Chapter 1

"Renesmee, darling."

A young heiress of seventeen inwardly groaned when she heard that all too familiar voice.

Ugh, that nasal pitch. That insipid tone of voice.

"Catherine!" Renesmee greeted with an false smile. "How wonderful to see you."

The two "friends" hugged each other, both trying to make as little physical contact as possible. Though Catherine also had a bright smile on her face, the malice in her eyes spoke just as clear.

Renesmee, however, pretended not to notice.

Renesmee Cullen knew it was important to appear friendly and enthusiastic at times such as this. But really, when one was the daughter of the Duke of Yorkshire, these balls were as common as breadcrumbs. Not to mention always repeating the same, dull sequence. Dance, talk, dance, talk, and occasionally smile and pretend to be oh so overjoyed when seeing a person one would rather curse to Hell. And with Catherine Newton always stepping on others' toes with an air of arrogance and pretense for no reason at all, it was rather hard to show her any compassion or understanding.

And really, with Renesmee's stature, she could afford a few tsks and glares. She received them copiously as it was, seeing that not only was she the daughter of a Duke but the prettiest at that.

Renesmee wondered if those girls knew that green eyes only made them uglier.

"I was so delighted to receive your invite," Catherine gushed. "I was a little shocked when the maid read it to my father. The invitation didn't look like yours at all. 'Twas rather...plain." She gave Renesmee a smug smile. "I guess when one faces financial hardships, one must be thrifty."

Renesmee smirked. "Nobody knows more about being thrifty than you, Catherine. Judging by your appearance, I'm sure you have great knowledge on being cheap."

Renesmee could see Catherine's jaw clenching as the girl tried to control her temper.

"What a guest list," Catherine changed the subject. Her eyes scanned the crowd, as if she was interested in the faces she saw. "No doubt His Grace is hoping to find his only daughter a worthy husband." She shook her head pitifully. "'Tis bothersome but how else will you get the chance to meet a potential spouse?"

"Perhaps you should throw a party of your own one day, Catherine," Renesmee suggested innocently. "I am sure your father would be eager to sell you to erase his gaming debts."

Catherine gasped at this outright insult.

But what could she say?

Renesmee was a Cullen, after all.

The girl wisely excused herself to another group, no doubt to gossip and flirt like the little tart she was.

But as Renesmee glanced around the ballroom, she couldn't help but notice how close Catherine was to the truth. Now that she thought about it, most of these guests were accompanied by men, whether their father, brother, son, or nephew.

Hmph. Well, these men could try. But she had standards.

"There you are, Renesmee."

Renesmee smiled, this one authentic.

"Claire," she greeted, hugging a real friend this time. "So glad you could come."

Claire winked. "I wouldn't miss this for the world." She patted her black hair, which at the moment was spun into an elegant updo embedded with pearls. "Hope I prepared enough. This is, after all, one of the biggest social events of the season."

Renesmee rolled her eyes. "You're just as bored as I am."

This much was true. Claire Young was one of Renesmee's dearest friends. Dark as Renesmee was fair, Claire was also considered beautiful for her age, but she rarely enjoyed the attention and social gatherings herself...unless there was a man present. Then it was fair game.

"Just be merry and it will be over before you know it," Claire advised, grabbing a glass of sherry herself. "And, from the looks of things, you shouldn't have a problem." She eyed a young man with a pointed glance.

"Oh, Claire, you know me so well," Renesmee replied sarcastically.

Claire shrugged. "Do it while you're young. And you're not the only one, sweetheart."

Renesmee looked at Claire with surprise. "Don't tell me your father is already shipping you off to some rake."

"Not yet," Claire sighed. "But enough about me. There has to be someone here that catches your interest."

Renesmee made a face. "If you can bring forth a single man that holds my interest for even a second, that itself will be a miracle."

Claire shook her head. "What will your poor father do?"

"Knowing him, he already has somebody in mind," Renesmee replied.

Claire nodded. "A man from a long line of nobility and a large inheritance to boot." She shrugged. "At least then you'll stay."

Renesmee smirked. "We'll see."

Claire giggled. "I just saw Miss Newton and her dear mother over there. And by the looks of things, they're not too happy to be here."

"I was just informing Catherine of the gossip circulating about her father," Renesmee giggled. "No doubt, that is whats irking her."

Claire bit her lip to hold back a laugh. "Oh, Renesmee! You're simply awful!"

The two girls tittered behind their fans.

"And I simply love your dress," Claire commented when they've calmed down. "Mama commented on it when we saw you as we entered. Blue suits you well."

"Does it?" Renesmee asked, inspecting herself. "I think it makes me look...peaky. And its not particularly a style I like."

"I never said you did," Claire pointed out. "It is not only men you're picky about."

Renesmee laughed. "My dear Claire. You do know me."

Just then the presence of another was announced. Though most were too into the festivities to pay any particular attention, those near the door did at least have a look.

Renesmee and Claire included.

"Oh, Renesmee!" Claire whispered excitedly. "'Tis Lord Hawkins and his son, Nathaniel!"

Indeed, next to the round, portly man dressed in a rather unflattering pale blue evening suit, was a tall, young man in his early twenties. Though he was much younger and his face rather skinnier, he was easy to recognize next to his father.

Nathaniel Hawkins II was the son of one of the most prestigious lords in all of London. Not only did his family uphold one of the highest esteems of honor (there were few scandals that tainted the Hawkins name), Nathaniel, with his black eyes and wavy, brown locks, made every proper English lady secretly swoon in his presence. Though he rarely talked, nobody would label him as "rude" or "reclusive." He was simply "shy" and "polite."

It almost made Renesmee laugh how these people fawned over the man. But even she had to admit, she had found no faults.

At least, not yet anyway.

Though Claire was squealing excitedly next to her, Renesmee could already feel the boredom seeping in. She amused herself by watching a rather fat old rake try to woo a young girl with exaggerated stories of his youth. From the looks on the girl's face, he was doing rather the opposite of what he had hoped.

"Oh, Renesmee!" Claire squealed. "He is coming this way!"

That caught Renesmee's attention, though she hardly showed it. "What was that?"

"Nathaniel Hawkins!" Claire repeated with urgency. "Coming. This. Way."

"Miss Cullen," a firm, polite tone greeted. Renesmee turned just in time to see the young man lower himself into a bow. He did the same to Claire. "Miss Young."

Renesmee and Claire, in turn, both gave slight curtsies.

"Mr. Hawkins," Renesmee greeted with a polite smile.

"I apologize for my tardiness," Mr. Hawkins said. "Our carriage was delayed upon our departure."

"Then I am even more pleased you could come, Mr. Hawkins," Renesmee replied politely. "But please, do not feel as though you must put yourself in danger to attend a silly party."

"'Twas nothing of importance," Mr. Hawkins admitted. "If the Duke of Yorkshire was kind enough to grace us with an invitation, then how could my family refuse?"

Renesmee had to admit, this man knew how to charm and flatter.

Suddenly, the music changed from a waltz to that of a polonaise. Many older couples freed the dance floor for the more youthful couplets, though Renesmee noticed the young girl from earlier only stared with faces of longing.

Renesmee was wondering if a young man would be kind enough to rescue to the poor dear when she was interrupted.

"Miss Cullen," she heard Mr. Hawkins say next to her. "Would you care to dance?"

Renesmee looked down at the hand held out to her, well aware of Claire's excited breathing next to her.

Feigning shock, Renesmee graciously accepted the hand like a shy babe who knew nothing.

"I apologize in advance, Mr. Hawkins," she said demurely. ", if I may injure your toes in anyway."

As the couple made their way to the dance floor, Renesmee secretly gloated at the secretive glances of resignation and envy cast her way. Though it wasn't the first time, there was something about those green eyes that suddenly made the ballroom all the more dazzling.

As she danced the polonaise with Mr. Hawkins, Renesmee's nimble feet flew across the dance floor as they executed the steps with expertise. As she knew they would. But she made sure to grip Mr. Hawkin's hand slightly tighter as if wanting reassurance and security. Mr. Hawkins beamed at her progress, believing it to be done on his part.

This was Renesmee's life - poised, refined.

And as easy as the polonaise steps she knew so well.

*.*.*.*.*

Jacob Black smiled gratefully as the maid filled up his plate a third time.

"Thank you, Sarah," he said before digging into the chicken scraps.

While the rich and wealthy enjoyed themselves in the main parts of the house, Jacob had joined the servants in the lower parts of the mansion. As a mere driver, Jacob could hardly dare to hope to join the finer frays of society. But honestly, even if he had a choice, he'd would give this up for anything. The servants, though wary of the unfamiliar coach driver at first, had welcomed him before long. With that came the most thrilling stories, the most jeering gossip, and enough rich food to satisfy him without the constipation.

"What did you say your name again was?" Sarah asked with a smile.

Jacob grinned in return, knowing full well her intentions. "Now, Sarah, you know I hate repeating myself."

Sarah pouted.

"Now don't yeh frown on that pretty face, Sarah," a footman named Riley spoke up. "Now, Jacob, why don't yeh tell us folks about yeh? Can't hurt to know where yeh come from." He eyed Jacob's face with interest. "He got soulful eyes, this one."

Soulful eyes. Jacob's eyes were dark brown, and though he had heard they were kind, he'd never say they were "soulful"...whatever that meant.

But Jacob knew he had no choice but to tell his story. Though accepted, he was still a newcomer, and one of the youngest to boot. And these people had their own rules of respect.

"Not much to tell," he said honestly. "I was originally hired to be a companion for the Hawkins' son-"

"Been spending too much time with them better folks before you became a driver," Sarah harumphed."

Another coach driver, an old Scot by the name of Barney, guffawed at this notion. "Lucky you, boy. My masters had me on the seat and tightening the reigns before I could swipe me own arse!"

The men roared with laughter at this comment while Sarah scolded him with a smack of a towel.

"That ain't no way to talk in presence of a lady, Old Barnes!" she laughed.

"You drive for them Hawkins now, don't you, boy?" Old Barnes asked him.

Jacob nodded.

"And you say you used to be a companion for the little Hawkins," Old Barnes repeated. "What's his name? Nathaniel?"

"Now you leave the boy alone!" Sarah shouted. "He needs to eat!"

"Them chicken scraps ain't gonna make him hot for you, Sarah!" another maid named Genevieve sang as she came down the stairs. "Might as well let them talk."

"Aye, 'tis Nathaniel," Old Barnes said. "I even hear my masters talk about him and that old man of his, the lord himself. From the looks of him, me master's hoping to get his youngest daughter to marry the lad."

Jacob shook his head, and without thinking, he blurted out, "That's too bad. Master Hawkins is betrothed."

Suddenly all movement stopped and eyes turned to Jacob in interest.

Old Barnes raised his eyebrows, his eyes twinkling.

"What did you say, boy?" he asked in hush tones. "Betrothed, you say."

Jacob was suddenly aware of just how interested these people were in the gossip.

But Jacob wasn't so sure if he should blurt this out. This was supposed to be a family matter, after all. As one who had lost a mother at a young age and had hated people poking into her death, Jacob understood the need to keep some family histories and secrets just that...a secret.

However, that was how it was with these people. As they could afford no luxuries themselves, they entertained with the scandals and jeers of others. And as one of the most talked about lords in all of London, the Hawkins could hardly hope to be spared.

Not that they'd notice.

Eh, why not?

"Master Hawkins has been betrothed since the lady was born," Jacob recited. "Arranged by the parents, I think."

"Always is," Riley acknowledged. "So who's the lucky lady?"

Jacob racked his head, trying to remember. "It was an...unusual name. Rather a mouthful, actually."

"Try and remember, boy," Old Barnes urged.

Jacob chewed his piece of chicken slowly. "It was...Renee? No...Ren...Ren...Renesmee! That was it. Renesmee Cullen."

Sarah's jaw dropped. "Not the very Cullen of this house. You're pulling me leg!"

Jacob shook his head. That was all the confirmation the others needed.

"Argh, new it was her," Old Barnes said to himself. "Makes sense. He's well beneath her, but he comes from one of the finest stock there is."

The rest murmured their agreement, and the subject quickly changed to complaints of the exclusivity of the upper class their right to snub those who were residing in the very kitchen.

Jacob, however, didn't comment or join in the merry conversations. He excused himself by eating the food vigorously, his polite way of telling others to not speak with him. Luckily, it worked for Jacob knew if pressed he may end up revealing the private conversations he had overheard only recently between his masters.

The ball that was currently taking place today was not for fun and games, though that was the excuse. No, the reasons were far greater, though he doubted even the young lady of the house would know.

Tonight was the night Young Master Hawkins would meet his betrothed, the Young Lady Renesmee, daughter of Duke of Yorkshire.

Jacob was curious as to what the girl would look like. He had heard tales about her beauty, her wealth, and her notorious ways of reminding everyone she was of better quality. But no matter what Jacob heard, one thing never changed.

He still recalled the day when he had been eight years old, letting the young master beat him at chess. That was the boy first laid eyes on the lady Renesmee...at least, a picture of her. Jacob still remembered the reluctance in young Nathaniel's eyes, his grumbling, how he had just tossed the portrait to Jacob without a second glance.

Jacob still had the frame and the little portrait within it. Though it was now covered with grime and dust, the little babe in the portrait still peeked at him with the same innocence in her eyes.

Her wide, chocolate brown eyes.

Jacob would never forget those eyes, and would never stop wondering if they still held some of that innocence. He doubted it, but that never stopped him from wondering.

But his hopes of ever getting close enough to the young lady to confirm for himself were second to none. His master himself was below that of the Duke's household, and Jacob was well below both of them. He would have to content himself with that portrait, wondering, always wondering.

So was the life of the servants.

Wondering...always wondering...