Felicity: An American Girl ROMANCE, Part3, CH.6: 'Lettie'

The disclaimer dance: I don't own nothin', I aint claimin' nothin', this is all for love!

So it was that night she was forced to take a bath, forced to get out of her ragged, dirty dress and forced to take a pristine, fancifully ruffled nightgown from the room's white-painted wardrobe. She was then plopped down into a chair before the vanity mirror, scowling heavily as Genevieve brushed out her damp red tresses with the silver boar's hair brush and Madame Helga stood nearby, arms folded, watching for rebelliousness.

"Vell now!" exclaimed Helga with sarcastic victory. "Dere is a clean young voman in dere after all!"

"But still a rebellious one!" Felicity reminded the two older women resentfully. "I am not here because I want to be. You both know it!"

"It don' matter what we think, Missy!" Genevieve growled authoratively, tuging on Felicity's damp hair with the brush. "The man brung ye 'ere to marry ye, s'now ye got to be civil!"

"Oh no I don't!" Felicity shot back quickly. "He does not own me, no man does! I did not consent to be brought here! OW!" She fliched at the sharp tug on her hair and glared into the mirror at the maid.

"But 'ere ye are, nonth'less," Genevieve continued. " 'E brung ye all this way, brought ye fine gowns made in London, and had this 'ere room all redone just for th' likes o' ye! No miss in 'er right mind would turn down th' chance t'be Lady of a fine manor!"

Felicity slapped her hand down on the dresser's top in anger. "Well I would! In fact, I did! He will not take no for an answer! He tricked me into this whole vile situation with the use of his powders-you don't think I am totally oblivious to that, do you? Really! I do not care for him one whit, nor his wealth, nor will I ever marry him. If I cannot marry for love, then I will not marry at all!"

Madame Helga laughed humorlessly, sounding just like a man fresh out of a tavern. " 'Marry for love'? Dat is a luxury very few can afford, miss, even among ze rich! You vill be better off being ze vife of a rich man dat you do not love! You vill learn to tolerate him and yield to your vifely deeds!"

"UGH!" Felicity whipped her head around to Helga so fast that wet tendrils of her hair slapped Genevieve in the chin. "I know what you're suggesting, and I am telling you right now that that is never going to happen! I'll be a rotting corpse before I share a bed with that lunatic weasel! He can fill me full of all the powders in the world and he still will not lay a hand on me, not as long as I live! How disgusting!"

Genevieve and Helga exchanged a look that said they agreed they believed her to be the lunatic here. Genevieve scolded, "Ye dumb girl! 'Tis a woman's wont to yield! Ye aint no child no more, ye understand ? Yer a woman now, and it's time t'take on the responsibilities of one!"

"Over my dead body!" Felicity cried.

"You cannot fight 'im," advised Helga sternly. "Your life vill be nutzing but absolute misery if you try."

Felicity pulled her damp hair out of Genevieve's grip and scowled "It already is! I do not want to be here any more than the two of you want me to be here! So why do you not just help me get away from him?"

"And risk losing our jobs, even our lives?" Genevieve looked more irate than terrified. "No thanky, Missy! Don' ye go gettin' ideas in yer head, neither. 'E has a way of gettin' what 'e wants. You just do as a grown woman should an' leave well 'nough alone!"

Clenching her jaw, Felicity rose from the vanity table and strode to the farthest side of the bed. "No, I won't! I will fight him to my very own bitter end! He has taken from me all that I hold dear, so if you think for one moment I am going to sacrifice my virginity just to make life around here easier for everyone, then you are sadly mistaken! He does not own me!"

"Ah, but you vill see how wrong you are, and soon," Helga warned as she and Genevieve started for the jib door. "Ze Forsythe family alvays have dere vay!"

Felicity's frown deepened. "What do you mean by that?"

"You didn' know?" Both women paused at the door to stare back at her, half-surprised, half-amused. Genevieve sneered with malicious delight. "Why the Forsythes are slavers!"

There was a fire going in the white marble fireplace, but she still felt a deep chill. Even beneath the heavy white bedcovers she was trembling a little, but Felicity Merriman knew it was all coming from her nerves. Here she was, in England, locked up inside a room within the home of a man she utterly despised. 'Twould have been the easiest thing in the world to fall into madness, to scream and scream until she no longer had a voice to scream with or a mind left to reason with. She had no choice but to eat the food she was given (and which she knew wholeheartedly was tainted with powders), wear the clothes she was provided with, and sleep in the bed that was in the room she was locked up in. She had her one and only affirmation to cling to: she had to survive just long enough to take her life at the right moment. Whatever Forsythe was thinking in his deluded mind, there would be no consummation of any so-called marriage!

Felicity curled up beneath the covers and wondered if it was the effects of the medicinal powders that was making her feel one step away from insanity, or if she was truly teetering on the edge. She sure wasn't feeling like herself anymore. The moment she woke up and found herself to be a mere speck on a ship surrounded by ocean as far as could be seen in any direction, she'd become an angry, vengeful wraith ready to pounce. But then, in her own defence, she considered that she needed to become a bitch in order to survive this wretched situation, even though she was totally convinced that she would never see her family again

Or Ben Davidson.

So, I'll be the very best bitch I can be! decided she, frowning with fierce determination. 'Twill help me endure until it is time for me to die. 'Til I must take my own life in order to save it. God knows, I do not WANT to die, but to be his slave-No, I cannot do that. I WILL not! There is no one here willing to help me. The powders make me feel tired and drowzy. What else can I do?

She had thought about rushing the jib-door just as soon as it opened in the morning, forcing her way out and getting down stairs and out the front door. 'Twas a good plan if she could keep from getting stopped on the way out! And then there was the window again. She could tie sheets together, tie one to a leg of the heavy bed, and climb down at least far enough to jump the rest of the way. 'Twas worth the risk! Her forehead throbbed threateningly, reminding her that the pain was never far away if she tried to concentrate on anything too much.

Slavery! she thought with bitter hatred. So that is what he's about! Should have known. Dreadful bastard! Just when I thought I hated him all I could! Another thought popped into her head: But Grandfather owned slaves. Rose and Marcus are slaves.

But slavery was not Grandfather's life or business! And he treated them all decently. Rose and Marcus are like family!

But to wield control over someone else's life and make them live and work under your orders, no matter how decently you treat them otherwise, is STILL slavery. It cannot be justified. Ever.

So now, not only was she feeling lonely, miserable, lethargic and angry, she was also feeling stabs of guilt. Her family owned slaves. It had never occured to her that Rose and Marcus might wish that they were somewhere else, living free the way they wished to. And now just look at yourself, Felicity Merriman! Taken from your home against your will, brought across a world of sea, locked up in a madman's home and expected to bend to his will. Doesn't feel so good, does it!

She felt on the verge of weeping again. No! No more tears! You MUST remain strong so that you are able to do you-know-what when the time comes! If you crumble every time you feel sorry for yourself, then Forsythe has won. You will have become exactly what he wants you to become: soft, weepy, weak and submissive. (Her hand curled into a fistful of bedsheet) He's going to be giving you more of the powders, so be brave. You cannot refuse to eat or drink because you need what strength you can get. With a shard of glass you can end it all faster than starving, which takes longer. At least you know what the powders do to you. Now if you can just hold on to your one goal...

Her head started its warning throbbing again. Whatever Forsythe inended, she did not intend for any so-caled 'marriage' to be consumated. She had hoped that Ben would be the one to claim her virginity, but now that would never happen, so therefore, it would be for no man. The more she thought about it, she did not like the idea of a man thinking that he could do with her however he pleased. If men were to regard women as no smarter or no better than cows, then whyever did the Good Lord give female human beings mouths to speak with and minds to think with?

Damn, life was so cruel and unfair!

Her breakfast consisted of a creamy, buttery porridge and eggs with milk and tea to drink. It was brought to her lttle tripod table on a tray by the plump Esmerelda, who frowned upon Felicity with much disappointment, but said nothing. Madame Helga was present with whatever maid came into the room, and Felicity knew exactly why: In case she did decide to make a break for it, Helga was the appropriate choice to stop her, seeing as how the big Swede was just as strong as any man. So Felicity ate her breakfast sulkily, knowing very well that it was laced with those damnable powders-but she did not know just how much more was added to her food until about thirty mnutes later, after Helga had shoved a rich pink gown dotted with little red roses all over it at her to put on from out of the wardrobe.

Her head swam intensely. She felt almost as bad as she had that night she and Arthur Pratt left the Wetherburn Tavern. Her eyelases fluttered drowzily, and she was even unaware of mumbling things like "fop-a-doodle" and "Ooo look, cheesewheels!" She was only vaguely aware of being taken dowstairs by big Helga to one of the parlors full of dark mahogany furniture, but large oval mirrors in carved gilded frames to reflect the daylight that was coming in through the room's tall windows, which surprisingly had their thick heavy drapery pulled back. She was sat in a light grey upholstered chair which looked surprisingly feminine, and was at an angle to the closest window.

"What am I doing in here?" she demanded to know in a sleepy, moody mumble.

"Nutzing yet, Missy!" Helga put her big hands upon her wide hips, looking satisfied with how she had gotten Felicity sat up correctly in the chair. "Ze lord of ze mannor requests your presence. Only he knows vat he vants vith you!" She hastily beckoned to someone out of Felicity's range of vision. "Come here, Lettie! You vill be the von to serve her!"

Not really caring, Felicty turned her head to her left so that she could gaze blankly out of the window she was near. It faced the grassy circle in front of the manor, with the statue of the Roman woman in the middle. It was a sunny winter day, but she felt no warmth from the fire that was going in the room's black fireplace, no joy in seeing the sun after days of being at sea under an overcast sky. Not that she was looking for happiness here. She was doing good just to stay awake. Curling her fingernails into her palms seemed to work.

Into Felicity's view stepped one of the slave maids. But what finally got Felicty's attention was the young black woman's face. This 'Lettie,' although stony-expressiond with an air of utter remoteness and animosity, was strikingly beautiful, with her dark skin as smooth as some sort of chocolate cream, a tapered chin below full tight lips obviously alien to smiling. But her eyes were something Felicity had never seen before: They were a deep, dark brown and slightly curved upwards at the outer edges. Bewitching, mystical, were the impressions they gave Felicity. Thre was something dark and dangerous going on behind those eyes. Oh, this was no mere mad-the young woman looked more out of place than Felicity felt. There was no sense of helplessness or fear-driven obedience like Felicity had sensed in the other black slave women.

There was anger...perhaps defiance.

"Zis ist Lettie," Helga explained authoritively. "She vill get you vat you vant today. Genevieve has been told to send out ze vedding part invites."

Despite the sensation of feeling inside and outside of her own head, Felicity managed to glare at the burly woman resistantly. "I will not attend any such party."

Helga shook her head as if the girl's words were just jibberish to be ignored. "Oh, of course you vill, you silly thing, even if I am told to haul you in myzelf. Now sit dere and vait for your husband-to-be."

Even as Helga left, Felicity rolled her head back towards the window she was nearest to. "He is not going to be my husband. I hate him!" But the only one to her her rebellious statements was the quietly brewing Lettie, who continued to gaze down at the delirious red-head with passive dark eyes.

After a minute or so of heavy silence, during which Felicity nearly dropped off to sleep, the mysterious slave maid spoke: "Miss?" Her voice was low, tinged with the contempt of having to wait.

"Huh? What-?" Felicity jerked back to what half-consciousness she could hold on to and blinked up at the maid, who's mysterious, uniquely-shaped eyes held hers steadily. "Oh. You-you are Let-Let-Lettie?"

The young black woman said nothing.

"Can't think clearly," Felicity muttered grumpily.

After another strange moment of silence, Lettie again stiffly spoke, "Do you require something, Miss?" She spoke with an accent that Felicity had never heard before, but, even in her powder-induced delirium, found to be just as impressive as the maid's dark demeanor.

And Felicity felt immediately humble, embarrassed to be in this outrageous condition. She felt so unlike her true self! She closed her eyes and sook her head miserably. "No. I do not need anything. Don't want anything..."

Lettie promptly turned to leave the room.

"Except to be returned to my family," Felicity mumbled absently to herself, but Lettie stoped short, having overheard. The maid did not turn back around nor back up, but turned her head slightly to hear Felicity say, "That weasily fop-bastard..."

Lettie nearly smiled. Nearly.

Felicity had dropped off into an open-mouthed, snoring sleep sitting there in the chair when Forsythe strolled in, saw her, and shook his head- upon which was one of his long rolled wigs. He smiled crookedly, strolled over to the chair to lok down upon her. Even snoring under the effects of the powders as she was, she was still stunningly beautiful. With the back of a finger, he caressed her closest cheek. The contact jerked Felicity awake once more. Even with her senses dulled she knew who was standing beside her and that he was actually touching her. She flinched away from him and snarled sleepily, "Touch me again and I will bite that finger off!"

Forsythe chuckled and went to sit in the high-backed chair positioned toward the same window as Feilicity's chair and said, "Once we are married, I shall touch you as I please."

Oh the gall of that man! "Like hell!" Felicity stated, her nerves doing their best to harden in defense despite her sluggish state. "I will be dead before I allow that to happen!"

"So you say, Felicity. But you must accept that it is a woman's place to yeild to her husband. 'Tis the way of things, the way it has always been, my dear."

Lord, this argument never went anywhere except in circles! But if he was attempting to wear her down it would not work. She needed her stubborn streak now more than ever! "'Tis not the way with me! I will claw your eyes right out of your head, Reginald. You know I can do it, too!"

Indeed her did, for he frowned heavily. "Then I will simply have to administer stronger doses of the powders, as I have warned you before. I take it that you are not feeling so enabled now. Otherwise you would have already attempted an escape."

Felicity glared at him heavily. "Perhaps i do not feel sound enough to flee, but when it comes to protecting my very own person, I assure you, I am more than capable." She smiled groggily, but its snide intention was unmistakable."You have nothing to threaten me with. Did we not have this discussion already?"

He was definately fuming within. "There is always a way, Felicity. If there was not, you would not be here."

"I am not Lucille Elswick. I do not love you, care for you, nor can you make me. Once upon a time, I tried to be nice to you becuase I felt sorry that you had lost your father and your mother was in poor health even then. But because you could not, nor would not, take no for an answer, I have come to despise you as much as the devil himself!"

He cocked a very cocky eyebrow. "Your words no longer sting me, my angel. When I was seventeen they would have, but not now. I merely undrstand that, like Miss Lucille, you lack the proper discipline. But unlike Miss Lucille, I can remedy that." Seeing her confused expression, he smiled wider. "I am now debating on the next course of action to take in your tutilage." Thus said, he steepled his fingertips and stared at her.

Felicity braced herself. "It matters not, Reginald you devil, for nothing you concoct will break me."

"Is that so?"

"It is absolutely, utterly so."

For once he did not have the grey-hound headed walking stick with him, but he seemed quite at esae to rest his arms upon those of his chair and express an eerie smugness that Felicity, even in her stupor, found immensely disturbing. "I assumed that would be your attitude still. Lucille was like you, only not so out of control as you. I am therefore considering having you whipped."

What ? The largest ball of nerve-fright she'd ever felt rose up in her throat, severely restricting her breathing and set her heart to racing despite the powders' efforts to subdue it. Her mouth went bone dry.

"What, have you nothing to say now, my dear?" drawled he, gloatingly. Clearly, he was enjoying watching her uncontrolled reaction to his intimidation. "No snapping outburst? No rebellious combacks? 'Tis most unlike you, Felicity."

Oh how her head swam! He meant to have her whipped! Now what was she to do? Give in? NO! You must'nt! No matter what! There will still be an opportunity to end your life before he can carry out his wickedness!

"You have until our wedding night to think it over," Forsythe continued, as if he was being gracious and lenient. "You will either come to my bed willingly, or the next day...need I say more?"

I will be DEAD before nightfall! she thought rebelliously. But she tilted her proud head up and replied aloud, "Do as you will, then. You may whip me to no end, for i will not even so much as approach any bed you are to sleep in! But do consider that if I am to be lashed like an animal, then I will constantly bleed and ooze all over you and be a fright to look at!" She could not believe she had just said such things, but she was finding out that there were a lot of things she could not believe were happening now.

Forsythe's superior smirk faded, but only a little. "I am not too concerned with the state your lovely body will be in, for after at least one lick you will have decided you will not tolerate more."

Damn him! "Oh, but I tolerate pain rather well," she vollyed back, trying to sound as unconcerned as he, "for you have already caused me the greatest pain I could ever endure by taking me from my family. And Ben!"

Mention of the former apprentice erased the smirk completely, granting him a stormy expression. "Do not mention that rebel bastard's name in my own home!"

"Ben!" she blurted, with all of the vehemence of an unruly child (albeit a drowzy one). "Ben, Ben, Ben, Be-!"

"ENOUGH!" Forsythe spat, gripping his chair's arms fiercely in his thin white hands. "You are testing me again, Felicity, and I will not have it anymore! If you do not wish to recieve your whipping now, then I suggest that you shut your mouth! I am quite tempted to have your intolerable childishness beat out of you this very minute!"

Felicity felt a burning hatred and defiance flaming inside of herself unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She would definately not be giving in to squat! "Now how would that look, Reginald? Appearing before the rector with you 'bride' all black and blue and bloody? What amount of money could you bribe him with to ignore that?"

He jumped to his bizarrely fashionable, paisley-shoed feet. "He has already agrred to perform the ceremony come what may! The banns are being posted as per regulation, but since there is no one in this entire country to protest them, they needn't be posted for long! We will be wed on Friday of this week , and you my dear, will either be too sore from a sound thrashing or too senseless from the powders to be protesting anything!"

Felicty felt as if she had just been doused with ice cold water, even on the inside. "Then do as you must! Just know that I take no part in this willingly, you weasel. Know that I utterly despise you and am sickened to death by you. I wish you straight to hell."

Forsythe inhaled sharply, glaring at her as if he was considering something most unpleasant where she was concerned, then ultimately smiled self-righeously again. "Yes, my dear, I do believe you wil be having a change o heart once you have recieved your discipline. It pains me to have to harm you, but 'tis for your own good. If I do not teach you respect and civility, no one will. Do enjoy yur supper." He nodded hs head to her and left the room, having regained his smug demeanor once more.

Felicity sighed stressfully. Never in her life thus far had she felt so all alone and so unlike her true self. Ben Davidson had told her, not long after he had returned from the fighting, that when in war, one does whatever one must to survive. She was finding this out to be terribly true! This is MY war! And God help me, I'm having to be a snarling bitch just to survive! This is not how Mother and Ms. Manderly meant for me to be. But then,HOW exactly is one supposed to carry on when one has been snatched away and is under the threat of whipping? What proper etiquette does one apply to THIS!

Never wanted to be a gentlewoman, anyway...Would this have happened if I had been?

Felicity was not aware that she had just spoke her thoughts out loud. There was no one present in the room to hear her, of course, but there was someone outside of it that did. A lone figure stod without a sound or motion at the door's frame. The young slave woman called Lettie had heard all that had Felicity had expressed to no one in particular, and was now staring at the floor, contemplating. The young white woman truly hated Lord Forsythe, it seemed. Indeed, very much. Didn't want to marry to him, didn't want to be Lady of the House.

Interesting.

Lettie raised her tapered chin in thought. Perhaps this willful white girl could be Forsythe's undoing.

CHAPTER FINISHED!