Summary: Lucinda was perfect-smart, beautiful, and rich. But she wasn't satisfied, so she just had to dip her toe into a world in which she didn't belong. And it costs her everything.
Chapter One
Dear Diary,
Mother still wants me to accept the proposal of Kingsley Marks, but why in the world would I? I have eyes, I tell her. And through those eyes, I see a fat, old pervert. No offense to his daughter, who is two years older than I and quite the sweetheart. But wouldn't that very fact cause some sort of scandal? Taking a wife younger than your own child? Dear Lord.
At least my looks haven't gone, like the woman I call my mother's. She was the one begging for his proposal, but no. He liked young girls. Like me. And I'm only eighteen.
I will be turning down Mr. Marks' proposal. Even if he is wealthy. Surely there are more attractive, younger men pining for me.
Yours,
Lucinda Payne
"Oh Lucy, darling!" cried out Jane Speelers as she embraced me. "Oh, how are you?" Her voice was whiny, and it caused me to wince.
And, doesn't she know nobody is allowed to call me by that dreadful name. Lucy. What is that? It sounds as if I was a farm girl, or something. Lordy.
"What?" I tried not to snap at the unnatractive idiot. I only kept the poor girl around for the gossip she was constantly spewing.
"There's a new family in town," she whispered, leaning in as if she was telling me about one of those smutty books she liked to read.
"And?" Was there even a point to this? She always did this, and yet she never understood. If they aren't rich, or even richer than I, then I don't care in least.
"The Whittackers!" She grinned wickedly. There was nothing wicked about this, though. She was just that stupid.
"This is going nowhere, Jane, and if the next thing out of your mouth is irrelevant to me, then I will beat you and if you say a word the beating will be even worse!" I kept my voice down; we were strolling in town with people milling about all around us.
"They're richer than the Friedmans."
My mouth gaped like a fish for a mere moment, before I clamped my jaw. "How rich?"
"Double the Friedmans, I've heard from my father. The ladies tell me that they either stole it, inherited every last penny from three different families, or are royalty. Or all those combined."
"How old?" I questioned.
"There's a daughter, and she's ten. Whittacker is widowed," she answered obediently. She was like my slave in a way, with an obsessive devotion to me.
I smiled at her words. "Well then, I suppose I shall have to play matchmaker. Whether it is my mother or I that Mr. Whittacker ends up with just depends on my mood."
Dear Diary,
When I arrived home, I ran into my stable-boy. I liked him. Possibly felt a tad of respect for him.
He was rude. Not quite as bad as me. If that was the case, he'd have been fired and sent home.
But I've never had anyone stand up to me before. It was rather peculiar. Why this is on my mind, I haven't any idea.
Maybe it was because he was somewhat attractive. More so than that Mr. Whittacker sounded.
Jane told me those worthless wives(who had oh so tiring days filled with dress fitting, shopping, and resisting eating in fear of gaining weight but still failed miserably at it) had told her that while Mr. Whittacker was a looker, he was far too pale, and had odd amber that were slightly crazed and distant. And he was terribly thin. And had dark circles beneath his eyes.
But this stable boy had light blue eyes that were oh so pretty, and dark hair that rivaled the midnight sky.
Hmm, I so think I ought to go to sleep now, and hope my sanity will be back when the sun rises.
Yours,
Lucinda
I spotted him; Stable boy. Stable man seemed more accurate, though. I chuckled softly, and kept that slight smile on my lips as I forced him to tell me who he was.
My brow was cocked, awaiting his reply.
"Well, Miss Payne," he drawled in a lovely, lush accent that indicated his Southern roots. "I am the last child, and one of two sons."
"I asked your name." My brow arched further.
"No you didn't," he disagreed with me. "You said to tell you who I was. And that is what I am. But, seeing as you are so pretty, the name is Julien, after my French great grandfather."
"Julien?" The name sounded different from my mouth. My accent showed that my family was newer to America from England. "Julien what?"
"Julien Ellison." At my facial expression, he suppressed a laugh. "I said my great grandfather was French. He had a daughter, who had a daughter."
"Ah," I nodded, looking behind him as something moved among the bushed. I was suspicious for a mere moment, and I froze slightly as his eyes darkened to near black.
"Have a nice evening, Miss Payne."
Oh, to you it can be Lucinda. Even Lucy.
A/N: Hello, it's the first chapter of my first story.
To anyone who reads: Hope you liked it, and whatever you're opinion, I'd love to hear.
