The Perils of Love
Prologue
Disclaimer: I do not, and never have owned any part of American Girl (Though I wish I did). Any characters you recognize the name of are not mine.
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Dear Diary,
I suppose I should be used to it, the Felicity's always going to be the prettier one. What with her auburn hair and her green eyes and her spunk. Next to Fee, I'm just a little mouse.
We're sixteen now, ready to come of age, and she's got suitors calling on her every second of the day. (That is, all the handsome ones). The only reason any suitors ever call on me is because Papa's got a lot of money, and I come with a handsome dowry. So all the old Loyalists come calling on me, the fat men who are in debt because of something or other, and I get to suffer through endless stories about what they used to be. Before.
My name's Elizabeth Cole, by the way. I suppose you should know that, if you're going to be my diary. Mother gave you to me when I turned sixteen, a month ago, but I never got around to writing in you until now. I hope you're not insulted. Mother says every lady has a diary. Felicity has one, I've seen her scribbling in it all day long.
Well, about me. I'm not tall, shorter than Felicity. Fee's slender, and I'm curvy (that's the only thing I'm happy about - I look infinitely better in a low cut dress than she does). I've got wavy blonde hair, that falls to my waist, and bright blue eyes. My favorite color is pink. Mother gave me a pink ribbon to use, to mark your pages. It's very pretty.
My best friend is Felicity Merriman, or Fee, as I like to call her. We've been friends since before I can remember, even though my family are Loyalists, and her family are all Patriots. Felicity is secretly in love with Ben Davidson, who works at her father's store. Though, however pretty she is, it doesn't really seem like he sees her in any way other than as a sister (she laments over this constantly, trying to impress him every day).
He is rather handsome, but Annabelle, my sister, likes him too. I keep trying to think of a way to tell Fee lightly that a twenty-four year old (Ben's eight years older than us) will probably not fall in love with a sixteen year old when there's a twenty-three year old fauning over him. But to say, Fee's infinitely prettier than Bannanabelle. However, that's not very hard.
Writing in you isn't as much of a bore as I thought it would be, dear diary. It's nice to let my feelings out. Dear Lord, I'm starting to sound like Nan, Felicty's sister. She's always telling us that it's not good to keep our feelings bottled up. No bloody idea why.
I don't really fancy anyone, like Annabelle and Felicity. To tell the truth, the only reason most men talk to me is if I'm with Fee. I'm pretty enough, but Fee's prettier!
Don't get me wrong, dear diary, I love Fee dearly, I just wish sometimes men would pay attention to me instead of her.
Anyways, the spring ball season coming up soon, and Felicity and I can hardly wait. A lot of people come up from as far down as Charleston, just to go to the balls. That means plenty of men. Hopefully they won't all be crowding around Felicity and ogling at her. But imagine! All these sophisticated men from the cities, all coming to Williamsburg in hope of finding a wife.
They'll all start arriving soon, as Williamsburg is very nice during the spring. Much better than nasty old Charleston. That means that we'll have weeks and weeks of balls and more balls to find a suitor! I can hardly wait.
Must go now, dear diary. Mother's calling. She sounds rather annoyed about something.
- Elizabeth Cole
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Dear Diary,
Felicity Davidson.
Mrs. Benjamin Davidson.
Oh, how I wish these names were mine. They roll off the tongue quite nicely, don't they? I saw Ben today, unloading boxes to bring into the store. He had taken off his shirt, and oh! I nearly fainted. I do believe I'm quite obsessed with him.
Elizabeth doesn't think he likes me very much. I know that the chance of him falling in love with me are slim, but how I adore him! He's so handsome, and so kind. Today, when I saw him, I simply wanted to jump on him. But that would be the actions of a shameless hussy, and I am no hussy.
- Felicity Merriman (How I wish I could inscribe Davidson in Merriman's place)