Here stands a young girl dressed in dresses, bows, and the shade of pink shoved down her throat. This young seven year old couldn't play with the other kids, for fear of ruining her shoes. She couldn't sit on the floor, eat without a napkin on her lap, or be constantly paraded to everyone and anyone. She just wanted to be normal. She was dressed in the finest silks, and cottons and her shoes were shined to perfection, always.
If she moved, or even took the very tip of her toe to itch the very top of her thigh her mother would see, and she knew an argument would have ensued. So, she stood there in the pretty dress and bows that was forced upon her just biting the bottom of her lip hoping on hope that her mother would glance away so she could scratch that very itchy spot right under her knee. "Mother my leg is itchy." The girl pleaded, her tone was scarce. "A royal never scratches, it's unlady like.
By the age of eight she was taught lessons in a boarding school thousands of miles from her family. She had piano and violin everyday, and debutante training. She was forced to sit proper and talk in the correct speech.
By the age of twelve she was made to wear dresses below the knees and gloves if outside or around people and what to wear when. Polo Matches she was permitted to wear flat shoes, as she would be treading in the divots and kitten heels would sink in.
The Royal Ascot she would wear gloves, black heels, a dress that covered her shoulders and a hat was always permitted and never taken off.
By the age of thirteen she had to go high tea and dance lessons, her height now was pushing six foot and she was often teased. Her complexion was treated and kept everyday by one of the board mistresses. Her hair was long, thick and very heavy, it was kept in a french braid most days with a mesh hat and pin.
By the age of seventeen she had finished boarding school and moved back home, she was watched like a hawk and paraded around by her mother to all the men ready for a wife.
She sat on a tailors pedestal for hours each week for fittings, and even a wedding gown was made when Sir. Braxton asked for her hand in marriage. Shortly after the engagement Sir. Braxton was killed in a Polo accident and the wedding was no more. After the funeral she was alone and refused every man that Mater chose for her. She spent a year after at a seamstress school Ireland and learned everything about tailoring, haberdashery and pattern making.
By nineteen she decided to pursue nursing, the ability to help people enthralled her, and one day she dreamed to be a missionary and nurse. She was sent to The Royal London Hospital to be called in each day. But only three months in training and had to take leave for Pater's Knighting. She was fitted for a floor length ball gown that had to be custom made, because her height of six foot one inch. Her royal red hat matched all the other ladies, and she was sat at the high table next to Princess Anne.
When she returned she was tired of being reprimanded and pushed around so she decided a day in the West end was in order. The jet black rolls royce pulled up to Jacques Salon and heads turned, only royals had those. She stepped into the salon and a man of the same height stepped up to her.
"My Dear Camilla, What can I do for you?" He kissed her hand and leaned his elbows on the front counter. "One would like a new do, please. Middle of ones shoulders, thinned a bit and bouncy to let ones natural curls flow." She gave a smile and sat in the chair that was awaiting her. "Are you sure? thats almost nine inches!" His eyes widened and he draped a cloth around her and began to brush her long deep brown hair.
"Yes, positive." With that he picked up his shears and began to cut, she closed her eyes and took a slow deep breath. All of her worries flooded to the floor as the hair hit the ground and the weight was being released.
All of her dreams for herself and reassurance was looking her in the face when he turned her around to the mirror. She began to cry when she saw herself, beautiful brown curls at her shoulders and framing her face, she had never felt so beautiful in her entire life.
She knew she would pay for what she done, but she didn't care.
"Camilla Fortescue-Cholmeley-Browne! Whatever has one done to ones hair!" Mater screamed at her as she sat down for breakfast.
"One has a responsibility at The Royal London, Mater. Long hair only gets in ones way, and an unkempt nurse isn't lady like, nor a good nurse." With that her mother didn't say a word for several long agonizing minutes.
"How does one expect to find a husband now? Huh?" Mater was snippet with her and she could see the tension rising in her brow.
"Mummy, One thinks sissy looks quite positively lovely." Her brother piped in.
"Well thank you, William. One must dash, a late nurse is never a keeper." She darted out of the room to gather her things to meet her driver, and arrived at The Royal London ten minutes early, eager and ready for work in her purple lux uniform.
"Nurse Brown, kick those wheels, and clear those trays at once!" Camilla nodded, and did ask she was told. Four bed baths, seven tube meals, three insulin shots and a 10 post-op rounds later, her car had arrived to pick her up. All she could think of was a hot bath and a nice warm cuppa.
"Camilla, meet Patterson Henley-Monroe III. He has asked for your hand, Sir. Rex and I given our blessing." Camilla's eyes widened and she stuttered her words.
"Marr-iage?" She was screaming on the inside, she didn't love him and she would try everything in her power to refuse.
"Camilla go get ready, Patterson would like to take you out." Mater stated, Camilla knew she was defeated.
"Yes, Mater." She stood tall to please her mother, but sulked up the stairs.
She washed up, put on the floor length sapphire dress that awaited her, put on her ivory heels, brushed short ringlets, and grazed a touch of passion red over her lips. She couldn't deny herself, she did feel pretty, mostly because of her haircut. "Guess we're jumping in feet first, old bean." She mumbled to herself, in the mirror. She walked down the stairs to the man awaiting her, he wore a nice suit with a matching sapphire hanky.
"Shall we?"
"We Shall." He held out his arm to her, which she gladly took and out the door they went.
He took her to Vivilore's, and was the perfect gentleman. At first she was uncomfortable, but soon she found him charming, and they had so many things in common.
"You have horses?" She repeated him, almost not believing her ears.
"Yes I do eight actually, all perfect riders. Do you ride?" He asked, reaching across the table and taking up her hand.
"One does, one loves them actually!" The conversation was endless, they decided to be dropped off a mile from the estate to walk hand in hand.
"Am I really doing this? I didn't like the chap three hours ago! Camilla what have you gotten yourself into?" She feared that he would hear her thoughts, as they jumbled around in her head. The next day she almost hurt herself numerous times, from star gazing instead of paying attention.
"Nurse Browne! Kick those wheels propper!" Head matron bellowed at her.
"Yes, Matron!" She replied, and thinking to herself. "Camilla, you're losing your touch."
A/N: I hope you liked the first chapter, fear not another is on it's way soon!