The warm, blooming early spring of 1853 marked the year that Lady Katherine Pryde of England got engaged to Lord Lancelot Alvers of Ireland. Lady Katherine was the daughter of the Earl of Kent, descendant of a long and élite line of wealthy and privileged English aristocrats that was rumored to have included Queen Elizabeth somewhere along the way. Not to be outdone, Lord Alvers himself boasted an equally illustrious pedigree, for his ancestors had fought under William of Orange when he'd defeated the Irish Catholics in their home country, and now, centuries later, the Alvers family was still blessed with both the pride and prosperity rewarded to their ancient and loyal forefathers, so that Lord Alvers carried not only his excellent family name but also the title of heir to the Marquess of Wessex as well.
Lady Katherine and Lord Alvers seemed a perfect match, for they were more or less equal in both wealth and social prominence. They were also exceedingly young on the day their engagement was announced to the entire world, for Lady Katherine, affectionately called Kitty by close family and friends, was merely a child of six years of age, while Lord Alvers, who insisted that nobles and servants alike called him by his shortened nickname of Lance, was only two years older than her.
Ten Years Later...
"Lady Katherine, oh, Lady Katherine," the chirpy, sweetly childish cadences of a young girl's voice floated down the plushly-carpeted halls of the majestic, Romanesque Revival-style manor house of an estate known as Lockheed, as the thirteen-year-old maid who'd uttered those words pattered swiftly towards a bedroom chamber protected from early morning sunlight by heavy velvet drapes. The young servant girl suddenly stopped before entering the room, carefully placing down the tea tray she'd been carrying and halting briefly before a pair of elegantly carved French doors to adjust her oak-brown ponytails and smooth over the skirts of her grass-green calico dress. Appearing before the youthful and accomplished Lady Katherine of Kent, the sheltered pride and joy of Lockheed, always did make her servants feel somewhat gangling and shabby, and Rahne Sinclair, her thirteen-year-old personal maid, was no exception.
After Rahne had paused to fuss over her appearance, she picked up the tray that she'd set down by her feet and squared her slender shoulders, before marching into the darkened bedroom and heading directly toward the tall windows to snap open their wine-colored drapes and allow some sunshine inside. Instantly, bright golden rays flooded the once cozily dim room, causing the girl who'd been lying comfortably on her four-post canopy bed to stir and wink her eyes shut against the sudden assault of sunlight, before yawning and burrowing deeper into her nest of blankets and comforters. Her personal maid quickly scooted to her side, apologizing breathlessly, "Sorry, Lady Katherine, but Lord Kent left explicit instructions that you be ready for the house party at Phoenix Hall by no later than eight o' clock."
Kitty Pryde propped herself up into a sitting position on her bed and stretched, the lace-trimmed sleeves of her creamy white nightdress flowing loosely around her slender arms with each movement. Her charcoal-fringed blue eyes leisurely opened to sweep in a casual glance of her room, a satisfied smile dancing across her lips at the comfort of the familiar and secure sight that greeted her. Kitty was the only daughter of the Earl of Kent, a man who had married as soon as he came into his property on his twenty-first birthday. He had taken as his bride a frailly beautiful Welsh gentlewoman who'd given him two male heirs that had both unfortunately failed to see their third birthdays, as well as a young and surviving daughter as graciously pretty as her mother. Lady Kent soon suffered the same fate as her sons had, when she quietly passed away from tuberculosis six years after her only girl child had been christened. Of her late mother's legacy, the now sixteen-year-old Kitty's only keepsake of Lady Kent was a betrothal to the son of an English marquess currently residing in Ireland--an arrangement meant to honor her mother's final wish--as well as her inheritance of the good lady's fragile beauty. Despite the fact that ten years had gone by since Lady Kent had passed away, her brokenhearted husband had yet to remarry, even though such a long period of time must have healed his pain over his wife's death, most people privately thought. However, while Lord Kent was content to remain single himself, he was more than determined in making sure his only child married, and married well.
Which was how Kitty found herself being rushed out of bed an hour before she was accustomed to usually waking up, in order that all the details of her appearance could be taken care of long before the lavish social event thrown by Lord John Grey, a fellow holder of earldom and a man whom Kitty's father was most proud to call one of his closest friends. There were other reasons, of course, as to why Lord Kent was so adamant on arriving on time to his good friend's party, the main one being that the ever elusive Lancelot Alvers was rumored to have ventured away from the mist-cloaked green hills of Ireland and had sailed for England at the explicit wishes of his father. The sole purpose of this rumored visit was to attend the ball at the Greys' estate, Phoenix Hall, in order that he may see his future bride for the second time in ten years, and perhaps even marry her right then and there. Lord Kent was only too eager that young Lord Alvers be reminded as to how great a match his daughter would be for the illustrious gentleman, seeing as how in addition to honoring his beloved late wife's wishes, a union between his daughter and the son of one of the most powerful men in the United Kingdom would prove to be a tremendously advantageous alliance for the Kents. The fact that the late Lady Kent had specifically chosen Lord Alvers out of a score of other eligible bachelors only served to enhance his already splendid character in the eyes of Kitty's father.
Kitty
placed both legs over the edge of her bed and felt around for her slippers,
swiftly easing her feet into them as she stood up and walked over to her
window to admire the wide expanse of rose gardens, fragrant jasmine trellises,
and carved marble statues stretching before her eyes. A family of larks
nesting amidst the trees nearest her bedroom instantly struck up a noisy
chorus of chirps and tweets as though to greet their mistress, bringing
a smile to her lips before she turned around and faced her personal maid.
"Rahne,"
Kitty casually began, moving away from her window and indicating with a
brief look that she wasn't interested in her tea so that the little Scottish
maid could help her get dressed right away, "have you any interesting news
from Phoenix Hall?"
"Well,
the maids have been telling me that the Lady Jean Grey's engagement to
Lord Carlisle is to be announced at the ball tonight--although nobody's
supposed to know until then, for the family's been very adamant on keeping
the betrothal a secret until they choose to reveal it," Rahne began, her
consternation over the untouched tea tray being pushed aside for the more
important post of disclosing gossip.
Rahne continued to happily chatter away as she began lacing her mistress into her newest corset, green eyes unwittingly narrowing in concentration as she focused on tightening the delicate whalebone garment around Kitty's already slender waist. As Rahne focused on both reporting servants' gossip and lacing the corset, Kitty silently wondered whether, if Lord Alvers truly were at the ball and not carrying on somewhere in Irish wilderness, a wedding ceremony would smoothly steal the attention away from Lady Jean's engagement. Either way, she decided amusedly to herself, at least Lord Alvers and I won't have to worry about keeping our betrothal a secret, since it had already been announced a decade ago. A smile broke out across Kitty's face at the last part of her reflections, and she started to chuckle out loud before a warning pain shooting up from her ribcage quickly changed the sixteen-year-old's laugh into a painful gasp, while she bit down hard on her lower lip to prevent herself from yelping. Good heavens, her corset was being laced tightly today! Father must really want to reassure Lord Alvers--should he be at the ball--that I truly do have the smallest waist in all of England, she thought wryly to herself, wincing as she felt the circumference of her corset tightening an inch further around her already slender waist, before Rahne's deft if somewhat small fingers efficiently tied the stays into place.
Kitty crossed over to the other side of the room to examine her figure in the full-length mirror, Rahne hastening to follow her light footsteps, collecting dresses and ribbons along the way. The young Scottish maid quickly lowered a flaxen corset cover on her mistress as Kitty herself clasped the waist tapes of her three lacy white petticoats slightly above her hips, before standing still and allowing her maid to help her svelte frame into the seafoam-blue taffeta morning dress that she was to wear to the party. Her three other dresses to be worn over the course of the all-day party--a pale rose crinoline for the afternoon, a jade-green silk dinner dress, and an elaborate gold-and-sapphire-blue gown with swirling festoons of ribbons and flounces, made only a week earlier specifically to be donned for the dancing at the evening ball--were already folded and secured neatly inside a long, flat box, and as Rahne hurriedly went about her task of brushing her mistress's hair, Kitty took the time to scrutinize the image in the mirror with critical blue eyes.
When her dress-up ritual was finally completed, Kitty's face lit up with a pleased sparkle as she smiled back at her reflection and decided that there wasn't one aspect of her appearance that she didn't like. Granted, she might not quite match the timeless beauty of Lady Jean or the dark sultriness of Lady Wanda, but what she lacked in elegance and glamour she more than made up for with her charming features and uniquely sweet and girlish countenance. And besides, there was no skin whiter than hers, no waist tinier than hers nor hands and feet daintier than hers, in all of England! Her father had often assured her that Lord Alvers would have to be more than idiotic, he'd have to be completely blind as well if he ever decided to even think of marrying somebody else, and now, smiling at her reflection in the tall mirror, Kitty decided to indulge in youthful vanity and agree whole-heartedly with the good earl.
Kitty
giggled in gleeful anticipation of the house party--and of Lord Alvers's
reaction once he saw his now grown-up bride-to-be--before the form of Rahne,
hovering impatiently somewhere in the background, spoke up disapprovingly,
"Lord Kent specifically told me to remind you not to act so giddy and capricious
at the Grey party. He said that Lord Alvers most surely won't be impressed
by young ladies who act as if they have never been educated in the finer
forms of etiquette."
"You
memorized Father's whole speech, didn't you?" Kitty accused lightly, knowing
that her maid never troubled herself to speak in such a long-winded and
flowery way on her own accord. While Rahne sputtered and insisted that
Lord Kent's orders were still his orders and not to be taken lightly, Kitty
tuned out the younger girl's words and instead focused on meeting her future
husband at the ball--the first time they would have seen each other in
ten years. She wondered what he would look like; childish memories provided
only a blurry image of a swaggering young boy with unruly dark hair and
an impish grin set on an eight-year-old face that was surprisingly tanned
considering all the rains and heavy mists that Ireland was famous for.
The shrill neighs of carriage horses being brought to the side of the house alerted Kitty to the fact that her father was impatient to start the five-mile journey to Phoenix Hall, and the chestnut-haired girl hastened to throw on her favorite cashmere shawl while at the same time step into her satin slippers, struggling with their velvet-ribboned laces before finally securing the dainty little shoes on her feet. Gesturing for Rahne to follow, Kitty hurriedly dashed out of her bedroom and flew down the winding stairs at a very unladylike gait, her young maid struggling to keep up with her furious speed while taking care to not rumple the expensive dresses in their long, white box. After all, it simply wouldn't do for Lady Katherine, daughter of the Earl of Kent, to look like a disheveled fright in wrinkled crinoline when she met her Prince Charming at the ball that evening.
The way wills stated it, Lord Lancelot "Lance" Alvers was to become a very well-off man the day he came into his property and inherited the title of Marquess of Wessex. As the sole heir to the Wessex estate, he would rule over not only the entire town of Callaghan in Ireland, built long ago by an ancestor on land that had been a gift from the English king himself, but would also own vast amounts of farmland all over the English and Irish countrysides, as well as a towering Italianate-style house in Dublin and an elegant London mansion of Gothic design.
In addition to being well-endowed with property and wealth, the eighteen-year-old youth was also possessor of a dashing attractiveness, for he stood well over six feet in height and was chiseled of features and lean of physique, with a sweeping mane of tousled dark hair and an ingrained devilish smirk that gave him the appearance of forever planning a clever hoax or two. Devastatingly handsome and far too affluent for his own good, Lance both used and abused his good looks and wealth: by the time he celebrated his eighteenth birthday, he was already a prominent figure in gambling houses and at fox hunts, possessed an enthusiasm for good liquor that was matched only by his love of powerful horses and beautiful girls, indiscriminately romanced genteel ladies and brazen harlots alike, had fought--and, thankfully, won--innumerable duels as a result of his womanizing ways, would not have been received at most decent homes in England due to his reputation had his father's influence and power not smoothed things out, and on one occasion had almost eloped with a beautiful raven-haired Irish country girl before his father had found out about his secret affair.
Young, reckless, and fantastically gallant to ladies when it suited his mood, Lance was both a dangerous and romantic figure wherever he went, and distressed matrons inevitably flocked together at the wake of each of his departures to comfort themselves with one thought--that one of these days he would marry Lady Katherine of Kent, and not one of their daughters. Well-bred Lady Katherine, whose sweet but spirited ways and gentle refinement might hopefully tame the lusty, dark-haired Lord Alvers...and perhaps even soften the snapping wildness in his coal-black eyes. Already news had spread like wildfire throughout the entire United Kingdom that Lance Alvers had abandoned his beloved Irish horses and even more beloved Irish lasses, and instead had set sail for England one week earlier, causing worthy dowagers everywhere to gather together and gossip over what this might mean. Most of them would have bet their lives that when and if young Lord Alvers returned from his journey abroad, he would have a lovely and charming wife by his side.
However, while the matrons' predictions were for the most part correct and Lance did eventually return with a new wife, she didn't exactly turn out to be the young lady that the entire United Kingdom had expected her to be.
*Author's Note*
Terms
-marquess: otherwise known as marquis; a title of nobility ranking
below a duke (who in turn holds the highest rank in Britain)
-earl: British equivalent of a count, ranking above a viscount and
below a marquess
-crinoline: a hoop skirt
-William of Orange: an actual historical figure, who fought the Battle
of the Boyne in 1690 against James II and put down a rebellion there in
the latter's favor; its main significance was that William, a Protestant,
vanquished the Catholics in Ireland, which doesn't exactly spell good news
if you're an Irish Catholic
Whew, I hope all my ping-ponging back and forth from titles to names didn't confuse you all, but just to clear things up, Kitty's father is the Earl of Kent, hence why he's referred to as Lord Kent and not Mr. Pryde. Likewise, Lance right now is called Lord Alvers only because the title of marquess hasn't been passed on from father to son yet; only when the current Marquess of Wessex (i.e. Lance's dad) passes away will Lance himself become the new marquess and will then be referred to as the new Lord Wessex instead of Lord Alvers.
As for the women, since girls like Kitty, Jean, and Wanda were all born into nobility, the title of Lady precedes their first names, as opposed to had they only married into nobility (then they would be called Lady plus their last name--for example, say Kitty was a commoner and not a noblewoman, then if she'd married Lance she'd be known as Lady Wessex, as opposed to Lady Katherine). Also, since nobles had to have proper names instead of casual nicknames (in other words, if Tabby were a member of the nobility, she'd be called by her full name, Lady Tabitha, and not Lady Tabby), I've pretty much decided to use the full names of the Evolution characters--Lady Katherine is Kitty's proper title, but for the sake of avoiding any unnecessary confusion over who the hell Katherine and Lancelot might be, I've decided that the characters will call each other familiarly by their nicknames, and only use their proper titles when referring to one another in front of other people.
Another thing that the poor ladies have to go through is endure countless wardrobe changes throughout the day--up to six, in some cases--for the Victorians had dresses for everything: morning dresses, ball dresses, evening dresses, tea dresses, dresses to go calling, dresses for receiving guests, etc...Just think of it as a mid-1800's version of a Cher concert! x_x
And on a final note, the titles themselves (Kent, Carlisle, Wessex, etc.) are all real, existing titles of British nobility...coincidentally, since Grey also happens to be among those titles, at least I won't have to change Jean's name (convenient, ain't it?)
I guess this wraps up this rambling and, more likely than not, sleep-inducing Author's Note. Sorry about that, but I actually went out and researched Victorian lifestyle and etiquette for this fic, and I had to clear up any confusion that might spring from rituals and titles described in this fic.