"Elizabeth, sit still," Governor Swann commanded his squirming sixteen year old daughter.
"It's difficult, father, when you're having your hair ripped from your head," Elizabeth snapped, watching her maid, Estella twist her hair up into curlers in the looking glass. "I don't suppose you should know what it feels like as you haven't much hair."
The governor sighed, watching her cry out in pain as the last curler was fastened into place. Teenagers these days… wouldn't do a single thing asked of them. "Elizabeth, I just want you to look your best for your birthday celebration tonight."
Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest, averting her gaze from the looking glass to the view out her window. How she longed to be out there, on the beach, in town, anywhere but here. Some people would call her spoiled; she had everything anyone could possibly want and yet she longed for different things. Others would call her ungrateful; she refused to take advantage of what she had, and what she did, she took for granted. But she knew, oh she was sure she was nothing of the sort. No, she was just trapped by social structure and propriety. "I don't recall mentioning wanting a birthday celebration." She hadn't, in fact, mentioned anything simply because she didn't want one. She knew all too well that her father would invite very few people her age, and those that he did would come, along with their irritating, well to do, upstanding families.
"I've invited Isabel, Kate and Rebecca and their families." Elizabeth groaned and turned to look at her father. She knew it. The firls she was forced to have tea with on occasion. They really were a dim bunch. All they did was discuss things of little importance, such as dresses and which boys they fancied. All in all, they really were not Elizabeth's top choice of company. Clearly her father had not heard her the last few times she had mentioned she was not fond of them.
"I don't suppose you recall the fact that I dislike them," Elizabeth replied, frowning as Estella returned to help her into her dress. "What about Will?" she asked, peering around the screen now at her father.
"Elizabeth, he's a blacksmith," the governor replied, sighing. She really was a right piece of work sometimes.
"And…?" she asked, bringing her full body back behind the screen as her father motioned for her to do. Well aware of the fact that her father had never been terribly fond of her friend, William Turner, she took immense pleasure in reminding him of her fondness for the boy. "It's my party, is it not? And he's my friend. Should I not be allowed to invite him simply because he is a blacksmith?"
Ignoring the response her father began to gave, Elizabeth concentrated on sucking her stomach in so her dress would fit properly. The only words she managed to catch were, "blacksmith," and "propriety," to which her response was an inaudible, "Hang propriety."
"What's that, Elizabeth?" sighing, Elizabeth assured her father that she had said nothing. Sometimes she regretted being so hand on him, for he had raised her himself and was only looking after her best interests, but sometimes the man was bloody clueless.
Elizabeth emerged from behind the screen and headed back to the looking glass, eager to get the curlers out of her hair. She tugged at the skirts of her powder blue dress, making it easier to walk back, as her feet were visible again.
She sat down, Estella moving to take the curlers from her hair, monitoring her father closely in the glass. His intentions were good, she knew that well enough, but it would seem somehow he managed to do many things concerning herself wrong. Keeping her locked up, very much shielded from the world inside their manor was not working to tame her wild spirits. Rather, it was working very much to make her long for freedom; for a chance to let her reckless streak take over. Deprivation of such a chance just made her restless.
"Father, don't you think I could invite Will?" Elizabeth pleaded, looking back at her father, causing her maid to remind her to sit still. "Beg pardon," she muttered, looking now at her father's reflection in the glass.
The governor sighed again, growing very tired of this discussion. He had hoped she would have figured out that his answer was not going to change. "Elizabeth-"
"Fine," she snapped, cutting him off and folding her arms angrily across her chest. She never had quite grown out of her childish temper tantrums, more common for a six year old than a sixteen year old.
Knowing neither of them was going to get much further on the subject, the governor left the room, shaking his head and muttering something about, "black smith, propriety," and "social standings," once again.
"Bugger that," Elizabeth muttered, watching as her hair fell down her shoulders in loose curls. Admittedly she did look nice, but the conditions under which she was to look so pretty were highly unfavorable.
"Watch your mouth," Estella instructed, delicately pulling the last curler out.
Furrowing her brow, Elizabeth sighed, merely replying, "Beg pardon." Somehow, she wasn't sure how yet- but somehow, she would manage to get Will to her party. Just her wild side taking over once again.