A/N: Hmm well let me say that I just kind of came up with this out of the blue today and this is a little different to what I usually write. So, I am going to do my best and I hope you all enjoy it and bear with me. (smiles) I do not own Les Miserables or its characters, if I did the beautiful boys...mainly Enjolras would have survived. I hope you all enjoy this chapter.
"Mon cherie you are going to look absolutely beautiful tonight.'' my maid Helene beamed from behind my mass of curly hair.
I quirked a thin caramel brown eyebrow at the reflection before me. Sitting atop my head was my long, curly, unruly hair that Helene had pinned up in layers. This way she could tackle my wild hair in small increments. I looked like the poodles that my family kept. With my slender face and a massive puff of hair sitting like a crown on my head, I could easily be mistaken for one.
I puffed out my cheeks and absentmindedly pulled on a kinky curl and watched as it began to straighten. Parisian girls sit for hours to have their hair curly like mine, while I sit for hours to have it straight. I released the soft strand of hair and it quickly returned to an unruly curl. It bounced mockingly at me; I could hear the offensive thing laughing." You'll never be able to get rid of me that easily.'' it sang joyously.
"Just a couple more hours and your hair will be straight and silky, just like you like it.''she ran the hot comb through a new strip of hair. My hair hissed in defiance as the heat smoothed it out. Helene was very careful not to burn me. When working with the scorching instrument on an almost daily basis the risk of getting burned was high. No matter how many burns I have received from the thing, tears still sting my eyes every time.
I didn't like having to sit for such long periods of time. The times when I am confined to sit for extended periods of time, I long to walk about the estate and get much wanted fresh air due the smell of burnt hair that was increasingly becoming a sickening scent. However, as much as I would enjoy moving about, I strongly wanted to look less like the savage that my stepmother thinks of me and more like the family that my father has.
While their skin is pale like milk, mine is golden like the finest honey. While they have straight blond hair like the angels, mine is brown and curled like a slave's. While they have eyes as blue as the finest of jewels, mine are a green when really they should be brown like the people I come from. I should be a slave like many of the people that look like me. My mother was a slave but my father, a bourgeois man of France, kept me from that life.
He had fallen for my mother but they could not marry. As many could understand why. It is frowned upon and not the way of the bourgeois to marry someone who comes from little or even no money, let alone a slave. My father would have been disowned by his own family, if they found out that he had been meeting my mother while the moon shone high. If they had found out, they would have killed my mother and stripped my father of our family name and I would not walk this earth.
Things turned out differently though. My mother became pregnant and they continued their relationship in hopes of having a future together. When I took my first breathe and cried out like a howling wolf, my father's parents couldn't ignore the resemblance. Even with darker skin it wasn't hard not to spot many of the features that I share with my father. Confessing his love for my mother would fall on deaf ears. My grandparents sold my mother to a slave holder somewhere in America and forced my father to marry a pretty bourgeois woman threatening that they would drop me over the balcony and let the dogs devour me if he didn't do so. Afraid of living life on the streets of Paris he yielded to his parents demands but he would not allow them to take me away from him. That was his only condition, that he keep me. I believe it because I am the only thing that he has left of my mother.
I never understood why my grandparents even allowed my father to hold me. Sometimes I wish that they would have sent me off with my mother because living in this house amongst so many people, I feel alone and out of place. At least living with my mother's people I would fit in and not stick out in a family portrait. I wouldn't be able to live the hard life of a slave, that much I am aware of but living here I'm hardly able to survive the looks I get from the people of Paris and even the looks that I receive in my own house. They all know that I don't belong, they just choose to avoid me like I'm a plague or the devil on horseback.
My stepmother doesn't by any means enjoy me. I wouldn't say that she hates but I will say that she doesn't love me. She looks at me with indifference and chooses to talk to me only when necessary; even then she hardly says a word or acknowledges me. She looks at everything but me with her lips pursed and her head held high. Her voice is stern and void of any emotion when she speaks and she makes it a habit to wave me away like I was a servant. I know that she is a kind woman by the way that she holds and kisses her children as if they are gold. Also by the way that she gazes at my father with such kindness and love, I know that she holds compassion in her heart.
"Mon cherie, you are so beautiful.'' Helene doted over me. I smiled fondly at the woman whose dark locks were beginning to grey. Helene has basically raised me as her own child. She is the only person that has been able to look past the color of my skin and accept me for who I am. To her, I am the daughter that she always wanted. Having only boys I was her outlet to fawn over and raise into a woman. For years she has dried my tears when I felt unwanted. She sang me to sleep on stormy nights. She read to me on restless evenings and has held me against her larger body and attacked me with kisses. She has been the one to comb my hair every day and show me about makeup. She has been the one to talk to me about boys. When I had my first bleeding she was there to tell me that I now a woman, when I had thought that I was dying. She helped by sitting by my side through each lesson rather it be Latin or life. For so long I had wanted a friend and it took me years before I realized that Helene has been all that and more.
When I look at Helene I can't help but smile and feel a great deal of love for her. Without her I might be lost in a dark room with no way out. Luckily she has been my light in even my darkest of days."You think I'm beautiful even when I look like a fool?'' I motioned to my ridiculous hair.
She laughed warmly. It was one of those laughs that make you smile because it is a happy and honest sound,''Yes, even when you look like a fool.'' she said as she sloppily kissed my cheek.
I pulled away despite the wide smile on my lips. I am by no means beautiful. If anything I will agree to say that I am average. My younger sister Victoria is sixteen and she is beautiful. She has had men trying to court her for two years now but none catch her eye. She is beautiful with her sun yellow hair and porcelain skin, she wants a man that can match her own beauty. She is one that wants her husband to be young and not close to death, like so many other women have to endure. Though none catch her eye, she is extra vigilant in her search for her "prince" as she puts it.
No man has tried to court me, except for one, however, I am fine with this fact. Men do sometimes glance my way and may even spare me a second glance but none choose to go any farther than that. In this aspect, I am grateful for the color of my skin. I have the skin of a slave and I should marry one myself is the stigma. The only way that a man would look past my skin is if I am truly as "beautiful" as Helene says I am. No matter how much money my name holds behind it, no man will marry unless they can find me attractive enough to want to have me as a wife. Not even a lower class man would want me as a bride but this does not faze me. I have no desire to marry. As far as I'm concerned all I need are my books and writing for me to live a happy life.
"All done.'' Helene declared, pulling me from my thoughts. I looked at my reflection approvingly. My hair fell calmly over my shoulders in long silky strands. It shone from the oils that Helene had smoothed through my hair, so it would stay straight and not rebel back into its unruly nature. The sweet scented perfumes from the oils made my head hurt from the strong floral aroma. It's smell filling my head and kicking it repeatedly with its overly sweet scent. It was going to take a little while before I got used to it.
I nodded at Helene in approval and she proceeded to pull the strands from the front and braid them together in one long thick braid that fell down my back while the rest of my hair lay free. I ran my fingers through the velvet soft tresses that was my hair. I was impressed, this is the best that she has straightened my hair and the softest that it has ever been. I couldn't stop touching it because it was like touching someone else hair. This couldn't really be my hair because it looked so tame and shiny. I was used to my hair being wavy after the hot comb touched it but now my hair was as straight as my sisters' hair.
"I used different oils this time.'' Helene had noticed the extra attention that I was paying to my hair. She smiled admiringly at my hair and ran her fingers through it. I closed my eyes at the comforting feeling. It felt nice to have her toy with my hair, it always does. It brings about this really comforting feeling that I could lay down and be the child that loving mothers pay extra attention too.
"It looks really good.'' I praised her.
She put her fists on her hips and full of pride she puffed out her large chest. "Of course it does. I've been doing your hair for eighteen years. I've learned a thing or two about handling your crazy hair.'' she teased me which I returned with a laugh,''Now let's get you into that new dress that your father bought for you.'' she pulled me to my feet.
Helene promptly helped me into the gorgeous canary yellow fabric. The dress was a beautiful creation. Predominately yellow except for the white lacing traveling up my back, and the white lace ruffles encircling my elbows at the sleeve's end. The yellow dress opened up below my hips like a curtain to reveal the flawlessly tiered white skirt which opened up like a bell. I spun around examining myself in the wall length mirror, admiring how nice the yellow fabric looked against my skin and how my hair fell past my hips, all of them complimenting each other.
"This is certainly a change from the dresses that you are accustomed to wearing.'' Helene took note. She looked me up and down in approval. I nodded in agreement as I placed my hands around my hips and took as deep a breath as I could in the constraining corset that I wore. My bosom expanded with each restricted breath I took. The material looked as if it was going to tear if I attempted to breathe any deeper than I was. Dresses like these were normally worn for parties by how low the material is cut...The dress was flattering to my body, it just appeared as if my chest was going to spill over the top of it.
Dresses I wear are modest in style and color. Whites and blues are the only color in my wardrobe while they are cut in fashion that makes it appear as if my dress is choking me around my neck or if it dared, a bit of a collar bone would show. I dress to hide my bosom, trying to hide it or not I have a larger bosom than most women making exhibiting it not particularly a priority. I was already a site to see as a bourgeoisie, I didn't need the additional nonessential attention. "That boy won't be able to keep his eyes off of you tonight.'' Helene sounded jovial.
Boy? I spun around to look at Helene incredulously. I hadn't been informed that I would be meeting a boy this evening. To my knowledge our family was to have dinner with the family of one of my father's new friends. I hadn't gotten the name of the family, it was a subject that seemed superfluous to me . Names and formalities would be exchanged over the dinner. "Who is he?'' I needed to know.
Helene plopped herself down on a chair and crossed her legs. She rolled her eyes in thought and scratched her head. Looking off in the corner of my room she bit her lip and scratched her chin quizzically before. I watched impatiently as she gathered her thoughts meanwhile I was tapping my foot and nervously twiddling my thumbs. If there was a boy, then the prospect of marriage was likely, the thought sickening me.
She snapped her fingers and bounced in her seated position. Her eyes lighting up in clear recognition,"His name is Alexandre Enjolras. I believe he is twenty and I hear that he is very handsome. His family is very wealthy.'' Helene looked as if she was about to blow up from sheer exhilaration. I sighed out in relief. So he was handsome and young, none of this concerning me, then she hit me with it,''He is also looking to marry.'' She all but screamed as she clapped her hands energetically.
I groaned and threw myself on my bed, suddenly, I hated this dress. The now vile thing was bought to attract a man. I slammed my fists on my bed in anger and hurt. My father was trying to get rid of me as when before it was my stepmother who was trying to find me suitors that I didn't want. She had come close to marrying me off but the marriage fell through because my suitor was no longer financially secure and was forced to the streets. He vowed that he would one day marry me but that was two years ago. I felt remorse for the man because of his lost fortune but I had narrowly dodged that engagement and the threat of him marrying me was far off. However, now my own father was on board with getting me shipped off to some man that he has never encountered before. I just wanted to marry on my terms. My parents nonetheless know that if marriage was my choice, I would choose to stay unwed and happy.
I've heard that marriage is like a prison. Before you obeyed your father and now you obey a man that isn't your father but you have to lay next to him and perform wifely "duties", of which I've heard is painful. I've also heard that if you're lucky if he will find a mistress, which I wouldn't approve of. Or he could be a drunk and beat you for the remainder of yours or his life. Or you could just go about the marriage as if the other didn't exist. The stories I've heard don't make me want to marry anytime soon. Why can't I just be alone without having to have to get married or have children?
I shook my head, I was jumping the gun a bit. One meeting doesn't ensure a marriage. If I'm lucky (which I know that I am) his family won't approve, or he won't be interested or my parents won't find us to be a good match. With my luck I was confident in securing a future alone. The first engagement was just as common as a blue moon. Leveling my options and liking my outcome I sat up with a smile. Helene smiled back at me and kissed my forehead; we were both happy for different reasons.
My stepmother opened the door, stepping in with arms crossed behind her back and nose in the air she spoke emotionlessly,'' I see that you are ready.'' She began,''We are now ready to depart Charlotte.'' She turned around on a dime (I know…) and abruptly departed as she had entered.
I took a deep breath, the nerves nowhere in sight. I swung my feet over the edge of my bed and rose to my feet. I hugged Helene, her soft body feeling like a pillow against my own. Her arms encircled me and held me tightly, like a mother would hold her own child. I smiled at the thought that maybe in another life she could have been my mother. She kissed my head and gently forced me to turn to the door,''Have a good time Mon Cherie.'' Her voice was tender and caring and she urged me to the door. I smiled back at her and exited my room.
A/N: Sorry if you find the beginning boring but I swear that it will pick up. Did you like? If so tell me what you think, don't be shy to review and let me know if you come across any problems. Love you all =). R&R