Chapter 1: Emily Jackson

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She was one of those pretty and charming girls, born, as if by an accident of fate, as the daughter of a young wealthy couple. She had it all -- dowry and prospect, capability of being met, understood, loved, and married by a man both prosperous and famous.

She dressed beautifully in her best gowns and fitting dresses because her parents always bought her the finest Victorian fashion, but yet she was a little unhappy; for women have no family rank or social class. Her parents often tried to cheer her up, but she just wished that she had a more important role in society and hierarchy. Women have beauty, grace, and charm that take the place of birth and breeding. Their natural poise, their instinctive good taste, and their mental cleverness are the sole guiding principles which make daughters of the common people the equals of ladies in high society.

As a little girl, Emily wished that she could do things that were considered improper for a young lady, even though she was so passionate about her likes. Her parents didn't believe in what society had those days, so they allowed her to play music, have the same privileges as any man, and enrolled her in school, which was illegal back in the 1800s, for it was 1846. She heard of the hardship her parents had gone through, where her mother would often explain of her life. She used to live in an apartment, grieving incessantly over the shabbiness of her apartmnet, the dinginess of the walls, the worn-out appearance of the chairs, the ugliness of the draperies, the cheap painting job done in the dusty rooms. She was the little girl who did her humble housework... she was filled with disconsolate regrets and wild daydreams as a child. "I finally married your father when I was 18..." her mother would tell her gladly, "I was so happy when I had you. I was 21."

Emily was thankful for the silent chambers, draped with Oriental tapestries and lighted by tall bronze floor lamps, and the two handsome butlers in knee breeches, who, drowsy from the heavy warmth cast by the central stove, dozed in large overstuffed armchairs. The bulters' names were Jeck and Mortrude, and she loved them after years of knowing them and years of them taking care of her when she was sick or when her parents were out of town doing vague business. The great reception halls were hung with old silks, fine furniture filled with precious curios, and small, stylish, scented sitting rooms just right for the four o'clock chat with intimate friends, with distinguished and sought-after men whose attraction every woman envies and longs to attract.

Everything was done precisely and perfectly -- even the table cloth was changed after every meal! -- just as her parents had arranged; taught and raised to be as perfect as her parents, and her little sister was being trained perfectly as well. Oh, she looked forward to the fashionable dinner parties, gleaming silverware, tapestries making walls alive with characters out of history and strange birds in a fairyland forest; delicious dishes were served on wonderful china, gallant compliments whispered and listened to with a spinxlike smile as one eats the rosy flesh of a trout or nibbles at the wings of a grouse.

She always wore her finest evening clothes, jewels, and expensive furs on special occasions. She was the perfect prospect with the perfect dowry. One thing was missing though, a man. She was now twenty-three years old... two years older than her mother when she had children. She longed to please, be envied, be fascinating, and sought after. She soon became so distressed, she stopped speaking to her parent's friend's daughters, whom were also her friends, because they were either getting married or were already married. Lately, she would weep for days on end from remorse, despair, vexation, anguish, and self-pity.

She sat on the fleecy velvet couch, sighing dreamily, and looking out the window. She had been educated in the arts, math, and history, learning to love every drip of it. She had absorbed all of the facts and memorized them perfectly, reciting and repeating them verbally or mentally when she was asked to be quiet. Her little sister, Margaret whom was also named Margy, was nineteen years old.

Emily had beautiful chestnut hair that was neatly kept out of her face, and it reached her waist. Her skin was fair and cheerfully bright, unlike most of the young ladies who looked pale and rather ill from depression either from their unhappy marriage or their parent's will. She had a thin, elegant figure and was the most admired out of all women, so why was it so hard to get a man? Her little sister Margy had beautiful blonde hair that fell to the length of her shoulders, and she had pale skin like most girls. She wasn't as thin as Emily, but most men found her more attractive.

It was a rather gloomy day, Emily was sitting by the window, plucking the petals off the delicate red rose, a breath passing through her lips as she closed her beautiful eyes. She heard the footsteps of running, and she expected a drama for some reason, even though nothing exciting quite happened since the parties began to grow old as each year passed. She stood up from her resting place, setting the rose down, and began walking toward the door. She halted when a familiar, overjoyed face appeared through her bedroom quarter doors, and that mess of long blonde hair was thrown around as she barged in. "Sorry to rush in like this!" Margaret said, clapping her hands together, with happiness filled in her eyes, "I know my big sister would understand anything, and..."

"Margaret, darling, calm down." Emily laughed softly, brushing some light hair out of her younger sister's pretty face, and smiling, "Please talk a little clearer and slower... remember what Mother said?" she gave that sincere smile, still holding her sister's face, but she felt those smaller hands take her hands off of the face. "What's wrong?" she asked, even though her sister still looked ever-so-glad.

"Emily." Margaret said sternly, "I'm not a little girl anymore... you don't have to act like I'm five years old."

Emily's eyes widened as she looked at the nineteen-year-old, "I don't understand." Emily said, "You've never acted this way before. Please tell me what's wrong..."

"Why aren't you happy for me!?" Margaret shouted, tossing the roses she was holding aside... Emily just noticed the flowers now, and her eyes lit up to see them. Why was her sister acting so strange?

"Margy, what are the flowers for?" Emily asked, half-astonished and half-aghast. She gave a look of sisterly concern, but Margaret scowled at her.

"Stop calling me that horrid name." she complained.

"Just tell me what's going on!" Emily said, "You barge in like this, nearly giving me a heart-attack, you're overjoyed and glad, but suddenly when I act as I always do, you get angered. Tell me what is wrong." Emily gave that look of concern and worry once again.

"Stop saying things are wrong!" Margaret screamed, shoving her sister to the wall, and Emily's eyes widened to see this action... for Margaret had never inflicted any sort of violence on her before.

"Just tell me the good news..." Emily finally contradicted.

"Alright..." Margaret said, backing away, "as long as you don't act so arrogant..." Emily was appalled, ready to shout something back, but she knew better -- she was raised better. "You know that party we had last week?" Before Emily could even respond, Margaret cut her off, "I met this flashy gentleman there!" She did a graceful, yet semi-clumsy dance of happiness. "He asked for my hand in marriage."

Emily's heart was crushed. Her little sister could easily persuade a man, but she couldn't? How could this have happened!? "Aren't you happy for me?" Margaret asked her big sister, whose eyes were tearing. Emily sniffled, a tear rolled down her rosy cheek, and she put her hand to her cold face... "Emily? I'm sorry I overreacted earlier, what's wrong, dear?" Margaret acted as her old generous self. Now concern came across her face. Emily shook her head, her hair flowing in the wind, and her eyes trailed to the floor, staring unfocused at the designed tile. "Emily?" Margaret repeated.

"I'm sorry!" Emily sobbed, charging out of the room, and slamming the door behind her. She could hear her sister call after her, but she didn't care. She had hoped for a man, she hoped for marriage, it was always her dream to become a bride... and now her sister took that away from her. Her parents weren't home, so they didn't hear the heavy door slam close. She ran down the concrete steps, and out of town, running into distant grassy plains. She wouldn't stop running, crying her heart out, feeling the pain and agony of being loveless. Why couldn't she be like her perfect little sister? Why couldn't she at least meet somebody?

Emily fell to the ground, out of breath, and extremely tired. Heavy breaths entered her lungs, her chest moving up and down slowly. Her unfocused eyes looked up into the empty darkness, and she closed them, exasperated and fed up with life. "They say love hurts..." Emily whimpered to herself, "But at least they have love...!" She began breaking out into loud sobs, tears streaming down her face, that she was oblivious to the horse-driven carriage that was heading down the cobblestone roads in her direction. There was a gasp and the carriage stopped... she was still crying.

If her parents saw her now, they would be utterly abashed. They would lecture that she was not raised in that manner, and that she must learn to deal with her feelings. She had never cried so loud in her short life. With a few raspy gasps and sobs, she suddenly noticed the footsteps in the shady green grass, and she let out a shriek, thinking a stalker had come toward her.

She stood up instantly, and shoved the man to the ground violently. He let out a cry of shock when she slapped him. "Who are you!? Why are you watching me?" she cried out, shaking the man by the collar of his tuxedo. "If you want to do something horrid and illegal, go ahead! There's nothing stopping you, but I'm stronger than you are, I'm positive!" she shook him again.

"My dear lady, calm down." he said softly, causing her eyes to widen, and let go of the collar. A soft thump was heard as his head landed gently back in the comforting grass. She was afraid, so afraid that she felt like apologizing her heart out, and then running back to the house, ashamed of her behavior and her misunderstanding.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, holding her hands to her eyes, and tears flooded down her cheeks, "I thought you were some kind of bad man..."

"No, no, it's alright." he said, using the same quiet and gentle tone, placing one hand on her shoulder. "What is your name?"

She looked up at him, looking at his neatly groomed black hair, and his handsome, thin face. Immediately, she had fallen in love with that handsome face, and without thinking, she put one hand on his left cheek, looking him in the eye, staring up at him in wonder. The moonlight reflected that handsome face again, and she smiled gently. "It's Emily." she replied, fluttering her eyelashes.

He gave a small smile, nodding his head, "Lord Barkis Bittern." he introduced himself, kissing her hand politely, and looking up at her eyes as he did so. She blushed, putting her spare hand to her mouth to prevent her from gasping or doing any strange lovesick actions. "Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Miss Emily."

"... Please do call me Emily." she insisted, smiling once again.

"Very well, Emily." he said.

"And what should I call you, dear sir?" she asked, standing up and shaking the dirt off of her crimson Victorian dress, fluffing up her straight chestnut hair.

"Call me Barkis." he said... "I have a carriage. Would you like me to escort you back to town?"

Her eyes widened, and without thinking once again, she quickly nodded her head, "Yes! Yes!" she said, a little louder than she had intended to. "I'll do it!" She was acting as if she was agreeing to a marriage proposal, rather odd for her liking, and she gasped at this. He gave a small laugh at her actions, amused by her personality. "I mean..." she corrected herself, clearing her throat, and giving a beautiful and kind look at the man, "Yes, please, Barkis... I would love to."

Barkis grinned, helping her up, and they held hands, walking towards the carriage. "Do you enjoy horsemanship?" he questioned.

"Why, yes." Emily answered, looking up at his handsome face once again.

"Perfect." he said, helping her up the carriage steps, "Would you like to join me one of these days to ride some of my finest horses?"

Emily's eyes lit up, "Yes! A thousand times, yes!" she replied again, overexcited and a little too eager.

"Very well." he smiled, shutting the door behind him, and sitting down on the comfy red chair as the carriage began moving. Emily looked out the window... he must've been rich for there were laced, silky curtains on the windows that blew creepily in the wind, creating the perfect view for her to look up to the moon. She smiled, and suddenly she felt a warm hand placed on hers, she looked down, a little startled. She forgot that she was with Barkis, and gave a nervous laugh. "You are a bright one, aren't you?" he asked, glittering and welcoming eyes met her charming eyes.

She nodded, "My parents always said I was smarter than the other women..." she sighed, going back to her reveries and childish fantasies, looking out the window as she usually did.

"The stars are wondrous, aren't they?" Barkis asked.

"I agree." Emily said, blinking a few times.

The carriage stopped in front of her mansion. She proceeded by stepping down the black metal stairs, a hand quickly grasped hers, and she turned around to see kind Barkis again. She smiled at his face, "What is it? Oh, you want to say good-bye, don't you?" she asked, drawing herself closer to him.

"Not good-bye, my dear lady." Barkis said, petting her hand gently, "Until we meet again, Emily..."

She smiled, "Alright, until we meet again..." she and him parted ways, and her heart seemed to glide happily as she opened the doors, and walked in mysteriously, shutting the door behind her, and looking up at the stairs to see her little sister gaping at what happened.

"I saw the whole thing through the window!" Margaret said, racing down the stairs. Emily squealed with delight, and so did Margaret, as they embraced each other, knowing that they both had lovers. "When will you see him again?"

"Tomorrow." Emily decided.