Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended. This was beta'd by the lovely Elise de Sallier. Heaps and heaps of thanks to her for all the help and advice. All mistakes are mine.
A/N Okay so this lesson was entitled Historical Romance. Write a romantic scene set in a historical setting of your choice. It can be a mild flirtation, a first kiss, or a full blown love scene. Pick one of the emotional or practical issues I've mentioned above and incorporate it into the scene. I chose the Regency era. Many thanks to Elise de Sallier for the excellent lesson and the assignment, both of which can be found on the PTB blog. Please leave me your constructive criticism :)
Nerves rumble in my stomach, matching the sound caused by the carriages wheels on the cobbles below as we drive ever closer to the cotillion. The butterflies had settled in on the eve of my presentation to court two nights ago and had refused to leave ever since. I have been training for this night my entire life, and I fear the pressure may cause me to stumble.
"Isabella, I want you to enjoy yourself, darling. After all it is a party." My mother's warm voice helps to soothe me, as does the gentle squeeze of her hand on mine.
Turning to my Father she continues their conversation from earlier in the day, "The Countess of Bradford seemed almost desperate in her desire for Isabella to meet Lord Newton. I daresay The Earl of Bradford regrets ever letting him have access to the family wealth."
I continue to gaze out of the carriage window while keeping my ears open for gossip, as I have been educated to do. You learn so many interesting things when you pretend to be disinterested in your surroundings. For example, I was already aware that Lord Newton, son to Lord and Lady Bradford, had been dallying with a serving girl. However I did not know the outcome of their tryst, and was quite eager to learn the details.
"Lady Hart saw them bundle that poor girl away in a carriage while she cradled her stomach." If my Mother's eyebrows rose any higher on her face they would be in danger of staying that way.
My Father shook his head as the corners of his mouth pulled down slightly. "Disgraceful business. Well I am not one for idle gossip but I'll be damned if our Isabella's reputation is tarnished by association with that fool."
Turning his brown eyes to me and softening his tone he says, "You pay him enough courtesy to not cast yourself as rude but nothing more, understood, child?"
I nod, sighing internally at the word child. I turned sixteen at the end of September. How long until he sees me as a woman? Mother says, perhaps never.
A thoughtful expression clouds his face before he asks my Mother, "What are your feelings towards Northampton's son?"
The Marquess of Northampton and his wife Lady Northampton have been dear friends for many years. Their son Benjamin Cheney, Earl of Northampton, was deemed to be an exemplary gentleman. My handmaid, Miss Cope, had whispered to me a few weeks ago that most of the debutantes at court would be vying for his attention today.
"Oh Charles, you know I'm fond of the boy, but he is so… so… oh what is the word I'm looking for?"
"Dull." The word slips from my mouth before I can stop it.
My Mother giggles at my faux pa as my Father scowls. I must not slip up like that later; I send a quick prayer to God that I can keep my wits about me tonight.
"Yes, well, in any case, if he asks to woo our daughter I have a mind to let him…dull or not." I'm suitably chastised by my father's look and words.
He is right, of course. A marriage to the Earl of Northampton would be a fine match, and we get along well enough, but I do not wish for a safe husband. I dare not admit this aloud as I fear a scolding from my father, but I crave the passion and excitement I have read about in novels and poems.
"I think we ought to discuss the possibility that the Duke of Cambridge may wish to court Isabella." There is a worry in my mother's voice, but at the mention of the Duke my heart skips and stutters.
I have heard all the gossip about Edward Cullen. They say he is unequivocally the most handsome man in England, that he fell desperately in love with his wife and how after only a year of marriage she passed away while giving birth to their first child. Now a year and two months from her passing, and the death of the child, he is done with mourning and once again looking for a wife to bear him an heir. The man fascinates me, and while he may be fourteen years my senior he is the one I have fantasised about marrying.
"It is a possibility as he will be looking for a young bride to hopefully bear him an heir this time. I think we should wait and see what tonight brings." My father seems as unsure of this match as my mother.
I'm thrilled that they aren't completely against the idea, but then again he is a duke, and what father would turn down a duke for his daughter's hand?
Arriving at the ball is just as nerve wracking as arriving at the palace yesterday. I curtsy to my fellow debutantes and their families as we tour the room before settling at a table, taking in the beautiful fashion.
My own gown skims the tops of my shoes, as I long to dance and not trip, the sleeves are caped and a pretty yellow sash runs under my bosom and ties in a bow at my back. The white elbow length gloves match the colour and fabric of the dress while the ostrich feathers in my hair and on my fan match the sash. Miss Cope has curled my hair and pinned them up so that they fall softly around my face.
No sooner have we settled at our table, my mother cooing over how wonderful everyone looks and my father pouring himself a scotch, when Benjamin invites me to dance.
A smile from my mother has me accepting, and I take his hand as he leads me to the other dancers. We twirl and spin as the music reverberates around us. I laugh at his attempts at humour, though they are not as funny as I portray. He tells me of his intentions with a new venture, and I try to listen but I find the subject quite mundane.
As the music continues, I find myself wondering what life as Benjamin Cheney's wife would be like. There would be dinner parties and summers in the country. He is a kind man and, therefore, I imagine he would be a good father, certainly able to support a family. Yes, the thought of becoming Lady Northampton isn't unpleasant, but it doesn't create the feeling of great excitement I've read about so often.
When the dance ends Benjamin escorts me back to my mother, and after exchanging polite small talk with her, he takes his leave to speak with my father.
"I dare like to say that Lord Northampton is about to ask your father for his permission to court you. Isn't that wonderful?" The smile on her face is full of excitement; I wish my own would match it.
"I can't deny that a courtship with Lord Northampton wouldn't be a welcome thing, but I don't feel overjoyed either. Is it wrong of me to hope for excitement and adventure, mother?" My voice is quiet, as I do not wish others to hear my confession. The blush on my cheeks is enough to show my embarrassment.
"Oh. my dear child. I know you want a life like those in your stories, but, Isabella, darling, the most we can hope for is kindness and stability, and that is Lord Northampton." Her smile is sympathetic but the corners of her lips pull up in amusement at my naivety.
Before I can thank her for the advice a pair of thick thighs encased in white knee breaches invade my vision. Startled I look up, and seeing who stands before me, my heartbeat picks up a fast rhythm.
Edward Cullen is everything the gossip mongers had said and more. The copper sheen to his curls catches the light beautifully and the green of his eyes is like nothing I have ever seen before.
My father is with him and introduces the Duke. He bowes to my mother and me. "Good evening Your Grace, Lady Isabella, I hope I find you both well."
At the sound of his voice my entire being begins to tremble, and while the sensation is not unpleasant, it is quite unsettling. I had not expected his voice to be so deep, and the effect it has on my body is startling.
As my mother responds that she was in fact well, I find myself unable to speak. The butterflies from earlier have fluttered up from my stomach and taken up residency in my throat.
Swallowing passed the lump, I respond to the Duke's question, "I am well, Your Grace. Thank you for opening up your home for this evening. It is beautiful."
A warm blush heats my face, as he smiles at my words, seeming to be pleased with my answer.
"Would it be too bold to ask for a dance, Your Grace?" The Duke of Cambridge asks my father.
My blush intensifies, as my father nods his approval, and I am led once more to the dance floor. The close proximity of the Duke fuddles my senses, and although my steps do not falter, I find myself once again unable to speak. All conversation seems to have left my brain and the worry that he finds me tedious and immature stutters my breathing.
"I must confess, Lady Isabella, that I had been hoping to dance with you since the ceremony yesterday."
His confession shocks me so much that I forget about my anxiety. "Thank you, Your Grace, and if I too may confess, I had also hoped that you would ask me to dance."
He raises his eyebrows at my boldness but does not seem put off by it. In fact his smile lifts a little higher, and the sparkle in his eye seems to brighten. As we continue to dance the conversation begins to flow. We talk about my love of reading and how I'd only ever painted still life and I would love the chance at painting someone's portrait.
Before too long my father steps in to request my presence. We had become so engrossed in each other we did not notice that another dance was about to begin.
"I'm sorry that I wasn't paying attention to the dance, father." I mumble my apology, worried that I had made a spectacle of myself by dancing more than two dances with the same partner.
"Not to worry, child. Hurry along to your mother. The Duke and I have business to discuss."
I spend the rest of the evening trying to remain inconspicuous, so I am not asked to dance by another suitor. My mother and some of the other ladies engage in gossip, and although I try to join in, I find my attention constantly pulled toward His Grace of Cambridge. My father and the Duke have spent the majority of the night chatting by the bar, and their topic of conversation has me burning with curiosity.
As the party begins to wind down my father re-joins us and escorts us back to the carriage. Once the journey home has begun I wonder about my father's conversation with Benjamin and if I am to start courting the gentleman.
"Renee, I have invited the Duke of Cambridge for tea tomorrow evening. See to it that Mrs Mason is informed once we arrive home."
I look to my father and see the small smile on his face. He has chosen a suitor and I couldn't be more excited. Let the adventure begin!