Duke of Ravenwood

by Divinely Valentine

In the world of Bridgerton, Marisette, a devout commoner with a heart of gold, and her two sisters receive an unexpected invitation to a grand ball hosted by the cryptic Duke of Ravenwood. Known for his aloof nature, the Duke governs with an iron hand, yet remains a mystery to society. Rumors swirl he is looking for a bride.

About: In the world of Bridgerton, Marisette, a devout commoner with a heart of gold, and her two sisters receive an unexpected invitation to a grand ball hosted by the cryptic Duke of Ravenwood. Known for his aloof nature, the Duke governs with an iron hand, yet remains a mystery to society. Rumors have it that his own mother hasn't seen him since birth. Rumors swirl that he is searching for a bride, sparking excitement and intrigue. All are dying to meet him. But those are just rumors, of course?

As Marisette struggles with her hormonal nature as a result of coming of age; she is thrust into the duke's world entangled in a web of steamy secrets and unexpected turns.

~This tale is filled with societal challenges, dark romance, and a bit mystery.

~History: This story weaves together the stories of the descendants of the Duke of Hastings' butler, Jefferies, and offers a fresh adaptation of the real historical bond between the Duke and Duchess of Queensberry and their close friend, Julius Soubise.

~Brief features (in the realm):

Simon Basset

Daphne Bridgerton

Lady Danbury

Will Mondrich

Alice Mondrich

Queen Charlotte

Kate Sharma

Anthony Briderton

Type: fanfic/spinoff

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Chapter 1 The mourners invite

"Balderdash! The Duke of Ravenwood—our arrogantly mysterious nobleman—seeking a bride at the grand ball? And inviting us commoners?" Liora releases an unbecoming snort that flutters the delicate lace perched on the tip of her upturned nose.

"Well, I did say the 'bride' portion was a mere rumor. But the rest is true!" Emmeline voice raises slightly.

"Even if it's true, which I doubt, why'd you want to go anyhow?" Liora berated our youngest sister. After a brief pause, she continues, her voice sharp and unforgiving.

"That duke—if ya can even call him that—is too quiet for my liking. This could be a setup of a sort. Grandfather always said to watch out for the silent sort, you know that?" Liora makes no attempt to disguise her grumpiness through her hushed tone. She scans the burial area for a listening ear before crouching lower and matching her tone as so. "You never know what folk like that are really up to, now do ya?"

It's mostly foggy and one can barely see the person beside. Giant near-barren trees stand out in dark contrast against the pale mist. Every few moments, the wind howls, sending leaves skittering to the burial site in packs. My sisters and I stand close enough to observe the funeral service through most of the fog, yet far enough away to carry on with Emmeline's ridiculous proposal

Apparently, our home received a letter from the Duke, and Emmeline assumes it is an invitation to the ball rumored to be happening tonight. Of course, she got this ridiculous notion from the post office– as all of the town's latest rumors spark there.

I adjust my veil to center it for the third time and pray Emmeline would take a moment to adjust hers. In our profession, we must conceal our identity to avoid raising suspicion. Our future jobs depend on our discretion. However, Emmeline, as usual, brushes her veil aside every few moments, likely to scope out the affluent widowers in our midst

Lioras veil, on the other hand, is secured. Though she could have at least tried to make it appear a bit more flattering. Which is as impossible of a task to ask of her as it is to convince her that the invitation from the Duke looks indeed legitimate. From the brief glimpse I had gotten of it that is.

"Believe me or not, it is the honest truth–and you, Liora, will be scraping egg whites off of that sour canvas of yours soon enough." Emmeline's whisper grows a bit louder and sharper. "The envelope bears the Duke's seal. We're attending the grand ball, I swear it!"

"I'll be the judge of that. Besides, we 'might've' been invited. It doesn't mean we've accepted anything yet." Liora corrects. "I–damn it, did any of ya get the name of the deceased? Marisette?!" Loria asks, inquiring about whom the funeral procession is for today.

"Unfortunately not," I reply "Emmeline managed to talk over the pastor every time he mentioned the deceased's title." I sigh, leaning forward a bit to get a better look at the sign above his casket. "She's somehow managed to do so every single time." I'll admit, I am a bit passive about it. It is Emmeline's job in all of this to keep up with the paperwork as she's the one who has taken the most liking to reading. But, I suppose if it's not something utterly useless like a shopping magazine or those silly finance reads and what have you, she hardly keeps up with it.

"Just great, how've we taken up this job at a funeral and don't even know who we're bloody mourning?!" Liora grits out through clenched teeth. She nestles a black fisted glove against her wide hip.

"Relax, he's wealthy, isn't he?" Emmeline brushes some of the fallen leaves from the skirt of her black dress. "I didn't intend to misplace our invitation papers, but it's obvious he's wealthy, yes? We don't need to know his name; we just need to complete our task."

Liora shoots Emmeline a look and I gently place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, hoping to soothe her simmering anger. Our sister Emmeline is a few years younger than both of us after all. And just as naive as she should be. Though, she would be less naive if she attends church with me as much as mother wanted her to. Instead, much to mothers disapproval, she uses the time to read 'other' books on things like fiscally-related and other ridiculous wastes of one's time. I never mention that she hides the pamphlets within the pages of her Bible. After all, what mother doesn't know can't add to the hurt she has already endured in life.

The gap in Emmeline's veil presents a clear window to the lump in her throat she struggles to swallow under Lioras fierce glare. "H-However, I'll try to be more careful with the invitation next time. Sorry, sister."

"Well, let us give thanks that the funeral arranger at least remembered our presence from our visit the other day. Divine intervention perhaps?" My attempt to lighten the mood proves futile as Liora still appears ready to make Emmeline spit up the lump in her throat.

"Either way, all we know is we're at the funeral of some money-grubbing family member related to a 'Ravenwood'." The last word drags and Liora folds her arms, the thickness of them creating mounds in the sleeves of her dress.

It seems Liora resents just about every affluent family. However, in this case, especially the Ravenwoods. You see, Emmeline and Liora are my half sisters. Liora lives with us because her mother couldn't afford treatment for her tuberculosis. A terribly unfortunate disease which eventually took her life. Liora burdens the same sickness as her mother–though not as defined.

Emmeline, on the other hand, had been an orphan abandoned by her own mother who suffered mental illnesses. Her mother was believed to have suffered from what is called 'Hysteria'. Though, Emmeline believes it was simply the effects of a broken heart caused by our father. My own mother took them both in because she believed they were sent by God. She felt it was her divine duty as a good Protestant woman to care for them despite the sins of my father.

"Now, that other Ravenwood, who ain't been seen in public by us commoners in ages, has the nerve to supposedly invite us to a ball." Liora stifles a laugh. "So excuse me if I don't mourn too much for these pricks." she says. And if I could see her face, I'm sure her perfectly expressive brows would match the crow that scratches its talons in her voice .

A distant figure of an older noblewoman, adorned in a lace mourning cap, emerges like an apparition from the fog and saunters directly toward us.

"I can hear the three of you hens chattering more than the pastor's prayer. What on Earth could you possibly be prattling on about now?" Her wrinkled lips suck in and she moves them about as if gnawing on a piece of candy. "And yet, not a single tear nor hiccup. I am paying you to accentuate the admiration of the deceased. Lord knows, he, of all people, needs it more than anyone." the lady's voice rattles in the phlegm she attempts to cough away every few moments. "Either you commence mourning him this instant, or I shall take the other half of your earnings and tip my driver with it."

I can't agree more. As mutes we are hired to show up to funerals and mourn the deceased in order to make them appear more 'loved' than they perhaps deserved. Half of the pay is collected up front the other half is after we put on a show. And do we know how to put on a show. The service is almost over, and here we are, wasting precious time.

I suck in a sharp breath through my nostrils and release it in a huff out my mouth. Then another. There, just enough for the tears to weld in my eyes. Tiny gentle coughs sputter from my throat as my crescendo of sobs begin to echo the burial ground. I'm the crier and I'm absolutely good at it because I am absolutely the biggest crybaby of all my sisters. In this case, it works out for me fortunately.

I turned to my side to offer Liora a handkerchief. But she's gone and out of my line of sight. That is, until my eyes land on her, collapsed on the ground, feigning a faint. Fainting is usually Emmelines role as she's good at being quite dramatic. However, I assume Emmeline is preoccupied, flirting with the big-bellied gentleman she had been waving to throughout the entire service.

The skirt of my dress cushions the fall as I drop to my knees grasping Liora by the shoulders sobbing louder. I lean in by her ear.

"So much for not mourning much." I tease my older sister. "Oh, and by the way I'm absolutely tickled it to see you from this angle."

"Obviously, I'll get the job done." She murmurs in return. "Because that's what hard-working folks like us do. We don't sit around getting our feet rubbed, waiting for someone else to handle it. We get the job done. Hard-working commoners like us have just as much merit; only we have to earn it—"

"Oh, hush." I whip out my pocket fan and waft it Lioras way. "Can you not complain for just two moments?"

She's gasping now, back to resuming her stand in role. I let out one big heave before delivering my lines.

"Lord, um," darn, the deceased name escapes me again. I can thank Emmeline for that. "He– yes– he was a fine gentleman I know," I cope through tears. "but you must endure it my dear. You must. It is the will of God to endure. To be born, to suffer, but most importantly to endure before given back to him!"

There it is, I've done it I fear. A few faint cries ring out from various areas scattered across the service area. In groups, murmurs of the attendees begin to console one another. Just as a clock works.

Liora had been on to something when she told us that the upper class of people were nothing more than sheep to a herder. And just looking at them topple over one by one into their own faints, it does seem a rather easy to manipulate them I'm afraid.

I use a handkerchief to dab my tears. We've done it. There's more of a melancholy atmosphere at the funeral now. I can only hope we've done a good enough job to earn a tip. And perhaps a sizable one.

I take hold of the fabric aptop Lioras chest and shake her about a bit. But I don't dare to pretend to slap her into consciousness as I would when Emmeline performs the role. Not even to pretend. Liora is a strong woman and would gladly kock me a few roads back.

Just as I am about to howl my famed final cry of despair, I hear a faint, deep chuckle emanating from the shadowy patch of wooded area to my right. I turn slowly, my breath catching in my throat, and there, barely visible, is a shadowy figure leaning against a tree. It is a broad figure with impossibly wide shoulders, standing so eerily still that it seems to merge with the trunk itself. My heart sinks into a cold abyss at the sight. Had that person been there the whole time, silently observing us, watching our every move?

Even if not—what an odd thing to laugh during a time like this. We have been so convincing—I'm absolutely sure of it. We are the best mourners in the state, the country even. Which is why I'm utterly perplexed as to what he—whoever he is—could have found funny in this. The unease coils tighter within me as I ponder the unsettling question.

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After service

After the funeral service, we have no one to say goodbye to since we know no one attending personally. We prefer to exit as soon as possible to avoid conversation. Besides, networking doesn't help us much anyway, as we receive most of our tasks through secret slips from the post office.

Our future clients know that if they want to be discreet about it, they can simply put in a request slip for a 'mourner for hire' also known as a 'mute' to the one person in town that deals with every one of all professions. One of the only professions in town that takes an oath of secrecy. The post office workers. Future clients give the slip to them and then they give the slip to us. Finally, it's up to us to accept the task. Otherwise, it goes to the other mutes.

I can feel the tips of my toes pulsating as I tap them along the gravel pretty carelessly as my sisters and I wait for the last carriage to trot off. Emmeline is upset, of course, as she had to leave her big-bellied prospect behind. But, it's for the best, one word out of that mouth of hers and he would have known that she was a commoner. And did she have the mouth of Simon Peter, son of Jonah.

Still, she swears the big-bellied gentleman would not have cared. The man had appeared lonely. In fact a lot of the old wealthy men were lonely, even the ones in marriages. Especially the ones in marriages. And she could very well be on to something… Still, I refuse to allow a sister of mine to be courted like some harlot.

So, we settle on a bench just in front of the stone funeral director building. Here, we perform our usual routine, pretending to console one another until everyone else has left. This way, no one sees us depart as we truly are—mere commoners without a carriage.

But that's the least of my troubles right now, mother has no idea that we have taken up this task to help alleviate our financial burdens, and we would like to keep it that way. We're usually able to get home early enough to change back into our normal wear but not today. The funeral ran overtime and we will surely run into mother upon our home arrival at this pace.

Now, it falls upon me today to find a suitable place for us to change and store our funeral attire before entering the house.

The puddle beneath my incessant tapping foot sploshes the more I ponder.

Where can we put the dresses in the meantime so that way they aren't stolen? I suppose we are rather close to the post office lady. She can probably store our clothes in one of those bins they have in the back. The only issue is we'll probably have to pay her a ration of today's earnings.

Still, it is necessary. I suppose sneaking around comes with a cost. Mother surely will be waiting for me. I accidentally missed today's bible study for this. I dare not to miss my duty to transcribe on the morrows sermon then. However, this day, as soon as I return home, I will copy the passages that I missed. Just after my scolding that is.

Mother depends on me to be devout enough to inspire my sisters to follow suit. And I absolutely cannot live up to that if I miss study.

"Marisette, hello, do you hear this utter bullshit?" Liora waves a palm in front of my veil and it snaps me back into the present moment.

"Huh? Oh, forgive me, I must have been lost in thought… what was that you were saying?" I ask, tugging at my collar to release the steam building up inside me, like an oven about to burst at the thought of the chaos that could erupt at any moment.

"This fresh flower," she mocks, referring to Emmeline. "Truly believes that commoners would stand a chance with noblemen."

"Oh," I lean lazily on the bench's armrest, my eyes drifting to the smokey fog that the final carriage descended into. "The two of you are still on about that."

The sound of Lioras meaty fists thumping against her thick thighs is accompanied by that froggy laugh of hers.

"Inviting bloody commoners to a grand ball— I can see if it were a festival—but oh come on Emmeline. You and I both know that does not make no sense." Lioras hands are jerking out in front of herself, as if pleading with a higher power. "Tell her, Marisette. Tell this freshly baked roll that it doesn't make any sense in the, well, sense of things."

I reach past Liora, who is smacked in the middle of us, to place my hands over Emmelines. And the gaze my dearest young sister bestows upon me pierces my heart.

"She's right," I give her fingers a gentle tap. "And that is not meant to stifle your ambition, Emmeline. It is not meant to hurt you. However, it does sound quite like a fairy tale. Besides, you have provided nothing of merit for us to believe so."

Besides, if someone of the Duke's social status does in fact choose a bride is not it's certainly not going to be a commoner. I keep these thoughts to myself as to spare Emmelines further embarrassment.

"Right then, it's settled. Now, enough with this damn charade!" Another thrust of her arms and Liora breaks Emmeline and my bond.

However, Emmeline doesn't appear the least bit concerned with it. Instead she raises a brow before pulling out an envelope from her breast.

And I have to admit you can hear the raindrops pinging against the medal of the blackened bench with how silent Liora and I are. Emmelines even appears to be in awe as if seeing it for the first time all over again.

"Oh? What in heaven's name could this be?" Emmeline shrugs maneuvering the envelope as if it were a personal fan.

The paper's fancy wax seal clearly indicates the letter was crafted by someone of the upper class. The weight, texture, and flawless calligraphy on the outside is truly something. This…is a 'real' invitation. And it is much more of an experience seeing it and all of its glory.

Emmeline pulls one of the many carving knives out of Lioras dress pocket and plucks the seal of the envelope. Her eyes only seem to scan the contents of the letter for a moment before she gasps.

"It's for…" her eyes shoot to the top of the letter again as if making sure they don't deceive her.

"It's for you, Liora." She says in disbelief.

"I've got no time for pranks," Liora says despite allowing herself to laugh at the situation. " I actually intend to work at my second job this day unlike the lot of you."

She points at me then Emmeline. "When you don't have your head in the clouds, you're praying. And you, you're busy scheming on our clients. Of course, the two of you have time for such pranks on your hard-earning eldest sister —who, must I remind you, has done nothing but risk my precious sleep to help further provide for us." Liora jerks her head in anger and I can tell that she's offended. "While I'm muscling the screws on rat traps for extra shillings." she grumbles.

I take the letter and read it for myself. "You're wrong Liora, it is in fact, addressed to you." I say.

"Me?! Ya sure?" Liora nearly rips the paper, snatching it from my hand. And in the same motion she flips her veil back.

"Hey! why did you trust her word over mine?" Emmeline whines, hopping to her feet. The fabric of her skirt flapping in the sudden gust of wind.

"It's as if you 'always' believe her over me. Everyone does, you know?!"

"Oh please, I'd believe anyone over you." Liora manages a taunt though never skipping a beat as her eyes rhythm the paper. Her bushy eyebrows, never so narrow. The corners where her lashes meet, never so thin.

"Well, there we have it. The Duke might be looking for a bride and he invites me of all people. This must be a mistake." Liora says. And I am surprised that she is still in disbelief though the proof has been read a many times over.

But it's not a mistake. Her name is written as clear as day. 'Liora Marie Ashwood'. Plus one.

"Miss Liora Marie Ashwood," Emmeline snatches the letter back into her possession before reading it in the most high-pitched posh tone possible. "By the gracious command of His Grace, the Duke of Ravenwood, Lucian Ravenwood, you are cordially invited to attend the Grand Ball at the Duke's estate on the evening of…it's tonight!" Emmeline interjects. "We earnestly hope you will grace us with your presence. Your attendance, along with a companion, is most welcome. Yours sincerely, Ravenwood Hall."

"It's a charade if I've ever seen one." She stands along with Emmeline. And she seems more angry than anything. "Nothing more, nothing less. The Ravenwoods are likely trying to win back the favor of the people because their precious Duke thinks he's too good to grace us with his presence. It's an illusion of choice, you know? The illusion of free thinking and—and freedom!"

"To be fair," I add. "I hear he doesn't grace anyone with his presence. Not even the affluent. Not even the people of his social class."

"Well, even so, I do not wish to accept this invitation." Liora states plainly.

"But what if they wish to gift us with something such as a party favor? Shillings–bread even!" Emmelines grips her hands into a ball of admiration and secures them against her chest. "Just think for a moment about what that could do for us, Liora. We won't have to take up another one of these tasteless tasks for a while."

"Oh is that so? Because it didn't seem much of a tasteless task when it was bringing tasty offal to the dinner table." Lioras getting more defensive by the moment.

"Grandfather does need new wheels on his chair." I interject. "Perhaps they will extend us something, perhaps something that we can pawn. Something that–oh I don't know— can hold us off for the next few months even." I know Liora is proud, but she loves her family. She's the most like grandfather more than anyone. So much so she even took up his late stage profession in rat trapping.

Liora turns from the both of us. And her shoulder square as she attempts to posture herself. A breath.

"Now that you mention it, I suppose getting some sort of 'something' out of these people's pockets would be worth the trip." Liora says.

Emmelines turns to me eagerly. However, I place a finger over my lips and gesture her to settle down. This is a delicate moment for the likes of Liora and we don't want to scare her off. Besides, she hasn't even agreed yet.

"Wouldn't you agree they owe us commoners anyway? Some of us work several jobs, and in return, we get to watch them play around at a ball while they govern us into more poverty." Her boots kick a clump of gravel.

Liora has three jobs of which she is incredibly proud of. This one, sewage shoveling, and the rat catcher business. The latter, the only one of which mother knew about. Mother believes Lioras only job is what she took after our grandfather. Mother knows nothing about our extracurricular earnings as funeral mutes.

As for Emmeline, when she's not aiding me at the church, Mother believes Emmeline should take up rat trapping for the time being as well. That way can somehow tame her hormones by keeping her under the watchful eye of our grandfather and older sister.

However mother prefers me strictly by her side and working in the church at all times. But as it proves, the benefits simply aren't enough to sustain all of us plus grandfather's medical bills. But mostly, we all just want to give our mother the life she was robbed of due to my father's absence and carefree spending habits. After all, she has given a second chance at life to my half-sisters. Therefore, we had agreed to work together to attend funerals for extra pay.

Liora turns to Emmeline again and smacks the corner of the paper. "Fine, I'll go but–" Before Liora can finish, Emmeline lunges at her, tackling her in a giant hug—giant, that is, for her small frame against Liora's.

Liora emits a low, disgruntled sound. "But under one condition!" She peels Emmeline twiggy arms from around her neck. And we both await her next words anxiously. "Ain't no way Liora Ashwoods going at it alone."

"Oh, I'll gladly attend with you, dearest sister!" Emmeline offers in another posh accent this time, oddly enough, a French one.

"Let Emmeline go with you." I say. "I have to transfer scripture tonight, then it's up bright and early to transcribe the pastor's sermon." I adjust in my seat in an attempt to disguise whatever jealousy stirs at the pit of my bodice.

"Besides, this is a bit ridiculous. Mother already has out who we are supposed to marry." I feel myself gripping my kneecaps and rocking impatiently. "Whoever that may be… wherever he may be hiding… Likely in the church." I can't help but grumble that last part. It's not that men of God didn't appeal to me, they do, however most of them are so focused on their devotion they hardly look up from the book to catch a glimpse of me. Yet, somehow my mother believes my true husband resides there.

"No, Emmeline is much too young." Liora rebukes flatly. She crouches in front of me. "Besides, if she looks at one more older man they're going to wheelchair her straight to their estate. And I'm sure you don't want that, Mari?"

"So who then?" My hands slap against my lap in frustration. "You do tell me because this dance is bringing me much stress that I could divert to other pressing matters." Such as where to store our funeral uniforms. But I do not worry them with such matters. Instead I give it to my grays.

"Let's see… hmm, a commoner with a bit more class." Liora leans in closer to me. "Someone I can have a good laugh with if I gotta suffer through it. Maybe someone like that?"

"Like me." I sigh. But I'm not too disappointed. I am rather warming up to the idea of attending. This feels like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. No, it is. I am impressed by the envelope; indeed, I am impressed by the wording of the letter. I am awed by the exclusivity of it all. Many a night have I closed my eyes and dreamt of what a moment like this would be like. Oh, to be born into nobility, to have access to exclusive documents of churches of the highest order. As bizarre as it seems, it is real. The envelope is quite literally before me, and this truly could happen.

"Can you imagine if he marries you, Liora?! You'll be wearing silks and jewels, living in a grand estate. Wouldn't that be something!" Emmelines blurts. "Picture the grandeur of it all, Liora! Never in our wildest dreams did I think we'd witness the splendor that will unfold at the grand ball. Can you imagine? The fine gowns, the glittering chandeliers, the distinguished company—it will be absolutely magnificent!"

Emmeline is giddy and honestly I'm a bit excited too. The thought of being around anyone who doesn't have to do with the direct meaning of life in church or death at the funeral would be a nice change of pace. And the men.

It might be my naive mind as a common girl, but who doesn't dream of the possibility of dancing with a prince, royalty, or even any form of nobility?

"I suppose it can't harm to get a little less sleep before Sunday service." I say springing up to meet Emmeline's fluttering hands. Liora, on the other hand, takes my place on the bench. Her expression stoic with her arms folded as we tug and pat on her arms.

Liora throws us both an eye roll accompanied by a sly smirk. "You girls are all excited, yeah, but what you really need to worry about is what we're gonna wear. Ain't that right, commoners?"

I can feel my face sink into a frown at the same pace as Emmelines.

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport, Liora!" Emmelines says. She points a gloved finger to the sky and then her chest. "I, Emmeline Anne Ashwood, have been preparing for this day practically my entire life. I have just the something for us!"

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Sneaking home

"What are you three sneaky lasses up to now, eh? Up to no good, I'll wager!?" Grandfather's voice causes all three of us to jump simultaneously bumping into one another and Emmeline falling directly onto the wooden floor of the house entrance.

Grandfather shakes his head in a disapproving manner. Wheeling his chair from the hall and directly to the kitchen . "My own grandchildren have been replaced with the three blind mice." he says. "Out with it before I have to launch a full-scale investigation." He perches up in his most navy man posture.

"Just because we are all together doesn't mean something is a foot, grandfather." I say helping Emmeline to her feet. Grandfather strokes his long gray beard that reaches a point in his lap and then curls like a pastry swirl upwards again.

"Right, quite. Somehow, I find that hard to believe, considering the lot of you are stumbling about in clothes too big for your size. What mischief are you plotting this time?" He doesn't stop stroking his beard and I know he won't until we give him an answer that will set his mind at ease.

Heavens. These outfits were the only ones that the post office had to offer. And ones that were never claimed in the mail. It was either wear these or make the trip home in our britches.

To my surprise he shrugs it off and rolls over to the kitchen table. He hands me my scroll kit, Emmeline her books and newspaper, then Liora the basket of rat traps. As soon as the traps are in Lioras possession, she tips her new cap and rushes out the door to her next job.

Rat caching. I shiver at the sound of the rattling of the cages. And even though I respect her sacrifice, the thought of dealing with rats is an entity relishing in my nightmares. I don't see how she and grandfather do it and if somehow they do.

"Have you seen mother?" I say removing my cloak.

"Surprisingly enough your mother is resting." Grandfather's wheelchair creeks ever so slowly behind me as if he's prying for something. Prying for my attention.

"This early? That's odd." I say, setting up the ink on the kitchen table. I light a candle long enough to last a few hours, take a seat, flip through my bible, and begin to transfer the scripture to the fresh scroll.

"Not when you're this old." Grandfather halts his wheelchair just beside me. "And she's getting up there, you know. Though," he takes my hand. "She did seem incredibly disappointed in you Marisette. I wouldn't skip bible practice again, your mother has an aging heart. I believe the stress put her to sleep. You know how strict she is about that religious stuff." he says. "It's not a wonder why. Poor woman."

I placed the feather pin back in its holder and dab off my inked palm before placing it over his. I rub his hand.

"If only your father were here to at least help her out with this stuff. For God's sake she is his only legal wife after all." he says. And I can tell by the way that his wrinkled fingers loosely fondle his lower lip that he was frustrated with his son. But really there was nothing much he could do.

Father is a butler for the Duke of Hastings. His life is dedicated entirely to him. It's not like he could just retire and be paid a handsome severance. Of all the money the wealthy have, one would assume that they would give something to those who dedicate their entire life to them. I agree with Liora on this point. They will not offer him much… or at least I highly doubt it. So, father continues to work and send some of his pay this way. The smallest fraction it seems. It's the least he can do.

He appears to have married my mother because he had been advised to secure a wife. He wanted someone to bear children with and my mother was the perfect candidate. A devout Protestant woman. It had seemed as if he found the most perfect suitable match to be faithful to him… even though he was very unfaithful to her. Because of that, I figure this is why Liora avoids mothers pleas for courtship.

"You do more than enough grandfather. Much much more than enough, you know that?" I press a kiss to the folds on his forehead. "Would you like some offal gruel?"

"Well," he plays with the curl at the end of his beard. "You do make it the absolute best, my Marisette."

I tap the big mixing spoon against my cheek. "How about a big heaping bowl then?"

He waves his hand. "Two bowls wouldn't hurt."

"How about I make you three." I say. "And if you wish to flatter my cooking any further, I'll be tempted to give you the whole pot."

A match sends waves of fire flicking along the small sticks just below the cauldron. And the glow cast and orange shadow over the wooden appliances the darkening room.

Grandfather sitting at our single square table, just in front of the rickety back door and a breeze flows past the brown window skirt that flapped against the single tiny open window just above the cauldron. Enough to release some of the stuffy air due to the fire.

As I add larger pieces of wood, it warms my heart to see the old sailor doing a little happy dance at the table out of the corner of my eye.

"Would you like to say grace now, grandfather?" I ask, leaning against our single wooden counter, careful not to topple the clay flower pot of marigolds just behind me.

"You mean before I get my meal? Balderdash!" He adjusted his carrot colored trousers before straightening the pale collar of his. "My hair may be a bit of an overgrown lawn, as I have no lady to impress, but do not mistake me—I am not your mother. Mind your manners and speak plainly!" he folds his arm in a similar manner as Liora. She is basically his clone after all.

"Yes, Grandfather, before you receive your meal as that memory of yours can be a bit tricky." I state as plainly as he had requested, dropping the bones into the boiling water. The delightful beefy smell hits me almost as instantly as they settle in the pot. "Or perhaps you're just a bit eager to eat before you say grace."

As expected, gives me a grumpy wave of dismissal, still issuing a prayer anyway.

Good thing grandfather finished the entire pot. I was able to use the leftover fire to heat some water for my bathing tub. I'm careful when I sink inside the steaming body of water so as to not catch my back on one of the splinters sticking out the wooden base.

Once I'm settled my eyes immediately shut in sheer bliss of the sensation. The towns quiet at this time of night and the crickets seem to make the best of it. Them and the occasional purr of a stray. Them and further the waves of the lapping relentlessly at my blossom.

Bathing hour had always been my favorite time of day. I take the most baths probably out of anyone in the household. Next to mother that is. And I am sure to clean every inch, especially my bum. It is the dirtiest part of the body after all so it only makes sense. Mother says cleanliness is close to godliness. And my sweet God does this warmth feel godly.

My mind somehow drifts back to the post office. Back to a particular man who works at the post office. The lady owner wasn't in today. But the man was just as kind and thoughtful and helpful. And, oh, were his eyes just so…so…. I feel myself heating up just below my belly button again. And somehow my hand has managed to creep its way to my inner thigh.

And as much as I try to remove it back to its place on the sweat of my neck, I can't. I don't want to. I 'want' to think more of his low husky voice. His …

My thoughts are interrupted by a sharp image of the spooky silhouette of the man I heard laughing at the funeral earlier, and my eyes shoot open. Every time I blink, the figure slices behind my lids like white flashes of lightning. My cheeks are no longer flushed with heat; instead, my skin feels as if it's been replaced with tiny bumps—the same bumps I used to get when left alone in the darkness as a child.

That man—could he have been on to us? If so, our cover could be blown, which means my sisters and I will likely be less sought after. Gracious, we should have been more careful, perhaps more quieter. The eerie chuckle of the man echoes in my mind, feeding my growing paranoia.

Emmeline just couldn't stop running her mouth about that silly ball the invitation. My heart skips a beat. That's right–the ball! I shoot forward in a loud splash and stare at the position of the full moon. Already, this Duke is proving trouble for us. Perhaps we should just stay home.

I adjust the manner in which my legs are crossed, yet despite my modest posture, the pressure only intensifies the tingling sensation I have felt since thinking of the post office fellow. Lord, forgive me, for what sinful thoughts am I entertaining?! And why am I having trouble combating them more than ever?

In swift motion I clasp my hands in prayer, beseeching God for guidance and forgiveness for these devious thoughts. Though my sister Emmeline is younger, she appears far more prone to such feelings than I have ever been. Only recently have my thoughts turned more frequently to men, a development I find most unsettling. I detest what these thoughts are doing to me, knowing full well that such feelings should be reserved for the sanctity of marriage. My mother would be so ashamed if she knew. The shame and disgust I feel weigh heavily upon me. I must get out of this bath and prepare for the ball.

Wrapped in a towel, I head over to the laundry line near the back shed and pluck off my slip. However, when I reach to retrieve my underwear, my hand falters. They're gone! My underwear—simply not there! I search the ground below and the bush beside them. Nothing. My underwear are simply missing. Just mine. Liora's underwear flap in the wind like a flag, far too big for my frame. Emmeline's are much too small.

I take one last look around, scanning the weeds and wildflowers that dot the seemingly endless hills behind the home. I assume a bird must have plucked them off and flown away with them, or perhaps one of the strays or a fox took them. Our home had broken ground at the edge of town after all, and we were lucky enough to have the hills are forest behind us instead of more nosey neighbors. And we can thank father for providing us with a home of such. So, maybe it was a creature after all.

Maybe. Or perhaps a thief—or a creep! Who knows, either way. I don't have much time to ponder about it. The ball has already started however many ages ago. I slide the easy slip-on gown and make my way to my sisters.

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Sneaking out

I sit at the head of my hay cot with my knees curled to my chest. Careful not to make a sound. Mother considers all the sorts of parties the nobility throw to be sinful. And I would have to agree, but only partially. Sometimes, I'm unsure if Mother is just being biased rather than biblical. Considering these types of events are where our father committed most of his bad deeds, it's likely they've left a bitter taste in her mouth. A taste that I have not the interest in acquiring.

I nod toward Emmeline and Liora's cots, though they were barely visible in the dim room. Mother and Grandfather took the single bedroom upstairs, while we shared the cobblestone-lined underground room below the house. Our room etched a single window, through which a filtered ray of bluish moonlight shone directly in the center, leaving the rest of the space cloaked in a shadow of it's absence.

Emmeline often complains about how this room feels like a prison. And to be honest, mother was good to keep us safe from the poison that is this world. Emmelines already showing signs of being a worldly woman. And I know more than anyone where that can lead to. One of my father's many mistresses were worldly women and because of it mother extends no grace to them. Besides, I can't seem to keep my thoughts in a straight line lately. Not even in the bathtub.

Emmeline gestures with one finger upwards, indicating that only moments remain until it's time to act. She has been watching the candle melt past the minute markers etched like breaks on the frame of the candle holder. Grandfather is a late sleeper, a habit he attributes to his days in the Navy. Nevertheless, he should be on his way to sleep soon. Not much longer now.

With a short huff, Emmelines small fire is replaced with its smoky counterpart and Liora launches into action. She stands in front of the window and gestures Emmeline forward. Propping her up on her shoulders, Emmeline climbs out of the window near effortlessly. Now, it's my turn. I do the same though it's a bit harder for me to steady but I manage to scurry out the window as well.

Next, Emmeline and I each reach through the window, grabbing one of Liora's arms to pull her out. I crouch and use all my weight to lean backward. Liora is the heaviest of us, not just because of her slight fat but mainly due to the slight muscle she has acquired from all that rat trapping.

Once Lioras out, Emmeline reluctantly crawls back in. And though behind her smile I can see disappointment, she flashes a bigger one and nods passing me the invitation.

"There's a barrel just behind the shed. You'll find everything you need there." Emmeline says. I can see her swallow again. "Do have fun, and bring me back some goodies if they permit it! Oh, and if they're giving out diamond tiaras, I would like one of those too! Several!"

Her whispers carry with the wind as Liora leads the way to the backyard. And sure enough, by the Lord's will, there is indeed a barrel behind the shed. It's a bit muddied and soaked, along with the ground around it. But then again, what isn't muddy and soaked out here in Ravenwood?

"I suppose this is the barrel Emmeline was carrying on about." Liora first ensures the barrel is stable before inserting the flat end of a nearby prybar under the edge of the lid.

"I guess so." I say, now holding the base of the barrel in place. "I just wish she would have, oh I don't know, 'told' me she had a hiding spot long before I spent our tips on the postman earlier."

"Hey, I was the first to tell you that you bargained much too high." Her words are like grunts as she works to apply steady even pressure for a few more moments, before the lid sufficiently lossens enough for her to lift it off the barrel.

"But the fellow had such 'lovely' green eyes–so why on Earth would you listen to little old me?" Her tone makes it clear to me that the compliment to the post fellow wasn't as sincere as her lightened voice made it seem.

"I'm only your older sister who has your best interest at heart, after all." She taunts, now rummaging her hand inside of the barrel. And it sounds all but hollow. "Remember, your thoughts were yours first, not theirs. You risk losing everything the same way Mother did when you let these men consume your precious thoughts like that, you know?"

"What exactly are you implying, Liora?" I say, both my fists now driving into my hips. "I'll have you know that the postman and I agreed upon an amount 'considerably' lower than what I had initially expected. I would never 'ever' be smitten over something as simple as eyes. My grievances simply lay with the fact I had to spend any earnings at all." The lie festers like a knot judt before nausea at the pit of my belly. "Especially since I hardly ever see him at the service on Sundays." well I mean at least this was the truth.

She shrugs rolling her eyes a bit.

"Whatever you say, 'Angel cake'. Just know you don't have to worry about me ratting you out. It's Emmeline who'd throw you under the cart without hesitation the next time she gets caught, batting those long weapon-like lashes Father so graciously armed his daughters with."

Liora finally pulls out a creased dress from the barrel, and then another, the second not as wrinkled as the first. Both, white, thankfully, so the creases didn't show up as much as they could have. When she tosses the dress I presume is mine at me, I nearly screech in disgust. My two fingers clamp the sides of my nostrils as I turn my nose up. They have a bit of a stench. More than a bit.

"Oh, heavens! I must say, that smells absolutely dreadful." I say. "I fear I may be ill."

Liora instead brings her nose closer and invites a sniff.

"Smells like a dead body to me." She looks down at the many dresses that have yet to be rummaged inside. "A few, actually. And maybe some fabric-rot too. Looks, like our little sister tugged these off some of the deceased while on the job. Judging by the color, they belonged to young, unmarried ladies."

I place my hand over my chest. "We-we will be wearing clothing of the deceased?!"

She digs inside once more and tosses me a perfume from the barrel.

"I mean really, just because we 'must', doesn't mean that we have to smell like a corpse." I don't hesitate to spray both gowns with what's left of the perfume. Not trusting Liora to care enough to take the extra step for her own.

A good dousing takes the smell away. Still, the dresses aren't in the best condition. I tug on and smooth my gown and next Lioras as much as I can to pull out the wrinkles. Then, we splash our faces with the water that had accumulated on top of a barrel beside the one holding the clothes.

Now, to prepare our makeup. And goodness there was an abundance Emmeline had been stashing in the barrel. Clearly, these particular items are from mother's room.

"I'm sure these belong to Mother, but when do you think she last used them? I never see her wear makeup. She may even consider it, well, ungodly."

"To be honest probably on her wedding day." Liora suggests.

I use the moonlight's reflection in the puddle as a mirror to apply as much makeup as I can by myself. My lips end up with more lipstick than I expected. All of my sisters have pretty plump lips, but mine the fullest. Another trait passed down from our father.

I attempt to put a dash of blush on Liora, but she waves me off.

"I don't plan on attracting anyone tonight. We know what our mission is, so let's stick to that." She grouses quietly. Though she doesn't appear to have any intention on refocusing her gaze from me as I attempt to apply mine.

"All right then, but could you at least help me with mine?" I plead, and she scoffs at the notion, yet her eyes continue to study my features. "Pretty please, Liora."

She holds out a hand, her fingers waving in a way that lets me know to place the contents of the makeup in them.

"Marisette," she says playfully. And I feel her applying makeup to my eyelids and cheeks as I try to remain as still as possible with my eyes closed. "I couldn't help but 'notice' that you're completely nude underneath that slip." she coughs a chuckle.

If I could roll my eyes I would. "Well, clearly It's not something I 'prefer'. 'Clearly'. But, when I went to the laundry I noticed that my britches were gone. Just vanished into thin air." I say, motioning my hands in a proofing motion.

"Eh, I blame the royals, you know?" Liora says casually, this time dragging something along my eyelids. But, when 'didn't' my dearest sister blame them? "The noblemen—all of them. This town's going to absolute shit, and they can't even clean their own chamber pots for God's sake." she says. "Still, I don't get why you just won't toss on your old pair."

"Because, Liora, the sudden seamstress, they are worn. Dirty–even. They need to be cleansed, as God intends for us. Have you not at least heard what Emmeline has shared about the writings of philosophers? They say–"

"They say a lot because they adore the reactions of common folk as their voice echo. I would wager that they enjoy the sound more than anyone else." There's a clicking sound and I believe she's finished up. "I fear one day your skin may peel with the way you stew yourself in that tub." She says.

As I feel her back away, I open my eyes and rush behind her to pin up her hair. "And yet here we are, primping ourselves to join them." I say, two bobby pins pressed between my teeth muffling the statement.

A few braids and hair pins later–and we are ready to be off to the ball. The 'grand' ball. Oh wow, what a title.

"On the count of three, we turn to each other. That way, we know how we truly feel upon first impressions." I begin to count. "One, two—oh, and do not be too harsh. You know I despise it when you are unreasonably unkind to me" I love my dear older sister, but sometimes she makes me so upset to the point where I'm just about a half a cup of tears and two sniffles away from the flu.

"One, two, three!" I can't help but allow a shriek of excitement as I pivot. And when my eyes rest on Liora looking like an absolute lady, I nearly choke up.

"Oh come on don't give me that look." She says. And even now, for the first time, her scowl doesn't look the least bit intimidating. But rather enduring. "I swear you, mother, and Emmeline hand out your tears too freely."

"It's just I can't believe you look so…so beautiful." I can't help but admire her. I also can't help but blink away my tears so they don't ruin my makeup.

We all have some form of gray in our hair. and considering our mother managed to sprout greys before our grandfather, I'm not sure if it's hereditary or if it's due to the stress of it all. The stress of Liora working several jobs, Emmeline worrying about money, and mother worried about faith and her lack of intimacy with father who, if we were lucky, only ever visited the day after holidays. However, in this moment, Liora's makes our grays it look beyond presentable.

One would rightfully assume that 'Liora' bore the most gray as she works ten times as much. But, for some reason, it is me whose thick curly locs were entirely silver. And Liora had been correct upon stating that all I really do, besides professional mourning, is pray and work at the church. Something that shouldn't age my locks like so. And yet it is willed.

"Besides," Liora continues. "If grandfather saw you right now he wouldn't dare let you ruin that makeup." She glances at me once more before diverting her eyes again. "Goodness, if anyone saw you right now, they'd be bawling enough for the both of you. Now, that would be a much better waste of tears. You're a natural at this prissy stuff."

My heart nearly pauses. What a beautiful compliment she has given me. Even though she's trying to be nonchalant about it, and for some odd reason she can't look me in my eyes anymore.

My excitement nearly topples my breasts out the curve of my bodice, each breath now noticeable as my bosom is emphasized in this dress. And I rush to hug my sister a bit too tightly. All right, a bit excited as well. I, Marisette Charity Ashwood, am 'excited' to go the ball with my sister Liora. I clasp her hands and give a small leap, suddenly noticing the mud beneath us splashing wildly.

"Oh dear, we'd better watch our dresses. Come on then!" I say and she keeps up as best as someone being yanked could as we press forward onward to the aloof Duke's estate.

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The ball

A symphony of horns can be heard as we make our way up the grand driveway by foot. It took us several minutes to get this far and yet this is just the beginning of the property. We still have several hedges and muted fades of burgundy flower beds to get through. A round patch of grass centerpieces the driveway and a fountain at the heart of the patch. Then, a short walkway with elevated flower pots in the same colors as the flower bed, with torches placed between the gaps, lines either side of the strip leading up to the main staircase. Only then will we reach the main entrance. And, good gracious, is it an entrance.

The Mansion is set in a smokey stone a deeper shade of gray. It's roof adorned with many chimneys and I can only imagine that every room must have a fireplace. It's long symmetrical windows appear the size of doors. The portico columned in the same gray that led to the main staircase. The grand staircase peels outward like an open bodice. Its shiny steps look to be made of marble. Its shiny steps look as if my heels will slip on them with little effort at all.

The short fanfare of the horns plays out again, catching the attention of the attendees.

"Ladies and gentlemen, presenting Mr. Will Mondrich, esteemed boxer and entrepreneur!" The announcer declares. Then another not soon after. "Ladies and gentlemen presenting Lady Danbury!"

I instinctively find myself gripping Lioras hand. And surprisingly she grips it back.

"If there was ever a time that I thought this invitation sank in enough, it does not compare to this moment right now." I whisper.

"Ladies and gentlemen, presenting Viscount Anthony Bridgerton and Viscountess Kate Bridgerton!" The announcers voice beckons.

"You'll be fine." Liora says. "These folks are nothing to stress over. You'll see that soon enough." Liora was the one who spent the most time with father as her mother was a maid for the Duke that he worked for. She, of all of us, would know what these people are like more than anyone.

Liora would often tell us the horror stories her mother had to endure while serving the upper class. The strangest one being collecting handkerchiefs full of the Duke's semen. Handkerchiefs which has been oddly discarded and then further washing the fluid off of them by hand. So, I believe her when she says that the wealthy are, in fact, a 'strange' bunch. Still, they are rather imposing.

After a shuffle the horses inch up like clockwork. There are just so many carriages–it appears as if we are the only attendees arriving on foot.

The horns ring out again, this time introducing the couple directly in front of us.

"ladies and gentlemen presenting the Duke and duchess of Hasti–"

"L–Liora," My bossom feel tight against my the solid fabric that laces my chest with the way that I'm just about hyperventilating now. I look directly to Liora for some sort of respite. "We are next aren't we–us?" I ask just as a couple before us enters.

"I mean, there's no one else ahead of us, so I guess so." She states.

So we stand there near the closed double doors and we wait and we stand and we wait some more. And we would have stayed and waited longer if Liora hadn't cleared her throat.

"Excuse me," I approach a woman who appears to be a butler. "She and I–well we are here for the party."

"This is a 'grand' ball." The butler's posture never falters. Her hands behind her back and she's as stiff as a board, her eyes looking down on us. "I must insist upon seeing your invitation, if you indeed have one. Surely, you have an invitation to present?"

I pull the folded paper out of my bosom and she snatches it from me rather roughly. The butler takes a long moment to examine it. Long enough for me to examine her attire.

She's wearing a red and black tailcoat even though I'm sure she is a woman. She even has pants and a white wig to match. The bow tie is even a deep shade of red. If I weren't so sure that her breasts were staring back at me, I would swear that she were, well, a man.

"You let those downturned eyes dance over the letters all you like; it still won't change what's inked in the font." Liora steps in front of me. "Nor will it change the author who penned it. It seems my dear sister and I were 'personally' invited by the Duke, and I fear he'd be upset if he found out you were holding up his guests. Guests that somehow make him appear more 'charitable'."

The butler hands the invitation back and sighs.

"All right, open the doors." She instructs the guards and they do. But there are no horns. There is no announcement. Instead we make our way inside. The butler hasting our pace by pushing along our backsides.

The bright lights of the ball hit me and I am too stunned to even speak. Then the smell. Notes of citrus and orange blend seemed to be a favorite perfume amongst the women. The men smell of lavender and rosemary. Just like father.

"Marisette," Liora calls. Or I believe so.

The grand ballroom at night is what all of the fairy tales said it would be. Shades of red and black are washed with the soft glow of the chandeliers. The chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling drip with crystals, reflecting on to about every shiny object in the room.

The fuzzy glow of tall candelabras on tables flicker their shadows along the walls. And the walls themselves are draped with heavy, elegant curtains in deep burgundy and royal purple, framing the very tall windows that present a clear view of the night sky.

The polished marble floor seems to glitter underfoot, reflecting the not only the chandelier but and the movement of the guests. Finally, Tables are set with fine china, crystal glasses, and silverware, with floral centerpieces in matching hues of red. Plush chairs, in the deepest red, have velvet upholstery in dark tones and look more comfortable than any bed I've ever dreamed up.

The attendees, though, are really something else. Women in flowing gowns of silk and satin in complementary colors of red and black, with men in formal evening suits, some with intricate embroidery I've only seen in the sketches father brought along his trips.

A group of musicians are stationed in one corner of the ballroom, playing classical pieces on instruments such as the violin, cello, and piano. And oh, how the guests dance oh gracefully to the music when they're not engaging in lively yet elegantly restrained feels, well, nothing short of magical.

"A million years could go by and I still wouldn't be able to take all of this in." I say. If I spun any more times to get a better look, I would be dizzy.

There is an ice sculpture in the center, that appears to be…an exact replica of the birth of Venus! I touch it and the wetness seeps through the fabric stitched to finger of my long glove.

"It's really made of ice! Li–do you see this?!" I say, rubbing my fingers together. "And yes this ice, it is very cold."

"Mari,"

"Sister, what in heaven's name is that thing?!" I hook her by the arm and drive towards one of the many caged animals lined along the walls. The name plate reads 'Canary' and another 'Parrot'.

"Marisette!" Liora shouts.

I slowly turn to Liora, my breath catching in my throat. The sheer horror of our attire compared to everyone else's hits me like a punch to the gut. Liora down, slowly at herself and then at me. I gasp, instinctively covering my mouth with my silk-gloved hand. We do not fit in at all. In fact, we look absolutely terrible! The trim of our skirts is lined with mud, and our boots are tracking dirt from the puddle we trudged through earlier. To make matters worse, it appears we are the only commoners here. My goodness, we look like peasants compared to these elegantly dressed people. The humiliation is overwhelming, making my cheeks burn.

My shock is short-lived upon my newfound examination, when I notice that the butler has followed us. Her scrutinizing gaze takes in our mud-streaked skirts and dirty boots, a hint of disdain flickering across his face. The burning in my cheeks intensifies, my heart pounding in my chest as I realize how out of place we must seem to her. My cheeks burn hotter, the embarrassment becoming almost unbearable.

"Your dance cards, madam, if you please." the butler says, her voice lacking any hint of emotional depth. The butler hovers a wristlet in Lioras direction.

"A lady must adorn a dance card at these events, madam." She places one on Lioras wrist. "But I'm sure you are aware of that."

I have heard of these! Father says the cards attached to these wristlets must be signed by every man who chooses to dance with a lady that adorns one. The outside is even engraved with Lioras name.

I hold out my wrist.

"What do you know, we simply don't have any left for the likes of you." The butler finishes up the loop knot on Lioras wrist.

"Hey, I have a plus one. Why on earth aren't you more prepared for her, damn it?!" Liora's voice is deeper and gritty. And the butler seems well surprised by her choice of words.

"That is an impeccable observation, Miss Ashwood. However, I regret to inform you that while other dance cards have been assigned to additional guests, none have been reserved for you. My deepest apologies, the 'horror' of it all." With that, the butler makes her way back near the front.

"You can take mine, Marisette. I don't need this ridiculous thing." Liora attempts to tear it off but I prevent it.

"No, we must show some sort of class here and that has your name engraved on it already. It's yours, Liora, God did not will it for me. It's all right." I say.

She does not appear too convinced.

"Like Emmeline said," I hook her arm in mine. "We are here to have fun. I suppose I can still mingle, I just won't dance with a man." I put on my best face for her. Oh how I would have loved to dance with a man tonight. Even just one. However, if the force that be is preventing me from doing so, then I will try not to question it. Besides, there's no harm in looking.

"Well, I definitely don't want to dance with a man either…" Liora says but she's not looking at me anymore. Instead, her eyes are fixated on the long table against the far right wall that has what seems like hillsides of food.

"Right now, I've got my eyes set on something better than dancing anyway." Liora unhooks herself from me, and rushes over to the dessert table. And I gently saunter after. By the time I get there she has two oysters and a slice of chocolate on her saucer. And before she's finished making her dish, she's already stuffing another ouster in her mouth.

"Can you believe it? Oysters?! I'm telling you, Marisette, we'll never be able to eat this good again! I'm getting something out of this!" She says between slurps.

I grab a saucer as well. With my nerves working like this, I can barely think up an appetite. How embarrassing it was to not only go unannounced but also to be completely disregarded for a dance card. I do not want to question God's will… 'but' I can't help but wonder why he would keep me away from men on a night as promising as this. Perhaps it's a reminder of my reality. Perhaps it would have never happened anyway.

"This one is for Emmeline" Liora says stuffing a chocolate cookie into her bodice.

"Oh hell," Liora removes her gloves as the figs are starting to stain them. Instead she begins to eat with her hands. Needless to say, by the shocked faces of those walking away, Liora and I are not making a very good impression.

The women here are the most stifling. They're not saying anything directly, but they're not exactly hiding their expressions that display just above the fans over their mouth either.

"Liora," I warn. But she doesn't seem to hear me. During the few times father visited, I made sure to pay close attention to his stories and lessons on etiquette whenever he was sober enough to share them. And while I'm sure Liora knows better, she chooses to be the best version of herself, I suppose.

I use a fork to funnel the softest, most delicate piece of strawberry white cake I have ever tasted in my life. The sweet aroma of fresh strawberries and cream fills my senses, and the cake melts on my tongue, its richness enveloping me in a dreamlike state. Wait, I remember this cake, this is my most favorite cake—the only cake that I ever truly eat! Though I'm only able to purchase a thin slice from our local bakery every now and then. Yet, God has somehow willed me three tiers of it here! Who needs a dance card when you have a moment like this?

But the moment shatters into shock as I open my eyes—I nearly choke on the cake. My breath catches in my throat as I see Liora being whisked away, her face pale and eyes wide with terror. A towering, broad-shouldered man, his presence menacing and unyielding, grips her arm. The scent of the cake mingles with the cold sweat of fear as I witness the scene unfold. The man is somehow even taller, wider, and brooding than she. Yet, his steely gaze shows no hint of the fear that consumes her.

I can't help but giggle at the saucer that she's left behind and at her utter annoyance with the man who couldn't be further from annoyed with her. He grips her waist as if he could hold her all at night. And if he spun her around anymore, they would fly away like those exotic birds in the cages. If mother wouldn't be so opposed to these events, she would be relieved to see this moment of Liora, as lady-like as possible, with a man.

How I do wish Emmeline was here, she would have loved this. Probably would have never let her live it down. Likely would have ensured that they exchanged letters before the close of the night. And as much as I hate to admit it, Emmeline would have probably found a wealthy old husband.

Emmeline's of age, of course, but still too young for my mother's liking. She's good with men, great with them actually. Much better than I am. She studies them– she knows exactly what to do to push their buttons. Things I can only dream to know. But, mother has a vision for how and whom she wants all of us to marry. As it appears, I will have to keep dreaming.

I hesitate and then stuff a pastry into my chest for Emmeline. This isn't stealing; it's free after all. Even though I feel awful about the act, I will pray to repent later just in case. But for now, I do this for my lovely Emmeline.

A loud clinking disrupts my deviancy. And as I turn to the crowd, Liora comes spiraling in my direction out of breath, her nose redder than ever.

"Liora i–"

"Do not." Liora warns picking up her platter.

"I just wanted to know what the commotion was about is all." I taunt… then snicker, and then chuckle.

Taking her hand we travel towards where everyone is gathered in the center of the floor. The Butler from earlier appears to be making an announcement. She clears her throat.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please. The Duke of Ravenwood will now address us with a speech. May I kindly request your attention for words from His Grace..."

"The host?" I breathe softly.

"The Duke!" The woman dressed in feathery burgundy, who had just turned her nose up at Liora not long ago, shrieks in the most subtle way.

"You think we'll really see him?" I ask, a smile playing on my lips. Liora arches her brow in disbelief, mirroring the exact skeptical expression Grandfather often wears.

The crowd falls so silent you could almost hear a pin drop as we watch the guards step forward. Both dressed in the same colors as the butler, only in a traditional guards uniform. A high collared red coat with a black trim and golden rotary along the straps on either side of his chest. Black trousers and tall polished boots to match his tall fuzzy hat. The guard pulls out a scroll and begins reading.

"Good evening, esteemed guests. I extend my welcome to all who have gathered here tonight. It is an honor to see such distinguished company, both familiar and new, within these walls.

As we dance and celebrate beneath the glittering chandeliers, let us take a moment to appreciate the beauty that surrounds us—not only in the grandeur of this hall but in the elegance and grace of our attendees. I find myself drawn not to the grandeur of the chandeliers or the lavishness of the hall, but to the subtle elegance of those who grace this gathering

And now, if I may be so bold, let us turn our attention to the fair ladies who grace us with their presence. The sight of so many resplendent gowns, especially those pristine dresses of white, reminds me of purity and new beginnings.

There is a serene allure in their simplicity, a testament to true grace that transcends mere ornamentation. Let us toast to this evening, to the understated yet profound beauty among us, and to the quiet moments that often speak the loudest. May we find joy in the subtleties and forge memories that linger long after the music fades. Enjoy the night." The guard closes the scroll.

The butler promptly interjects.

"Next, at the request of the Duke, we will make a toast before we carry on with our festivities." The butler proclaims.

"So, that was it, eh? And the man didn't even show his face. Can't say I'm surprised, though." Liora whispers smugly.

I will admit, the speech was well done but the result was kind of … well, disappointing. Even though Liora had basically told me so. I do wish The Dule would have at least showed a hand.

"Now, per tradition, several people have been chosen by the Duke to issue a toast, I presume?" The butler gestures to the guard and he opens a small scroll that could fit in the palm of one's hand.

"Or perhaps just one." The butler reads the scroll over the guards shoulder, her expression a bit concerned before looking at the crowd with a strained smile. She passes off her words as a joke and they all laugh.

"Are we absolutely certain this is correct?" she asks the guard, reaching to take the document from his hand. He doesn't budge, refusing to relinquish it. Instead, he clears his throat and prepares to announce the name.

"This evening's toast for the Grand ball will be presented by Marisette Charity Ashwood." The guard's words seem to slow a bit as my hearing fades out.

You would think we were in a cauldron the way the room fills with the rising tide of confused murmurs and glances. They might not have known it was me right away if it weren't for my sister pointing me out and smiling.

All eyes on me now. Me and Liora licking her fingers from the dessert. Me with pastries in my breasts. Me with no underwear on. A familiar flutter convulses near my belly button. Liora wipes her hand on her dress before clapping her hands and the others follow suit. And it puts me at ease a bit. She truly does know this lifestyle.

Still, I'm so stunned I don't feel Liora remove the saucer from my hand. Instead, the saucer is replaced by a glass of what appeared as a wine. Something mother only allowed me to drink on communion. Oh, how I wish I had on proper undergarments right now.

Liora positions herself squarely before me, and I find solace in fixing my gaze solely upon her. It steadies my nerves more than I care to admit. Instead of offering thanks, I clear my throat.

"I," I struggle to find the suitable words to say whatever on God's green earth these people say during a toast. The closest thing I have ever come to a toast was, well, during a communal prayer.

I suppose it's a tad too late to walk away. And if i do, our names would be more than the gossip of the century in town. Absolutely no one would respect us. Mother would not only be furious that we attended this ball without her knowledge but then further humiliated her… even more than father had.

I nod to Liora.

I shall never allow another soul to let her down. Not even me. No matter how nervous I am at this very moment. My family depends on me. Liora works so selflessly to help provide for us. And I did help pressure her to go anyway. This is my moment now, perhaps even a test from God. Success in something as simple as words is the least that I can provide for my family so that I am not entirely useless. I should make them proud. It is my duty to.

Thus, I resort to what I know best.

"Beloved um" I refrain from calling the crowd 'brothers and sisters' in christ. "We gather here today, united in faith and devotion. Today, I wish to speak to you about the nature of our hearts. We are, each of us, made in the image of God, and within us lies the capacity for both judgment and kindness." I clear my throat twice before speaking again.

"It is all too easy to succumb to the former, to view our neighbors through the lens of our own insecurities and biases. Yet, the Scriptures teach us a different path. As it is written in Ephesians, "Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you."

A few head nods bobble from the people who I observed were behaving the worst this evening.

"K-Kindness–yes… is not merely a choice; it is a reflection of the divine spark within us." I've stuttered– and badly. Have I ruined the speech already? Wait, no. There is still time to redeem myself. I have this. You have this Marisette. "When we show kindness, we mirror the love of Christ, who welcomed the sinner, the outcast, and the downtrodden with open arms. In a world often harsh and unforgiving, let us be beacons of his grace. I, um, I understand the comfort in hiding, in shielding ourselves from the judgment of others all too well. For many years, I believed that to remain unseen was to remain safe. Yet, the Lord has opened my eyes to a greater truth. In the Gospel of Matthew we are told, 'Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.' " Has it somehow grown hotter here?

"We are not called to hide our light," My eyes search just be on the crowd for a glimpse of the Duke who has bestowed this unbearable, tortuous task upon me. But there's nothing. "But to let it shine. Hiding may protect us from the harshness of the world, but it also prevents us from fulfilling our God-given purpose. We are meant to be a light in the darkness, a testament to the transformative power of God's love. May the peace of Christ dwell in our hearts, and may His love shine through us, now and forevermore." There, it is over.

This time, Liora isn't the first to clap her hands, and the room erupts in applause. Though I'm still getting dirty looks from the noblewomen, at least they're all clapping for me for now and the moment can finally be over, so they can divert their attention elsewhere. Speaking of which, the music begins playing again, and the butler guides everyone to the back staircase leading outside.

"Marisette, you truly are mother's daughter huh? I didn't know you could deliver a speech like that?" She nudges me. This time I swear she almost appears to have a twinkle in her eye. "You really do spend a hell of a lot of time in the church." She grabs my hand. "My goodness, you're a little too good at this. We've got to get you out of the house more, little sister." She hugs me.

"Is that your way of telling me I exceeded expectations?" I inquire.

"You did more than that, ya know? You were spot on," She replies, making a posh motion with her hand.

We follow the crowd descending the courtyard staircase. Outside, the cool evening air greets me like a much-needed breeze, a welcome relief from the sheer terror of that speech. The steps are steep, and from this height, I can oversee parts of the garden. It's divided in half: one side a traditional courtyard, the other a labyrinth of hedges. At the end of the maze, a few glowing lanterns cast a soft light, and the delicate strains of a harpist's music float through the air entwined with the scent of blooming flowers and fresh earth.

"This is what they call a dramatic flourish." Liora points to the center of the yard. "Everyone, takes up a candle must find their way to the harpist." Liora remarks after the butler hands her a candle from the table by the door. "A midnight serenade in the garden."

"And then… what?" I inquire curiously, placing the wine on a nearby waitress's platter. I wouldn't dare to drink it—I'm not much of a fan of wine anyway.

"And then," Liora shrugs. "They sit around and listen to them play. That's it. Entertaining right?" Even though I get the slightest notion that she's being sarcastic, it sounds entertaining to me at least.

I stop in front of the butler, waiting for my candle and she hands me one so melted that it seems just two flickers away from being scrapped.

This time I don't question it. It's just evidently clear that she simply cannot be bothered with me. Besides, Liora has one and I'll just use hers if anything happens to mine.

"Well if this is all, then we should surely leave after. Mother tends to wake up earlier on Sundays" I say, carefully hiking up the skirt of my dress with each step down the marble staircase.

"You really are your mother's clone, aren't you? But if you insist, mother dear, we'll go home early." Liora quips as we reach the bottom.

As wildly unkempt as the garden is, it's still more impressive than anything I've ever seen. And the smell—well, at least it doesn't reek of manure. But nice. Though, it could definitely benefit from a few flowers here and there.

The maze hedges stand tall with stray branches sticking out at various angles. The guest didn't seem to mind though as most of them were two sheets away from the wind. A sailors term I learned from my grandfather. After a long night of drinking, these people seem to be having a grand time stumbling through the maze, trying to find their way.

When it's my turn to enter, I hesitate at the entrance. The air is thick with an unsettling chill, and it's darker than I expected. One by one, everything seems to disappear straight into the darkness, as if the shadows themselves are alive, consuming all that crosses their path. The faint crush of the gravel under my feet tighten the center of my chest. When Liora steps in, her figure is swallowed whole by the black void, vanishing without a trace. The silence is deafening, and I can feel my heartbeat in my ears, each thump louder than the last. A shiver runs down my spine as the darkness seems to extend its tendrils, pulling me towards its inky embrace.

"Liora?" I whisper, and my heels feel as if they have lead in them. I suck a breath and dive straight into the darkness wih her.

"Liora!" I shout this time. "This isn't funny." I'm too embarrassed to admit to her that I'm still afraid of the dark. She's my older sister and she'll surely taunt me about it forever. Someone as old as me being afraid of darkness is as absurd as I know it is. Come on, Marisette, be mature about this and find a way to calm down. But…But Liora is gone.

I make a left and then another, hoping to catch even a glimpse of another candle as mine is just about out. One thing's for certain: I am close to the music. I stop in front of a sunburnt hedge, sparse enough for me to see straight through. Well, it seems I have found the harpist in the crowd gathered around it, yet I'm still on the wrong side. I'm still stuck in this hellish vinery of a maze.

I tried to focus on the music and not the twisted branches and leaves closing in around me like sinister, grasping hands. Yet the haunting melody of the harp only amplifies my sense of entrapment, making the dark foliage feel all the more menacing.

Drat, we should be leaving soon. It's just so dark. I should make the best of this, I suppose. One glimpse won't hurt before we head back. So I prop myself up and lean forward to view the show through the gap in the bush.

The flames from the torches produce a warm, fuzzy glow, setting a serene atmosphere around the harpist. The lovely gowns, muted by the dim light, seem even more beautiful now—almost like a painting, a very expensive painting. My goodness, is this what it's like to live this lifestyle? How is it that people so close to where I live can be so far away in terms of status, happiness, and lifestyle? It's beautiful, serene, and majestic.

Suddenly, the noise of gravel crunching behind me causes me to jump. Before I can turn around, I feel a firm pressure on my hips. They feel like….Hands? Not just any hands—these hands are wide and strong, much more so than my sister's or mother's hands that have graced my hips. A shiver runs through me, a mix of fear and something else entirely. As I pivot, the candle slips from my grasp, and I scramble to pick it up. My heart races, and in my haste, the heel of my boot kicks it further away. By the time I manage to collect it, the flame has already burnt out, plunging me into an unsettling darkness. The lingering warmth of those hands on my hips sends my heart jolting through my chest and my breaths are the only sound next to the eerie silence that now envelops me.

"Hello?" My voice is as aimless as I am, searching the darkness. My eyes are slowly adjusting, but I still can't see anything. It's so dark that the overgrown hedges form a cave-like shadow. One thing is clear to me, though—whoever was there is gone.

Today has been strange, and I already despise the darkness. Well, it's time to go. Despite the luxury, I'm already sick of this place. I think it's time we go home anyway. I'll try to make my way back the way I came and meet Liora at the entrance.

Hiking my skirt up once more, I rush in the opposite direction, nothing stopping me in my way that is until I smack into Lioras shoulder.

"Oh thank goodness" I place my hand on my collarbone. "You still have a bright light–"

Liora holds up a finger to her mouth. "This way" She says, pulling my arm.

"Jesus, this place is so unkempt. No wonder he's looking for a woman's touch around here. Or a wife, this place sure could use a woman's touch." Lenora laughs and I hate to beg her to leave as she really seems like she's enjoying herself…which is rare considering the stress her occupations bring her. "You see these skinny branches sticking out of the bush? There are burnt spots everywhere! This Duke couldn't care less! So, you know what we've got do..."

"Liora," I put my foot down and a hand in front of her face. "If you're thinking about spooking people as we did when we were children then you can forget about it." I never really enjoyed those days anyway I just wanted to go home. "I am three too many strikes done with this place and I intend to leave immediately." I drive my right heel deep into the gravel.

"Oh, would you stop being such a mother? One would think you'd birthed two heirs and were on your third by now." She leads me directly to the clearing with the guitarist and the crowd anyway. "Besides, you've always been a crybaby in the dark, never stop me before though."

We are.. here. She's made it to the harpist. "How were you able to find it so fast?" I question more frustrated than ever. I do not belong here, clearly if I can't even figure out a simple party game or what have you. "I'm terrible at these things I'm afraid." My ignorance is embarrassing at this point.

"My father was a butler also you know." Liora teases. "My mother a maid… and who do you think got to roam the gardens while the affluent were away for the season?" She says. "These people aren't good at this, they're just used to it. Familiar with it. So don't be too harsh on yourself. There's nothing skillful about this."

I can tell that she's trying to make me feel better and honestly I appreciate it.

"Just one prank," she begs. "and then we're gone—come on Marisette I need this so badly." She says, and I don't reply. Instead, I let her carry it out.

Liora positions her hand in front of one of the flames in a tucked-away spot, casting a shadow over where the harpist resides. Somehow, she remembers the spooky finger puppet shape she can create with her hand, and it casts an eerie shadow over the crowd.

It doesn't take long for the women to recognize the shadow and pull out their fans, clearly spooked. My sister's prank has been successful. I can't help myself and briefly mimic her hand gesture before quickly removing my hands. We giggle about it all the way home. Though my mind is not fully there. Today was just such a strange day. Of all days, Liora gets invited to a ball and she brings me? Mother would never believe this, even if we worked up the courage to tell her—which we won't.

I think back to the strange sensation on my hips moments ago. What could it have been? Probably some pervert. Maybe one of those exotic birds from the ballroom landing on me. Or perhaps it was nothing at all, just my fear of the darkness playing tricks on my mind. When I get home, I should pray it away, for this could be the work of evil, for all that I know. The unsettling thought lingers, the touch feels imprinted on my skin, making my heart race all over again.

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Party Favors

Liora and I practically skip home. Okay so mostly me, but still I can tell she didn't have to crack a smile for me to know that she was just elated as I. I needed this it–it felt so freeing rather than my typically strict schedule at the church. I realize mother was leading me to leave the lifestyle of a bed older woman at the tender age of my own.

After returning the wardrobes, we rap against our bedroom window but no answer.

"As expected it looks like the firecracker slept on us." Liroa looks to the sky. And the sun appears to rise in a reddish-orange blend along the horizon. "We'll have to take the front door."

Liora carefully unlocks the front door and eases it open. It makes a little squeak and I'm reminded that I should have oiled them the day that mother and I blessed the doors with oil crosses. But in all fairness I did not expect to be sneaking out to a ball personally invited by a Duke anytime soon.

Upon the second creak we freeze in place ready to be spotted by mother. But it appears that mother is sleeping, thank God. However, someone is up. And that someone is waiting gracefully by the kitchen table staring directly at us. Grandfather. And I fully expect him to scold us but instead he's giggling and he hasn't stopped since we entered.

"Don't worry about me, I'm just up with my thoughts." As I approach I noticed he's eating straight out of the pie mother baked the other day. "I mean if you won't tell, I won't." He winks.

'I won't'. I mouth to him. 'I would never'. I mouth again, I know he's up, probably trying to distract himself from his true yearning to be active again. However, Mother is so afraid he'll hurt himself further that she keeps him on a short leash. Afterall, he had been a sailor, a butler as well, just like father. Butm when he lost his mobility he passed it on to his son, Jefferies, also known as the love of my mothers life. Father.

I crouch in front of him and he takes in my hands.

"So, then," He coughs out his scruffy tone. "Tell me all about it– all about it and don't skimp on the details. How beautiful were the women, I mean besides you and your sister. I– did you see the Duke?! And is he as handsome as you've imagined?"

I freeze. "But how did you know about–"

"You know your youngest sister really has a mouth on her. One would believe she should've been reincarnated as a bird. The only person she's oddly good at keeping a secret from is your mother–and just barely."

A sigh of relief. Well, I do suppose that is the most important person to keep this from if ever.

"So, how was the Grand ball?!" he houts and I shush him.

"We can't talk about that right now grandfather." I say.

"Did you at least have fun getting out of this stuffy old place?" he asks.

My eyes dart from side to side. Then, I can't control the biggest smile plastered across my face. I lean my forehead against his.

"Fun can't even begin to describe the tamest moment of the night." I say. "But I must go before your hooting and hollering awakens mother."

"Wait!" He strokes his beard. "Please, tell me you at least pulled a prank on those snotty farts didn't you? You're not too mature for gold ole pranks are ya?"

I raised a brow at him smirking. "Of course" I say, and It is evident that he is elated with my response.

"I've raised you right then." he tilts back a bit as if to take me in. " What in gods name is that on your face?"

My palm immediately jolts to my cheek in a panic. It appears that I haven't washed it off all the makeup.

"My word, you look stunning. And my have you grown. It won't be long before you're courted, you know?" He adjusts the glass connected to a chain against his eye. "I just wish that father of yours could be here to see this." His sigh is a sad one. And so is mine.

"Fathers life is devoted to the Duke, remember? He decided that." I hug him. "You instead devoted your life to me." a kiss to his cheek. "So you can eat all of the pie you want and I will never 'ever' tell a soul." I say, this time disappearing the same way that Liora had to the bedroom.

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The proposal

My body thrusts forward into consciousness at the sound of a loud banging. The Familiar Screech of mother follows shortly after.

"Wake up, my dears. You will not be avoiding Church today!" Mother shouts barging open the basement door and storming over to Emmeline.

"No can do mother I have to–" Liora starts but mother promptly cuts her short.

"No, you 'can' do, Liora. Are you not exhausted from your efforts to miss church? No, no, no, you missed one too many times Liora–not today I won't hear it."

I hear the banging again.

When I glance over to Emmeline's cot, Mother is sitting behind her, gently running the brush through her hair, while here I am, for the first time ever, still in bed, my feet feeling as if they have taken a well deserved beating and my body worn out. Mother shoots me a disapproving look before moving behind me and brushing my hair vigorously. Her eyes are narrow enough to slice through the cobblestone along the floor.

"And you, I don't know what has gotten into you lately."

I dare not to tell her that she's brushing out my kinks rather carelessly.

"You and I will talk later." Her sudden pause causes my breath to stop. For a moment, she leans in towards my hair taking a deep intentional sniff then pauses again. And I close my eyes, mouthing a silent prayer for her not to notice anything different about me. And it appears to have worked, as she returns to brushing once more however, this time a bit slower. "If I was in the right mind, Marisette…I would swear that–"

"Georgiana!" Grandfather's voice echoes from atop the stairwell to mother. "Oh, Georgiana aren't you curious as to who has been berating our door this entire time? Or would you prefer to see it extend into a full on battle?"

Usually nothing disrupts mothers morning routine on Sundays. But right now mother's face looks more frustrated than worried as she storms up the stairs. Liora follows suspiciously. Me and Emmeline a few paces behind.

My relief at being saved by my grandfather is fleeting. Who exactly 'is' this presence at our door? I'm sure we don't owe any debts–at least not anymore…unless father somehow manages to rake some in. Mother opens the door to reveal a man dressed in a guard's uniform, standing before us. A familiar uniform. Behind him, a horse and carriage wait, and in his hand, he holds a scroll.

"Forgive me, miss, but might you be Lady Ashwood?"

Mother nods. "I am." How intensely she's looking at this man you would think that he is here to arrest the lot of us. "And there better be a good reason to disrupt our path to to the Lord's House."

"If you are Lady Ashwood, I kindly request that your daughter, who attended the grand ball last night, come forward." The guard intones.

Mother stares for a moment before releasing a laugh and it grows louder the longer she winds it. "Oh no, I'm sorry, I think that you're mistaken–none of my daughters have attended a ball–or what have you–as I've stated before, we've all just awakened and are on our way to church."

The guard pulls out a separate scroll and points something out to her. "Pardon me, Lady Ashwood, but is this not your daughter's name?"

"Well yes but–"

"And may I also inquire about the name of your other daughter who was assigned as a guest?" After the guard question mother doesn't say anything. This time, she merely casts us a worried glance before redirecting her attention to him.

"What does any of this mean? What is this for?!" I can hear her voice turned from confusion to pain. As if she's assuming the worst in her mind. "Are you taking them away? Are you taking away my children?"

"Lady Ashwood, I have indeed been instructed to escort your daughter if she is available."

Mother nearly stumbles over her own feet and props up against the door frame.

"Furthermore," The guard continues. "I am pleased to inform you that your daughter has been chosen by the Duke of Ravenwood to become his bride."

Mother grips her collarbone, her eyes fluttering one at a time. It looks as if she might faint. Grandfather uses all of his upper body strength to hold her up.

Liora and I look at one another. Her eyes are just as wide as mine. Only her mouth is hanging entirely open—enough to swallow a few flies. As for me, I'm trembling.

"Which one of us is it?" She mouths to me.

"I have no idea." I mouth back, but with a bit of a whisper. In an unexpectedly swift motion, she propels me forward. And I nearly stumble on my face before I reach the door. I'm still shaking and it seems as if my body has no intention to stop. I recognize this card, this was the same guy that introduced me before my toast.

The guards eyes lock in my direction and he examines me before lifting up what appears to be a sketch on paper, the sunlight shining through illuminates it clearly.

"Pardon me, Miss, but are you Marisette Charity Ashwood?" He inquires, and I give a nod.

The guard clears his throat. "I stand before you today with a heart full of gratitude, honored to convey the words of our esteemed Duke."

Right about now, the only person I have the guts to look at is grandfather. And he's too busy worrying about mother.

"Firstly, I extend the deepest thanks from His Grace for your presence at the funeral of his late father, the Duke of Ashwood, on the 4th of this month. Your attendance during such a solemn time was a testament to the respect and affection held for the late Duke, and it brought great comfort to the family during their time of mourning.

Moreover, His Grace wishes to express his profound appreciation for your presence at the grand ball held last night. The occasion was not merely a celebration but also a gathering of cherished friends and esteemed acquaintances. The Duke was particularly moved by the eloquence and heartfelt nature of the speeches delivered, especially yours. Your words resonated deeply with all who were present–"

"Funeral?" Mother's voice is soft and breathy. A breath she cannot afford in her condition.

"Now, with the deepest respect and admiration, I must convey a personal message from His Grace. Marisette Charity Ashwood, the Duke has been profoundly moved by your kindness, your grace, and your unwavering spirit. It is with great honor that I announce, on behalf of Duke Lucian of Ravenwood, his heartfelt wish to ask for your hand in marriage.

If you accept, you will become the bride of Duke Lucian of Ravenwood, and with that honor, the future Duchess Marisette of Ravenwood. The Duke believes that together, you will continue to bring light and compassion to our community, and he eagerly looks forward to a future shared with you.

Thank you once again for your unwavering presence and for being a pillar of strength and faith within our community.

With deepest appreciation, Duke Lucian of Ravenwood. " The guard closes the scroll, placing his hands behind his back as if anticipating my response. And I swear he's smiling at me.

Grandfather's arms finally give out, and Mother collapses with a resounding thud on the hardwood floor.

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End of chapter 1

-Written by Divinely Valentine