The Chains of Society

Never in my life had I ridden so long in a carriage. It was a freezing cold December night; the last remnants of day faded away, marking the last leg of our journey. First by carriage, then ship, and now back to carriage. Why did Paris have to be so far away from London? To think that I was being forced to go through all this agony and boredom just for a rich French husband I had never seen prior to the engagement. I had been contemplating this for almost a month as we moved further from home.

"Flannery dear, please don't fidget. It's very unbecoming for a proper young English woman," mama hardly looked up from her needlework. Papa looked ready to fall asleep, again. I wished there was more than a few inches of freedom from them, it seemed like every other moment they were checking on me...babysitting.

My older brother, John, had wasted his life on gambling and my only sister had gone and eloped with a poor farmer, they moved to Ireland not long afterward. The betrayal and scandal laid heavily on my parents, they wanted to make sure their last child didn't further shame them. They were determined to make the youngest Wilkinson a topic hot with gossipers, they wanted others to burn with envy.

"Sorry ma'am, but it has been a long journey."

"It will all be worth it in the end, dear. You're so lucky, there is so much to do in Paris. The fashion, the music, the theater, it's all so divine." Oh dear, mama was on another one of her rants, "The cuisine there isn't too bad, although the tea takes a little to get used to-"

I allowed her to drone on as I studied the French landscape and let my mind wander, nothing inspired my imagination though as only a few trees dotted the grassy fields, so I thought instead of Rebbecca. My elder sister had sent a letter before I had left for France, its contents contained her explanation of why this was best for the family, and that if I thought of it as an adventure then it would be just as marvelous. The whole thing only depressed me as I thought of the inevitable meeting of my betrothed, but she did manage to bring a smile to my face by reminiscing of the past.

Mama had hired the best governess in all of England, or so she had boasted. I remembered that I couldn't stand that woman, always scolding us for just being children. We would spend long antagonizing hours locked in one small room and tutored in every subject suitable for young women. This way we would be educated enough to rival the upbringing of dukes and duchesses.

She did make a good point in telling me not to worry, that I would impress with how fluent I was in the language; I would never admit that it was the only lesson I was happy to have been drilled in, despite how much hell it had been. Unlike most foreigners, I would know more than just bonjour and merci. Hopefully this would serve to impress the French nobleman I was about to be wedded to.

Jacques Follet was one of the richest men in Paris; at the age of only twenty-eight, he was quite young to have such a fortune. He never would have gotten it though if his father hadn't met an unfortunate end right at his nineteenth birthday. He had been introduced to my parents on their last trip to Paris and, from what I'd been told, regretted not having a wife to fill the void his father's death had left within him. Seeing as he appeared to be a refined young man, if the term "insanely wealthy" hadn't had any influence, my father eagerly concocted a compromise. Follet could graciously have my hand, all blessings and an ample dowry included, if he would grace the Wilkinson estate with a small sum every year. My parents were giddy with the thought that the family name would finally be redeemed.

The fact that I was past the marriage age was already an embarrassment to them, I was only too thankful that every bachelor had been deemed unsuitable in their eyes. It was not uncommon for a young woman of sixteen years to be married shortly after her birthday, nor was it any less uncommon for that girl to be married to a man twice her age. Despite being badgered by our neighbors and close friends, it hadn't been till after my eighteenth birthday that they had found their ideal son-in-law.

Fighting the urge to yawn, I pulled out my ivory fan and hid my failed attempt. It was quite frustrating that I had nothing to do, papa thought that reading was a waste of a woman's time...but I refused to do needlepoint. So I sat there fanning myself as I memorized the scenic view, despite being cloaked in shadow.

"Flannery."

I turned to face the portly man who sat right across from me. "Yes papa?"

"The hour is undoubtedly late, sleep."

" Papa I have yet to spend my energy from the day before, to sleep now would be a waste of my time." Though the boredom was nearly enough incentive to sleep anyway.

"True, but what can you do in here?" he inquired as his own drowsiness showed. He was a man who had definitely seen his years and his wilting features made sure to show it.

"Rot...," I mumbled under my breath.

"Is that any way for a proper young lady to talk?" he snapped and I flinched. The chains of proper society were starting to chaff my wrists, I wanted free of them but I never saw any escape from my gilded cage.

My voice was almost inaudible as I spoke, but his eyes softened nonetheless, "No papa." My father might not have been the youngest man in the world, nor the most loving father, but the anger he had left the air in the carriage charged. He had a temper like no other and didn't mind yelling to get his point across.

The tension from out last argument hadn't cooled over and the electricity from his last statement jolted it back to life. He turned his eyes to the windows and I felt my hidden fury flare, I was his daughter not his servant! My own eyes hardened as I tried to think of a sharp retort.

Feeling the anger in the air, mother quickly cut in, "Well darling have you thought of what flowers your going to want at your wedding?"

"No, I haven't mama."

"Hmm let me see...-"

"Wait, could we maybe do irises?" I knew whatever flowers she had in mind would be too expensive and over the top. Further embarrassment was something I wanted to avoid.

"Whatever for dear? They are such a plain flower, no beauty at all. I want something exotic that will start a trend."

"I love irises, and they match my eyes-"

"Flannery, the world wouldn't be able to not notice them, they already stand out against your red hair and pale skin. Not that their shade needs anymore help in standing out." What my father said was true, my unusual violet eyes were the same shade as my favorite flower, where I inherited them from was a mystery. No matter how hard I tried to dull them, they never ceased to gain attention... not all of it good.

As for my hair, it had been pulled up into a bun recently – or tied back somehow. It's been a tradition of the Wilkinson family that when a girl is engaged or married she stops leaving her hair down for any other occasion but a formal one. It symbolized how the women of the household had matured and were well bred enough to handle the world as a woman.

My auburn long hair symbolized my mother's Irish decent, all the women of her family – my sister and I included – had hair that was some shade of red. Rebbecca's was a ginger color while mine was a bit darker and redder. The origin of my eyes were a different matter entirely; mother figured they were from my father's side but we all knew that blue eyes were a rarity in his family, lacking any other shade but deep brown. I was the only one in all of bloody England with violet eyes... and I didn't enjoy it.

My sister told me that they stood in for my white skin and plainly shaped figure. The size of my chest size wasn't at fault, in fact I was bigger than my sister – which wasn't much more – but it was more about my lack of curves. I was fairly scrawny to be honest, I needed very little help from corsets, but I guess instead of evening out I was more top heavy with little to spare for the rest.

Mama had always told me that she thought my eyes were just another one of God's strange gifts. That they had a purpose beyond making up for my body, they were meant to do something for me. "Even if they don't serve another purpose than being pretty, relish in the fact that any other woman would die for something so exotic." It was her favorite saying.

When I was little I thought that maybe they gave me mystic powers, or that I was actually a lost angel. These thoughts fed my imagination and dreams throughout my youth. As I grew older those daydreams vanished and new ones were given birth to, the one that I held onto the longest was the dream of finding my love. I figured that with just one look at the right man, we would both know, that I would never feel the same about any other man.

Ridiculous nonsense for a girl born into an upstanding family, but I was convinced that my eyes would single out the man I was meant to be with. I was prided that no other girl could be so lucky.

These foolish thoughts brought about dreams of bumping into him one day, after that one meeting he wouldn't be able to cease dreaming of me. He would scourer every inch of the earth just to see the girl with the mysterious violet eyes again.

With growing up comes reality though, marriage was not about love but about politics. Papa had scolded me exclusively in an attempt to humiliate me, forcing me to accept that fact. That night he exceed his goal, my dreams were crushed.

That was around the time my brother became a drunk, my sister's elopement following shortly after. Being the youngest, my parents had guarded me from the beginning, I had no chance of freedom like they did.

"...-nery...dear?" my mother's voice slowly drifted to me. I opened my eyes to find light streaming in through the frost covered windows, my father had his head leaning against the black velvet wall behind him, he was still asleep. My mother on the other had her needles out and was sewing something that I assumed was another shirt for my brother.

"Sorry mama. I must have dozed off at some point."

"It's fine dear. The driver says that we are only half a day away from the outskirts of Paris." She smiled with an excitement that scared me. Whenever she got enthusiastic, she started acting like a giddy maid again, that was enough to wake me up.

I played along though and added in my own grin, "Finally, I hear that the bells of Notre Dame add to a wonderful welcome."

"Indeed dear, there is nothing I enjoy more than to hear those bells again. Notre Dame herself is a beauty, you should hold your wedding there."

"Why?"

"So then all of Paris could envy such a match, and your wonderful wedding too. No doubt that it will be the most beautiful wedding next to the king's." I could hardly fake my smile as she finished, beautiful maybe but wonderful? No, it would not be wonderful. And I certainly did not want peasants, or worse gypsies, to watch my mockery with the freedom that they possess. They were a dirty filthy people, especially gypsies, they had no right to be at a wedding for proper people of society.

Since Notre Dame was a cathedral, anyone was allowed in, or supposed to be allowed. I wondered if I could convince someone to keep them all out.

"Yes, having it at Notre Dame sounds wonderful mama."

"Good, I shall talk with the groom's mother about it and try and convince her. Oh we still need to-"

Again, I drowned her out as a watched the scenery change from plains to small villages to little towns and then finally Grand Paris herself. My father woke up at some point and we talked, about what I don't exactly remember. Though, after engaging in an attempt to brag about who knew more gossip, he and my mother got lost in another complaint over the monarchy; my head turned out of habit to the window.

Just before the carriage passed into the walls of my new prison, I said a silent prayer, concentrating on it more than I had ever cared to do for my lessons.

God, I know I've come to you many times about this, but I am desperate. Free me from these chains, thrust love my way and I shall take the blow with open arms and no complaints. I shall not ask you for anymore than this, I already ask so much. Please, when you do answer my prayers I shall not come to you with anymore selfish requests. If this Jacques is the answer to my prayers I will begin immediately with my vow to you, yet Lord, if he is not then end this marriage, for if I am joined to him it will be too late to be with my other half. Amen.