooden toys, the friendly dogs barking and the recognisable faces enjoying an afternoon stroll…all familiar faces except one. The face of a tall, dark-haired man, strolling around proudly with a crisp, clean, well-tailored suit, complete with glistening shoes, a brand new top hat and sparkling rings on his fingers.
Emily was in awe. No one in this village fit a face like that. He must be new, judging by the way he was observing the grand houses surrounding him. His dark mysterious eyes scanned over each and every brick and window before he clasped his eyes on Emily's house.
The Hunter's mansion.
And his eyes caught sight of Emily – standing proudly on her balcony like Juliet looking for her Romeo. And he smiled. Smiled at Emily, who simply gazed back at his dark mysterious eyes that took in every detail of her. She was amazed. In reaction to catching sight of her, the stranger brought his hand to his hat, pinching it at the rim and bringing it down from his head, revealing his dark locks of hair, smoothed back in a well-crafted manner.
"Tall, handsome and dark-haired." Emily murmured to herself. As the gentleman nodded courteously to her, Emily could only react by raising her hand and waving gently, smiling that flirtatious smile she had been known for.
Suddenly, emotion took over and Emily found herself bounding off the balcony, down the corridors of her home, down the stairs, through the front door and out in to the village square, catching sight of the spot where the gentleman once stood.
But he was nowhere in sight. Nowhere to be seen.