Class Distinctions

Chapter Seven
OCFF#25: The Sound of Silence.

Marissa Cooper…

No, rather, Marissa Atwood was exhausted.

It wasn't that she particularly worked hard for The Johnsons; however, she was constantly doing something, and that was quite the change of pace from her former life of leisure. As a daughter of a member of the British Aristocracy, she had once had only one purpose in life: to look pretty. It wasn't a time consuming endeavor, it certainly wasn't physically exhausting, and, heaven forbid she tax her mind. So, it came as no shock to the nineteen year old that living in America, living as a part of the working class, was a rather an arduous adjustment, and, some days, it felt as if she was failing. Poorly.

Instead of her time being her own, it was now Dolley's. As a glorified companion to the younger woman, she accompanied her employer's daughter wherever Dolley wanted to go. They went to tea, they shopped in town, they took long, rambling walks around the extensive property, and they took carriage rides out into the New England wilderness. Of course, a groom accompanied them. And she did whatever Dolley wanted to do, too. She sewed and darned, gardened and baked, wrote letters and visited neighbors.

There was no quiet time with the brunette either. Her mouth was always engaged, whether through mere gossip or more scholarly subjects, and, as both her servant and, more importantly, her friend, Marissa was expected to parlay with her to the best of her ability. That meant that, not only was her body engaged all day long, but her mind was as well. After nearly two decades of existing in virtually a leisurely silence, her life had turned into chaos. And that was just during her working hours.

When alone, because she was now responsible for her own life and, ostensibly, to the rest of the world, Mr. Atwood's as well, she had other tasks to attend to. There was more cooking and cleaning, more sewing, more chores. To the once pampered social belle, there seemed to be a never ending list of things to do, and she was the only one capable, or, rather, allowed, to do them. Society dictated the fact that men were not supposed to bake pies or wash laundry. Even in America, a place of forward thinking and revolution, a woman was still beneath a man, and that was just one battle she was too exhausted to fight.

However, for the first time since she had arrived at Juniper Hall, the beautiful blonde was finally getting an evening to herself. There were no responsibilities to fulfill, no one to entertain. While Dolley and Ryan were both attending the dinner party Gideon Johnson was having that evening, she was left by herself. The young fifteen year old brunette was expected to be there because it was her father, and she served as his hostess, and, as their employer's personal valet and sometimes secretary, Ryan had been asked to join as well, leaving Marissa blissfully and appreciatively alone.


And she had plans, too.

With no prying eyes nearby, she was, figuratively and literally, going to let her hair down. Because she was someone's wife when others were around, propriety was quickly becoming second nature to her, but, given a few hours without her new friend or her husband, she was going to take advantage of the situation and lounge around in her private chambers with her long, golden locks free and unbound, and she was going to leave off the stuffy sleeping attire she normally wore rested in every night and allow herself the comfort of lounging in bed with a good book from the manor's library in only her thin, silk chemise. It was going to be perfect.

Kicking off her shoes, Marissa started to unbutton the bodice of her plain, utilitarian gown. It was simple with little ornamentation, perfect for the hectic, on the go lifestyle of a lady's maid, and her long, slender fingers made quick work of the tiny clasps, undressing in a matter of moments. With a soft, relieving burst of air, the dress fell to the shiny, wooden floor, leaving the nineteen year old in her petticoats, pantaloons, stockings, and various other underthings.

"Oh, good, you're getting ready."

Whipping around to face the sudden intruding voice, she found her new friend smiling back at her, obliviously standing in the doorway of the bedroom she shared with Mr. Atwood. Evidently, decorum at Juniper Hall did not reach the realm of knocking. Marissa sighed, relaxing slightly after realizing that her intruder was just Dolley, but, still, she was slightly put off by the younger woman's appearance and disrespect for boundaries.

However, without pausing, she went back to the task at hand, continuing to undress. "Getting ready for what?"

The brunette laughed gaily. "Why the party of course, silly. Papa said the guests shall be here in a matter of moments. You really should hurry. Here," she offered, fully stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. "I'll help you."

"Dolley, I'm not attending the party."

"Of course you are," the fifteen year old argued, sounding perplexed by the very idea of Marissa not going. "Mr. Atwood will be there. Father wants to introduce him to some of his friends and business associates, and, as Mr. Atwood's wife, he would clearly want you by his side."

Rapidly becoming aware of the fact that she was not going to be able to dissuade the young girl, she changed tactics. "I'm sorry, but I don't think that I have anything appropriate to wear."

A mischievous smirk appeared on her employer's daughter's face. "I take it that you 

haven't found it yet then?"

"Found what?"

Joyfully, Dolley declared, "your surprise," while crossing the bedroom and throwing open the wardrobe. "I realized a few days ago that you probably wouldn't have a proper gown for this evening, and, even if you did, it's always pleasurable to get a new one. So, with that in mind, I set about having this made."

"You really shouldn't have gone through all that trouble for…"

"Oh, nonsense," the young girl waved off, interrupting and ignoring Marissa's protests. "I wanted to do this for you, it was no hassle, and, for everything that you do for Papa and I, this is the least I could do for you. All I had to do was rush my dressmaker a little and approach Mr. Atwood for his help…"

Now, it was her turn to be the one to rudely interject, not allowing the brunette to continue. "What exactly do you mean when you say you asked Mr. Atwood for his help, Dolley?"

"Well, you see, it was like this…

Biting her lip nervously, she approached her father's study, rapping on the open wooden doorway to capture the hardworking man's attention inside. He looked up from his writing, the light from the desk lamp catching in both his intense blue eyes and off the fair hue of his hair, distracting her for a moment. Marissa truly was a lucky woman, for her husband was quite attractive.

"Yes," he asked her, nodding his head in an invitation to enter. "What can I do for you, Miss Johnson?"

Instead of answering right away, she fidgeted, wringing her fingers, rubbing the toes of her dainty slippers against the oriental carpet of her Papa's office, biting the inside of her plump, rosy cheek. Finally, braving it, she cleared her throat and spoke in what she hoped would be an even tone. "I need your help."

"Of course."

"It's something for Marissa."

Her pronouncement made the man across from her sit back in his seat, his gaze snapping to awareness. "Is she in some kind of trouble…"

"Oh, no," Dolley laughed, rolling her eyes at her father's valet. "It's nothing like that. I just want to do something nice for her. You see," she started, only to suddenly find her rhythm, "it's like this. You know how my father is having his dinner party at the end of the week, correct?"



"Yes, I'm aware of the event. He asked me to attend."

"As I thought he would," she shared, taking a seat across from him. "And, as your wife, Marissa will be expected to be in attendance as well. However, I doubt she has a proper gown for the evening."

"Probably not," he volunteered, nodding his head in agreement.

Continuing as if he had not spoken, the young brunette shared, "and that is something I can give to her. I've already spoken to my dressmaker, and we worked together to pick out the fabric. It's this gorgeous minty silver chiffon, and, when Marissa wears it, I fairly imagine it'll transform her normally aqua eyes into a beguiling shade of green. It'll be perfect against her pale skin and blonde hair, and she's going to look quite stunning."

"I have no doubt in your ability to choose fabric, Miss Johnson. However," Ryan warned, "I don't particularly see how I can be of service to you."

"Well, I need your help with your wife's measurements."

Parroting her words, the secretary repeated in question, "her measurements?"

"Yes," Dolley answered, standing up to gather a pen and paper in order to write down the information she was prepared for him to give her. "I'm a complete ninny when it comes to estimating sizes, but you've known Marissa for longer than I have, and, well, if anyone was to be able to inform me of her measurements, it would be you."

"Me?"

"Well, you are her husband, and the two of you…" Her voice trailed off as she blushed profusely. Unable to further look the man in the eye, the brunette readied herself, waiting for him to speak.

"It was the funniest thing I've ever seen," she shared with Marissa, giggling hysterically at the thought of Mr. Atwood stammering and stumbling over his words as he held up his hands to mimic his wife's shape, being forced to lower his hands to the desk, mark the distance between them, and then measure, hoping it would serve to help his young mistress. "And I thought I had been embarrassed when alluding to your intimate relationship with him, but never before have I seen a man, or a woman for that matter, so self-conscious, so mortified. And all I wanted to do was run to you and share the story, but I very well couldn't do that if I didn't want to ruin the surprise."

Unable to talk, Marissa simply watched as the fifteen year old behind her fastened the delicate, striking gown, but Dolley either didn't notice her silence or didn't mind it. Instead, she was too distracted by her own thoughts and recollections of Mr. Atwood's reaction to her inquiries into his wife's physique. Glancing at herself in the full length mirror of the 

wardrobe, the regal looking blonde couldn't believe the sight before her. The dress was a perfect fit. For a seamstress who had nothing to go on but the rough estimations of a rather inept man, the ball gown was flawless, and it made her wonder why.

Was the local, Bostonian dressmaker simply more talented than her young friend had given her credit for, or did her husband know her body that well?

The first thought was surprising, even shocking. After all, if a woman was that gifted, that brilliant with a needle, why was she working in America? In London, she would be able to design gowns for the wealthiest and more important women in all of Great Britain, but, in the colonies, she was just another lady with a needle. However, if it was the second option, she was both astounded and slightly flattered. Though she certainly wasn't in love with Mr. Atwood or even friends with him, the fact that he potentially found her form so enchanting that he paid such detailed attention to it was a thrilling thought. It had been a long time since she had felt truly attractive, and, even if the pleasure only lasted the evening, she was grateful for it.

Finally ready, she and Dolley slipped out of her private quarters arm and arm, floating down the grand staircase at Juniper Hall to the foyer below where both Gideon Johnson and her husband were silently waiting for them. Both men followed their every move with curiosity, patience, and, in Ryan's case, Marissa found herself wondering if perhaps in slight fascination as well.

It was the first time since she had left home that she sincerely felt happy.