《A Woman of Repose》 The Timeless Fear of Lovers London - Spring of 1872 The excitement of James Percival echoed through his steps down the hall in search of his cousin. His right hand clutched the open letter, afraid this jovial news would disappear as a leaf in the wind, despite waltzing indoors in their house near Hyde Park. The breeze flowed freely but weakly through the open windows with the sound of carriages and horses, a reflection of how his cousin spent her days inside while still attuned to nature Before he opened the door to the library, he imagined her reposed on the daybed - not as if he had magical foresight but it was an imprint of imagery since she solemnly remained there often these days. In this profound exhilaration, James overlooked the noise of the door as he closed it behind him. His cousin stirred where she lounged, although her eyes did not open. Her black hair was braided across her neck and chest, and her light blue tea gown draped towards the carpet covered in books. Yet her hand held no volume in sight, just her hands almost pressing to her abdomen. ¡°Is it that time of the day so soon, James?¡± ¡°Heavens no, dear cousin,¡± James laughed as he approached her, his shoes knocking a few stacks of books as he reached the chair opposite her. She remained undisturbed in her repose, the sunlight from the windows gleaming on her skin. The noise from outside could not be found here and he realized the only disturbance in this peaceful chamber was himself. ¡°Father received news from America?¡± This piqued her interest, one brown eye-opening as confusion washed over her complexion. Yet she did not move nor sit upright as a lady should, but James would speak not of it. His mother held that occupation sternly and without understanding of her condition. ¡°What does your father want with America?¡± ¡°Darling cousin Kote, you are one to retort with your French pedigree,¡± James jested, only to realize the sensitivity of the topic. For a while he¡¯d known his cousin Kote her whole life, it was difficult for her to fathom at times she never met her parents. Yet he was pleased when this didn¡¯t seem to affect her- Kote recognized that her cousin had a terrible habit of speaking the first thing on his mind. ¡°My sincerest apologies, I did not realize I had a choice in the matter,¡± she smiled, her head inert on the pillow as she attempted to stretch her rigid muscles without pain. ¡°What news from America?¡± ¡°It appears the Daniels Company organized a temporary patent with the Crown and they agreed to our navigational contract.¡± His face beamed with confidence and light, which was not unusual for her to see as he was in a state of perpetual glee. The world catered to him and his life was that of a proper gentleman; safe to say a few side dalliances also encouraged this conviction of his way of life. ¡°The profits will be shared between companies and one of Daniels¡¯ sons was quite stricken with you.¡± James¡¯ desired reaction pinnacled at last, as he had never seen his cousin rush to sit up as violently as now. She winced in pain, her left hand clutching her abdomen once more, but she sat upright as if her hearing was correct. James warned her continuously if she pressed her hands there that London would assume she was with child and tarnish their sense of reputation, but here they were alone so he held back his reprimand. James knew she was not with child as she was not only a sensible lady, she never left the house. He also knew for a fact if she was here reposed in pain that it was her monthly, the time when her phantom pains remarkably increased ¡°I do not recall meeting any Americans recently,¡± she paused, biting her lip. ¡°It has been some time since my last social call.¡± She peered at the letter¡¯s envelope and it appeared to have foreign influence of stamps and markings. ¡°Ah,¡± James smiled, crossing his legs and leaning back, ¡°Father recalled that year we had your portrait done for foreign suitors. Your name and picture were sent abroad with the contract, and I believe the youngest son accepted.¡± Kote swallowed harshly at the method her cousin described her as if she was marketable. She acknowledged her circumstance as a woman of means that should be promoted into high society- let alone remove her from their hands after twenty-five years- but there were hindrances in a relationship such as this. Let alone the portrait chosen was her in her most common state: reposed on a couch with books. In pain, always in pain. She had to admit that dressed in white in contrast with her dark hair, the portrait was favorable. The artist painted a wonderful masterpiece to be replicated and sent to eligible men- mainly as business deals for her uncle. Kote could not begrudge him for trying, as her aunt¡¯s typical methods of seasonal balls and social gatherings did not increase her marriage opportunities. It wasn¡¯t beauty that hindered Kote, but rather the continual pain she experienced habitually that no doctor could discern a cause. Ghosts or phantom pains, perhaps derived from stress or her vibrant imagination- a diagnosis that filled her with dejection and anger. Kote was designated as sensitive or soft. Unable to fathom correctly the ordinary pains of a woman, let alone perhaps in constant need of rest- the doctors considered her perhaps the pain of the body belonged more to her mind. Her aunt saw her as an indolent bluestocking, and Kote wasn¡¯t sure which description was poorer. She wished every night her illness was some sort of unmotivation, that she would awake with the desire to ride again or gossip at the local social gatherings . Her heart ached for her horses, the wind in her hair, the adrenaline of racing against time. The pain never stopped, only ceased intensity at times, and not a soul in this manor understood. Kote was utterly alone. She was at least content with her uncle, who disregarded any conversation of the feminine body or mind, and acknowledged her simply as his niece. Yet, her uncle announced to her the ability to be applied as leverage- for a while Kote believed in the mind of a woman, her skills in language and business were favorable in these contractual arrangements with other businesses. Although this was the first one that seemed hopeful. ¡°Oh,¡± she sighed, feeling her hands become warm and humid. She glanced down at them, unable to meet her cousin¡¯s gaze. ¡°Is he aware?¡± ¡°Aware of...?¡± he asked inquisitively, which angered her marginally. Her life revolved around being ill and she constantly had to forgive their incessant lapses in memory. ¡°You are lucky I did not place a wager on your excitement, as I expected a bit more elatedness, dear cousin. This is wonderful news, chin up!¡± ¡°That I am ill- that my fortitude for bearing children is called to question,¡± she replied sternly. James clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he leaped off the couch and sat beside her on the bed. While James felt companionship with the only playmate in his house who enjoyed the outdoors and horses, the intimacy and heart of her being deterred James from full familial love. The words of his mother and father- of her leech of sustenance and wealth- created tension, and now here was her opportunity for progress and yet her cynicsm and doubt befuddled him. ¡°I am sure my father would not resort to placing you in a terrible circumstance,¡± James started, but Kote turned gracelessly to face him. ¡°Has your father met the man in person?¡± ¡°Yes, he met Daniels in New York last year,¡± James nodded. ¡°The man I am to marry... or his father?¡± ¡°Of course his father. It was business, my dear,¡± he sighed, shoulders tensing as he adjusted to also meet her gaze. ¡°You are too clever for your own good.¡± Kote leaned further towards the table in front of them, pouring herself from tea. James watched as her right hand trembled to pour the kettle over the cup, not from fear but the pain that seared through her blood and bones. No steam rose from her tea yet James sensed the liquid was not yet cold. ¡°I must be if that¡¯s the only component of myself to offer,¡± she murmured, sipping her tea. James didn¡¯t have the heart or energy to appeal to his cousin, and she understood that perhaps her despondency bogged the room to where it was difficult to breathe. There laid an underlying current that her illness afflicted those around her and yet not one pondered to comprehend it was worse beyond their imagination or their current coexistence with her condition. How hard it must be on them to fathom, and yet they wear it as a badge of their tribulations how much they suffer with me. With each silent sip of tea, she felt the pain decrease - which held no scientific correlation to her knowledge; however, she knew it would not last long. Her mind contemplated on this profound announcement and Kote understood her deficiency of choice in the matter. If her fate was tied to the security of such a grand business negotiation, to decline was at the cost of what little affection remained with her family. Kote was not terrified of declaring intentions to marry this stranger- she was terrified of what arrived after. A love marriage was never considered in her mind, therefore now it only mattered whether he was an understanding gentleman or a complete scoundrel. She feared but more than presumed the latter, as business dealings with her uncle¡¯s navigational company never comprised of men with a heart. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Kote eyed her cousin as he sat blissfully ignorant of her inner turmoil. That is how James always existed- a state of utter oblivion to those around him. It was not to declare she held no love for him, or perhaps he held not for her, but rather he was not a man of the heart and dared not to explore emotional depths with not even himself. He cared not for the will of others unless it affected him directly, and many times Kote found herself in desperate coveting to behave as such. She imagined a world that revolved around her without the thoughts nor emotions of others, to be unaffected. How it pains to have a heart. James held great potential but had a talent for settling for mediocrity. With an atrophied body and wasted sex, she despised her cousin discreetly for his inability to apply his skills and talents to the world. Instead, he appeared jovial to remain ordinary and inherit his father¡¯s business, without a thought or image for himself. His face was beautiful and freckled, his rust-tinged hair curling at the ends behind his ears and at the nape of his neck. Kote also admired his charisma and as children he often performed many classics and plays to cheer her up. It wasn¡¯t until later that James admired more an audience and applause rather than her presence, but Kote admired his talents nonetheless. In the end, James was the only person who understood her more than anyone, even if it was only a little. ¡°When do they arrive?¡± she pressed, the question emptying them of their imaginations. James glanced as if he had been awoken from a dream, glancing at her once more as if her presence was forgotten. Kote dismissed the inner thought that whispered this was typical of everyone. ¡°From when this letter was posted, I suppose they are already on their passage to London, but the captains have no word as of now. They are Americans after all-they will arrive when they desire to.¡± ¡°Are they so terrible, Americans?¡± ¡°Well they aren¡¯t British, darling,¡± he grinned, fixing the cravat across his neck. Kote respired heavily, for if James believed himself the pinnacle of male companionship for women above any American, she was fated to certain condemnation with her future husband.
Atlantic Ocean- Late Spring of 1872 The winds bellowed over the ocean as the waves thrashed into the boat, and yet Froce Daniels stood strongly with the railing. Grey horizons filled his view, a terrible acceptance of his forlorn fate in England to be surrounded by rain and clouds. The air was cold and harsh but the upper deck was empty and serene. It felt reassuring to hear the howls of wind instead of his drunken brothers or father, let alone the other aristocratic passengers. Froce always felt alone, but to do so in solitude was the only consolation he had. ¡°Mister, you must be brave with this storm to come! I recommend you head inside!¡± Irritation flooded him until he turned to the speaker. A sailor of great height, dark skin, and a confident smile approached from his right. At least his intruder of thoughts had character and a vibrant presence compared to those below, and Froce could not deny that the man was concerned out of his occupation for voyagers to be safe. ¡°I am quite content, thank you,¡± he reassured. ¡°Not much of a storm yet.¡± ¡°Suppose not,¡± the sailor shrugged. His blue oilskin coat and cap harmonized with the dark waters below. Froce saw the man¡¯s eyes widen faintly, his gaze catching a deep mystery. ¡°That your gal at home?¡± The past contemplation paused Froce from his initial intentions on deck, as he had ceased remembering the portrait in his hands. It was the size of a large postcard yet of strong material and a glossy finish over the portrait of his intended. His index and middle fingers held the portrait tightly as he braced his stature on the railing. The woman was beautiful- pale skin that looked velvety and smooth. There was an ache in her eyes that he noticed, brown and determined as they gazed at the supposed painter. Her body was composed against a day bed, dress strewn across all in white. If it wasn¡¯t for her eyes, Froce would assume she was content and happily placed there with books in her atmosphere. Something felt off....whether it was this exchange or the idea that marriage was marketed in a business deal- or it was the idea that he had his own secretive baggage buried deep down. ¡°Soon to be...¡± Froce nodded, throwing those negative thoughts from his mind. The sailor laughed, boisterous energy louder than the waves below. It almost shocked Froce to hear such glee. ¡°Soon to be- Americans are amusing!¡± The sailor approached closer, mimicking the stature of his ship¡¯s passenger. Their elbows pointed at each other and Froce adjusted his wrist to show his companion the portrait in a better light. ¡°My, she sure is pretty! Not as pretty as my old girl, but still! An aristocrat?¡± ¡°A Lady,¡± he shrugged, but agreed in her beauty and coutenance. ¡°Her signature was difficult to read. The titles of this coast are unfamiliar to me. I have met a viscount and a duchess below and I am quite terrified to contemplate the differences.¡± ¡°Bah, they all have money, I do not suppose it matters,¡± the sailor grinned once more. ¡°Duse.¡± ¡°Froce,¡± he replied, his left hand reaching under his arm to meet the sailor¡¯s hand. He appeared hesitant at first before a jovial shake. ¡°Pleasure to share an uncommon name.¡± There was a strange camaraderie on the deck of storms of The Lark between the two men and a disengagement of their differences. Both assumed the role of passengers of life, awaiting their new destination in England. Froce was also pleased to not be questioned on the origins of his name, and he granted Duse the same courtesy. Duse held a contagious smile that caught Froce off-guard but was not unwelcome. They stood in silence for some time, admiring the dark clouds and thrashing waves. ¡°O¡¯er the sea is where my heart lays, no storm shall dim the smallest of rays- the sun will gleam forever and on no matter where I rest my feet upon.¡± Froce wondered if Duse¡¯s smile could widen any further and to his surprise it did. The aura of glee that emanated from this man stalled him with a strange curiosity that a man could ever hold the weight of light in his heart. Froce envied him secretly. ¡°A song or poem?¡± Froce asked, attempting to light a cigarette to no avail from the wind. ¡°A poem, mister! It came to me without a second thought.¡± ¡°On the dot?¡± Froce inquired, and Duse replied with a fervent nod, although Duse was confused on the American verbiage but assumed it¡¯s general meaning. ¡°This is my last voyage. I¡¯ve worked here since I was a lad- not on this boat,¡± Duse clarified, ¡° but the seas are my home. I was granted a seat at the University College London to study literature and poetry.¡± This explained his earnest personality, Froce thought, and there was a sense of admiral pride as the winds grew stronger. ¡°You ever been to university, Mister?¡± ¡°Froce is just fine,¡± he clarified, ¡°and no- I was privately tutored.¡± The two examined each other, perhaps that camaraderie slipping for a moment as while the two were from separate worlds, their opportunities were staunchly distinctive. ¡°My father wished me to enter the family business without other distractions.¡± Duse nodded although he again veiled complete understanding of this voyager¡¯s explanation. Froce couldn¡¯t be more aware of this alteration of class and status on this voyage, for while he was a man with the privilege of his white skin and family money, he held no title. The several members of high society on this journey made the distinction clear, and yet Froce stood with another man of the working class, let alone a man of darker countenance, and he felt strangely reassured. Whether it was the poetry or the presence of his new acquaintance, Froce felt with Duse¡¯s confidence that anything in this new world was possible- as false as he knew reality to be. Duse was not deterred by their differences at all, and in all the voyages over his lifetime, this voyager was by far the friendliest. English were the worst, Americans coming close second; but something about this moment Duse understood that this man had a challenging destination. Perhaps a distraction would do. ¡°What sort of business you and your father run?¡± Duse attempted to also light a cigarette himself and failed with the wind, the two scoffing in mirth at their fruitless efforts. Froce¡¯s lips drew a thin lin at this question. ¡°Manufacturing,¡± he responded, this time needing a different disruption from such a question as he reached for the flask hidden in his inner pocket. He took a quick sip and then offered it to Duse, who quickly declined. ¡°None on the job, mist-Froce,¡± Duse chuckled, smoothing out his sailing uniform. ¡°What sort of manufacturing?¡± ¡°Nothing exciting to my dismay,¡± Froce lied, aware that his body and actions gave it away to Duse, who was intelligent and keen-eyed. ¡°Machines.¡± Duse was not blind to the vagueness of his friend, nodding and dismissing the secret as if he had not heard it. His grey eyes sought the distant land shadowed by clouds and rain. Fear set in within both of them at this transformative journey to set off on a new course, one they both felt unprepared for. Duse envied the evident composure of a man, and while he was sure the man felt lucky for such a beautiful women, Duse understood well that not all beauty was worth the strife. This man also appeared apprehensive about his business, as if a great evil lurked between the lines. An inescapable fate. Here Duse was running almost eagerly to university with a grief of his departing seas- and it seemed this American wanted to run anywhere else. ¡°You take care now, will you?¡± Duse asked Froce, returning his gaze over to the well-dressed voyager. The attire was common for passengers from America but Duse admired the way it looked distinguished and natural on Froce. He espied the brown overcoat and pants nicely trimmed with small embroideries he could not make out. Despite the inner turmoil this American faced, Duse could acknowledge he was well dressed tackling it head-on. ¡°My break is ending shortly and the storm will only get worse the closer we head to the coast. You should head inside now, lest you get soaked to the bone!¡± Froce nodded, no longer leaning against the railing as the two strode their way to the metal door leading to the rest of the hulls. The wind was now interfering with their steps and Duse held firmly to the sailor cap on his head. Froce tucked his hands in his jacket, feeling the cool mist and rain start to wet his neck. ¡°You too, my friend,¡± Froce responded, watching Duse remove his hat before opening the metal door. He could see the final view of the ocean, the two stopping to glance before their final goodbyes- whether to each other or their old life. ¡°I wish you the best at university. Say, you any good with sonnets or those romantic poems? I¡¯m not sure my American words will charm her at all.¡± With a flash of that infamous smile, Duse turned to look at Froce with a rejuvenated energy that Froce couldn¡¯t help but smile in return, as graceless as it felt. Froce never had friends, at least any that did not correlate with his Father¡¯s buseinss, so often he was unable to discern if they wanted his money or wanted to understand him. Then again, his Father spoke often how soft he was, how vulnerable Froce wanted to be... and yet Duse embodied that energy with ease. ¡°There¡¯s a teahouse outside the University,¡± he exclaimed, attempting to shout over the screaming wind. ¡°I won¡¯t use the same sonnets I wrote to my lady at home- but a cup of tea and you have a deal, mister!¡± Froce shook his hand once more, unsure of how the deal struck as equal, but satisfied with the opportunity to have at least one known person in all of England. He expected Duse to follow but he gave a small salute, closing the metal door with ease despite the storm. In a mere instance, Froce could hear the vibrance of high society as he descended the stairs to be accosted with the aroma of smoke and alcohol and his jovial outlook on the future vanished. He met his Father¡¯s gaze from the corner, a cold countenance and attitude that turned to utter disregard. Froce sighed, stepping aside from the stairs as a sailor ascended to assist with the impending docking. Froce realized with a swift movement of his fingers that the familiarity of the paper he had discovered survived the strong winds. The creases from folding the image into his pockets bent as he examined the portrait once more, observing the softness of her face and the shadows of her black hair. She appeared far too temperate and elegant for the likes of him, for while he never had much confidence before, the eyes of his father and brother now intimidated him to put his fantasies of her away. This deal and marriage rested on his shoulders, the heavy weight seeping down to his stomach as he entered the room of money and delight. How he wished to return the chaos above, to not be alone in his anger or apprehension for this future. Duse¡¯s excitement for his own journey washed over Froce with a reassurance that his own would result favorably, yet now that he returned to his element, he felt void and anxious. That was the problem with light- Froce spent his whole life in the dark that when he felt its warmth it was stripped away violently, designing a harsher version of himself. Freedom wasn¡¯t an option, and as beautiful as his fiance appeared to be, he would not find it in her. But if he did- oh but if he did! Froce feared the result would be far worse than his imagination could fathom. She Will Do Amelia Benoit¡¯s Engagement Party - Late Spring of 1872 Perhaps it was the bluestocking mind of Kote, but she often found that the conversation at soirees and any formal arrangements in London lately decreased their amount for stimulating conversation. Her eyes glazed over her companions, Amelia voicing her expression of gratitude for their presence for a fifth time although she could only make out the movement of her lips. The voices were all strung together and blurred as Kote moved her gaze to her empty glass. There were only remnants of red wine sparkling in the glass crevices. ¡°Yellow is such an interesting choice, Amelia! To think the color has transcended such fashion boundaries!¡± Kote had to agree with the sentiment of whoever spoke, nodding her head as she admired her acquaintance. Although she had the expectation to mingle with high society due to her engagement with the mysterious Daniels, she could argue for friendship with Amelia as she was an early riding instructor for her years ago. The two used to ride together in the park on Saturday mornings for small chatter, but now it seemed Amelia enjoyed the larger discussions of the day, which was of no distaste to Kote. Women found hobbies where they could in this life, whether it was on a horse or in a dress. Amelia¡¯s bright yellow evening gown was adorned with ruffles and an inner layer of lace, a lovely piece but the color was certainly new in London¡¯s eyes. The fashion changed so quickly that Kote struggled to maintain that social awareness, especially since she was out of touch the last year due to her illness, but luckily pastels were still accommodated. Kote adjusted the sleeves of her lilac dress, avoiding the growing sensation of feeling constricted by the pain. This time she could feel it higher in her rib cages, a clenching sensation as if she was gripped by a giant hand. The hand of God, punishing me for some terrible sin. She had a fervent imagination that she attributed to her pain, if at all to loosen the hold it always had on her. Kote felt her mind slip away and she attempted to reaffirm her purpose here at this soiree. Forced to attend society had grown her rather tired, exhausted in the hopes that her fiance and his family would appear any day and she had to play her theatrical character well. One who cared enough about the inner London society- which interested her but did not support her current lifestyle grimacing in pain and chained to a chair. To bridge them with high society in hopes of producing business profits across the Atlantic sea, yet she knew her family dreaded the concept of her as a steady connection. She had few friends- let alone Amelia with whom she had not maintained a firm association, and mostly everyone knew her as the beautiful but ill choice. James used to tease that there always had to be one sickly girl in attendance, which made her weep for days. In an attempt to cheer her, he tried to persuade her that men were often attracted to those attributes, which she punched him in the shoulder. To her luck, he only laughed more. The Daniels were summoned into discussion with the men concerning business, but fortunately, nobody had asked Kote about her engagement or their whereabouts. As best as she could dictate, it was not official until they arrived, let alone placed the temporary ring on her finger. The invitation to this engagement party felt forced, although Amelia and her friends did not seem to question nor begrudge Kote for her presence. They attempted to be welcoming and inviting, but it was always under the guise of small talk. Kote could not share the trivialities of being isolated from people and the persistent pain she faced, for it was not a topic to be shared amongst anyone at all. But at last, her savior was here. ¡°Pardon me, ladies, but we have some guests arriving.¡± James had snaked his way over, a hand gliding around his cousin¡¯s waist as he smiled at them, their feminine faces beaming in return. Some of these women, single, had opportunities to be courted by her cousin but he seemed distant at the prospect. Business was his priority and Kote feared for his sake his mother would be quick to force him soon after her wedding. Time froze for Kote before another full glass of wine was shoved into her hand, James removing the empty one. ¡°You¡¯ll need this, you look rather pale.¡± She nodded gently to her companions before following James around the crowd of dancers and music, their feet matching the tempo of the marble floors. Her throat was closing and she looked at the glass of wine, debating if an additional glass would increase her pain tomorrow. Her choices had to revolve around thinking of the future, for anything she did could ultimately increase her hardships. She cursed under her breath, taking a large sip as she followed James closely in step. James pulled her further away from the event towards the main entrance of the Benoit mansion, the music and crowd noise leveling down but echoing through the halls. Kote could smell the flowers that decorated the architecture of these halls, but the colors blurred as she passed them hastily to meet James¡¯ speed. She could hardly catch her breath when he spun around, looking at her with quickened eyes. He appeared to be looking at her curiously, her hair and her dress. He quickly looked at the back of the dress, as a common trait of her pain included random bleeding that stained several dresses and coats. She felt the fear of that instance as this was not an easy fix, but James didn¡¯t acknowledge or validate that trepidation. ¡°You look well, cousin,¡± he nodded in conclusion. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± What an open question, Kote almost laughed. She could feel the nerves attempting to bubble out but she composed herself quickly. Admittedly, she felt frightened and in continuous pain. Her hips now ached for an unknown cause, a sharp pain traveling down her right calf as if she had ridden a horse all day- and her head pounded as much as her heart. But besides the fear, there was nothing unfamiliar- and she knew as much as even her closest companion would ask, he did not want an honest answer. In her response, she merely nodded and took another large sip of her wine before James removed it from view to a servant standing dutily in the hall. James took in the view of his cousin once more, forcing a smile before taking her arm and guiding her to the front door. ¡°You are late.¡± Wonderful news to hear, Kote thought, attempting to keep her cousin¡¯s pace as her aunt¡¯s words came at them with a sharp but hidden smile. Kote often ignored her hateful words that were often disguised under a motherly protective nature, and while Kote knew little of her own mother, she would never treat her family in the same manner. James guided her up the small set of steps to the landing of the grand staircase, the main door open wide to the darkened grass lawn and the party behind them. All eyes were on Kote and she hesitated to glance at her aunt and uncle, standing regal beside the strangers on this marble landing. There at the threshold of the Benoit Mansion stood the Daniels family, a firm trio of men. Kote glanced over their dress attire, a quick and easy camouflage into London society, but there was a gleam in their eyes that spoke of that American fire, that desire to partake in the world around them. The Daniels father, directed to Kote by his aged face, was darker than the others as if he spent his days in the sun, and his wrinkles revealed her assumption It was a compliment to his hard work, although Kote would not speak on it- she¡¯d rather not speak to him at all. He glared at her with such malcontent and disregard, his brows furrowed but no immediate revelation was given. His beard was neatly trimmed and his hands found it as if he was pondering on a thought but did not speak. The three stood on the threshold, waiting to be welcomed into their new world. ¡°I hope your journey was pleasant and not full of hardships, gentlemen,¡± Kote initiated, bowing slightly although this was a slight in her eyes. These men didn¡¯t have titles, they wanted hers, yet not a single exchange of gratitude nor introduction was granted to her. They acknowledged her cousin James with a firm nod of their head, James smiling weakly in return but his arm wiggled around her arm tighter. The air felt thick and unpleasant, a desire to escape flooding Kote as she felt her heart threatened by this environment. Normally this rush of blood would cause her to faint but the arm of her cousin gave her strength to remain composed. Fainting or any sign of illness would discredit her thoroughly. This time she glanced at the two brothers standing behind Mr. Daniels, almost the end points of a triangle shape behind each shoulder. They looked similar with a hard face and contentious gaze, their dark hair combed as neatly as possible. Neither gave any inclination as to who was granted her hand, and they stared at her as if she were an object on display. At the mere thought, she swallowed loudly, attempting to hide her awareness of their perception and keep from reddening her face. The only desire she felt was to run away from there, to escape the silent observation of her newest family. The Daniels said nothing, and neither did her aunt or uncle as they waited. James shifted clumsily beside her, almost falling a step back before gaining his composure. The music behind her grew louder with gay activity and celebration, and Kote watched their eyes leave her and towards their entrance into society behind her. There was that curious gleam back in their eyes, and excitement at this new world, not at her. ¡°She will do.¡± Kote eyed the brother on her farthest left who spoke the words, and their gazes met before he continued past her with no further acknowledgment. The rest of the Daniels nodded in concurrence, following the eldest brother into the party of splendour. Kote stood anchored to the floor, unsure to follow but knew the societal rules that she was not asked personally to participate with her fiance as his guest Her aunt and uncle also did not reassure her with a warm gaze, just their anticipatory enterprise glee. They followed swiftly towards the Daniels and engaged in business-coded conversations, leaving her with James. Her cousin appeared quite bemused but buried it quickly with a smile when he noticed her gaze. ¡°Well, what a wonderous start,¡± he exclaimed, attempting to assure her but he knew she was more than displeased. She will do? ¡°Are you in need of a moment?¡± Kote couldn¡¯t get the words out, the spillage of tears threatening to flood if she spoke, but she nodded quickly in response. James brushed her shoulder gently and fixed a small bow on the collar of her dress before following his family to share the new world with the Daniels. She stood silently as she attempted to gather herself, the door stewards clumsily averting their gaze. Kote knew the Benoits as respectable and their servants to not pertain to gossip, but the mere thought of this interaction as a whole tempted her to tears once more. The feeling of being used hurt her, despite the years of training and learning to be valuable in return to her family. The Daniels didn¡¯t offer anything, let alone a small smile or mere question... and her greatest fear came true. This new family of hers would be the same, and she would not only be trapped in a body that absorbed pain but also a fiance that would disregard her completely. Kote could not determine which cage was sounder, let alone if either choice led to eventual freedom and acceptance. She felt the gentle breeze from the front lawn blow into her dress and looked across the lawn at the smaller party outside. In the front was a large corral, horses racing each other down the lawn as there were other smaller activities for the party members with paper lanterns, food, and frivolous drinks. Her ears captured the sweet cacophony of neighs and whinnies from the horses, and in that swift moment, there was her small taste of freedom. In a hypnotic haze, Kote felt compelled to watch the horses and she walked away from the building and down the main steps outside. She reached the bottom before wondering how she did not miraculously fall but kept her stride towards the edge fence. The strongest smell of smoke assaulted her but with a small disgust continued on her way. Several guests looked her way with a brief acknowledgment but kept to their lawn games and activities, and Kote found an insignificant corner of her world to watch the horses she missed terribly. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
When they arrived at the correct address without getting lost a second time, the Daniels carriage grew quiet. They were accosted by Benoit servants immediately, helping them out of the carriage and treating them as royalty as the family examined the wealth around them. Froce was sickened at his family¡¯s disregard for their welcoming entourage and motioned to his page boy to wait at a distance. The nervous boy, with bright blonde hair matched with a terrible cut, nodded with excitement and stepped back towards the topiaries and bushes at the entrance. The driveway in which they were deposited was adjacent to the large wooden doors opened inward but the first journey was the large staircase. Froce felt his anxiety stir in his bloodstream, his right hand shaking as he motioned to his brothers for a moment. They disregarded him and continued, and Froce went a few steps before stopping. His heart continued to race, his skin sweaty and clammy. In an instinctual decision, his hand found his lighter in his dinner coat, removing it swiftly to light a cigarette. He felt the relief and heat on his lips, blowing carefully to inhale accidentally and embarrass himself further. This was a disaster. His nerves were shot as he attempted to collect himself. The fear and anticipation that flooded through him, Froce could not determine the source. He certainly was not frightened of women- let alone the mere thought of a marriage- and the crowds full of boisterous wealthy men and keen observant ladies did not deter him. So what has him so aggravated? Perhaps it was the thought that everything about this business deal relied on him to secure this marriage and these connections. They could continue business in America with heavy pockets and banks, but this development here meant everything for the Daniels. He realized now, taking another inhale of smoke, that perhaps the fear in his stomach was an anticipatory discovery of his mystery- his own mistakes and sins- soon his rotten core inside would be exposed for inspection. Let alone bringing another family and company along with them. The shakes in his hand decreased, the smoke having the intended effect to soothe his nerves. The other questions flooded his brain as he awaited the crowd inside. Was she even here? What if there was a miscommunication in this deal? Would he be bombarded with other women and questions? With a deep sigh, he rudely used the sleeve of his dinner coat to wipe the sweat from his brow- an American custom he knew he¡¯d be shamed for without a silly handkerchief. A woman swiftly descended the stairs at the flash his arm covered his eyes, a cool breeze soothing his perspiring skin. The sweet smell of flowers- perhaps poppies- clashed with the smoke in the air and won, as he glanced to see a woman descend past him towards the lawn of activities. ¡°Shit,¡± he cursed under his breath, attempting to put out the cigarette as he watched his fiance continue past him. It seems he missed the entire introduction...He cursed again at the thought of his father¡¯s future assault, whether it was verbal or otherwise. What the fuck is wrong with me? He realized the page boy still crept beside the bushes, watching him with his intended package in hand. He took one hand to bear that weight and gave him a small thumbs-up of encouragement before Froce motioned him to wait once more. He blew this introduction and his small gift for her would not justify his terrible manners. It was unnerving to think that he recognized her from a mere portrait, but he had studied it for so long on their journey he would¡¯ve been more terrified if she stood before him and appeared vastly different. Froce saw her bypass the activities and drinks, waltzing her way to the corral fences. Despite her apparent fascination, she did not approach the fence but stood apart from it, watching from a distance with a silent yearning. She appeared enthralled by the horses if not for her stoic face, but her body relaxed and stood at ease. Perhaps she was not angry... perhaps she was the one who escaped before such terrible atrocities could occur. Damn, what did my brother or father say...? The crunching of grass echoed as he maintained a slow approach in her direction, watching her. Her lilac dress blew softly with the late breeze, her cream gloves smoothed over her waist in small distress. He eyed the scooped neckline of her attire, attracted if for a moment by her chest before his distraction grew elsewhere. While her portrait was of her long illustrious black hair that he smoothed over with his fingers when anxious, now she stood before him with her hair neatly done. It was an opera coiffure- not that he understood what this style was- with fresh flowers in the folded parts of hair in the back. She held such regal countenance with her lifted hair that also revealed to Froce the enigmatic appeal of her neck. A flush of arousal hit him as he attempted to look elsewhere, but his imagination did not assist him as he wondered what her skin felt like there, or yet his thumb gently exploring the crevices of her throat. The air grew magically hot as he shifted in place aside from her, yet she had not noticed his presence. Her side profile was marvelous, her face soft and cheeks with color in this outside environment. Her brown eyes watched the horses gallop across the lawn, restricted in their well-sized cage. She wrinkled her soft nose in thought, leaving him in the terrible stage of whether to interrupt her. Froce felt courageous if for a mere moment, but looked once more at her and grew tongue-tied. This was a terrible time to be in shambles merely at the sight of her. Now he recognized that fear and trepidation once more as he realized that his time spent observing her portrait and now admiring her: he was quite smitten. Which was a dangerous thing to be, and he would not encourage her to feel the same. He would not destroy her that way. In an instant he cleared his throat, startling her softly as she craned that beautiful neck to glance at him. He watched as her face came to full moonlight, an angelic image to behold. They glanced at each other in silence as her eyes glinted with curiosity as if she was attempting to know how she recognized him. ¡°Good evening,¡± he said plainly, and she nodded in return. ¡°Hello.¡± And then she turned back to look at the horses once more, disregarding him entirely. He almost laughed, befuddled by her disdain for his presence. Then again, she was not granted a portrait of him and he did have a different aesthetic than his brothers- which he did not wish to explain to her. Surely he didn¡¯t look too different from them to be recognized? They stood in silence once more and Froce smiled. The silence was deafening but not uncomfortable, just a heavy additional presence between the both of them. She did not seem bothered by this third presence, more so curiously perked at his presence- yet she did not engage. He had his work cut out for him, and he did not mind a little. ¡°Do you ride?¡± he asked, assuming her attention to these creatures was fueled by passion. She turned quicker this time, light and excitement in her steps and eyes before she paused. Her lips moved to say yes, but her answer betrayed her. ¡°No,¡± she replied abruptly but softly. ¡°I do not.¡± He nodded in thought, placing his hands in his dinner jacket. He felt his posture lacking and lax, which he knew the English would berate him for. He couldn¡¯t help it- this amusement was too much. He was not entirely sure why speaking to her now felt like some game, one he was winning and losing simultaneously. ¡°You simply enjoy watching horses, then?¡± ¡°I suppose.¡± To think about the anxiety of moments ago, her indifference only made him cockier, a small chuckle escaping his lips. If anything, she was making this introduction quite adventurous by either feigning ignorance or she simply had no clue who she was in conversation with. ¡°Is there something amusing, sir?¡± ¡°No, not at all,¡± he smiled, granting her a taste of her own medicine in short response. He watched her throat stricken with annoyance before turning her entire body to face him. She did not appear angry nor pleasant, but Froce could ascertain he had interrupted some sort of thought or moment for her outside alone with these horses. For while the two were alone in their corner, there were enough eyes-and his shy page boy somewhere on the front lawn- to not break societal rules least she not have a chaperone. Her stoic face was careful of emotion as she observed him in closer detail. ¡°I must let you know that I am already spoken for, Mister...?¡± ¡°Daniels.¡± Froce, quick in response, kept his laughter as the revelation was revealed. Her body tensed, eyes widening and lips parting before quickly shutting them. Her face flushed pink, a complimenting feature in her pastel attire. He hated how beautiful she looked abashed, and he had to promise himself not to tease so much in their relationship in hopes of seeing her that way consistently. He watched her eyes scan him up and down once more before he stepped forward closer to her. ¡°Might I know who has your dear hand in marriage? Is he at least handsome?¡± he teased. She grew aware that he knew of her observations, so she scoffed immediately and returned her gaze to the horses. ¡°I fail to understand myself, but so far the only aspect I have met with the entire family I am to engage with is arrogance.¡± That remark accosted him, but he knew it to be true. He realized now that perhaps teasing was not the best course of action, as it was clear that whatever introduction she must have endured was not delightful. His fiance also seemed stunned at the words that spilled from her lips, even if spoken in truth. ¡°I believe I missed the introduction party- I hope my family was courteous to you,¡± he apologized. ¡°They were not,¡± she responded curtly. ¡°They were also not articulate as to which brother I am engaged to, but I am sure they are more than pleased with the party and talking with my uncle.¡± ¡°I am afraid you are stuck with me,¡± he smiled gently. He paused, waiting for some terrifying remark of how she loathed being married to him or regret would spill from her lips, but she said nothing. Her eyes often gave her position away, as she seemed to be admiring his hair quite often before looking at the horses once more. ¡°I hope your journey was well-¡± ¡°I brought something for you-¡± they spoke together. ¡°Oh,¡± Kote replied, swallowing her pride as she seemed to cower at their simultaneous conversation. Her timidness and submissiveness were not appalling, but very different than the average American woman- at least in the larger cities. In it, she held tightly to grace and propriety, and that was the aspect he would have to adjust to. Something was appealing to this nature, although unfamiliar to him. He motioned over to the page boy who stood clumsily with the package, and swiftly the boy trudged over the grass to them. He bowed slightly at Kote, in which she smiled generously in return. Froce was jealous for a moment if only to remind himself that he was the asshole in this particular situation and was undeserving of similar praise. The boy handed the package to Froce and returned to his original and faithful spot. The package itself was abysmally wrapped with brown paper - Froce¡¯s poor talents on display- and in removing it revealed a suitable stack of books. ¡°I noticed in your portrait you like to read,¡± Froce acknowledged, yet waited for a response. She looked at the books with a gleam in her eyes but the rest of her face did not reveal much. ¡°Yes,¡± she admitted, ¡°I do.¡± He stepped closer, now within two feet away as he held the books in front of him. Her head tilted up to meet his gaze, their height a small yet noticeable contrast. This time she did not cower nor convey disdain, but a small curve of her lips met with a grateful air. ¡°They¡¯re American authors: Hawthorne, Whitman, and Lousia May Alcott- granted the latter is a dime novel which is a shorter and perhaps working-class material, but I enjoyed them nonetheless.¡± He paused, regretting his last statement as it felt as if he looked down on his own status; yet this move to London was meant to rise above that. The lady before him was certainly not of the same material, the same cloth as the Americans said. ¡°You also read?¡± she pondered excitedly, her brown eyes not leaving his gaze. ¡°Not as often as I would like,¡± he confessed, attempting to avoid getting lost in her eyes. It was at least better than admiring her neck once more, a stronger urge now that the two were closer together. Dancing would surely be a problem, not because of his lack of talent, but the strong desire to place his hands in improper places. He was not a rake- the term in London here was quite different than in America- but already he felt strongly compelled to his fiance. He was practically disgusted with not only his behavior but himself. In his heart, he knew that fascination with her was the worst thing to do, let alone this early on. ¡°I would be more than delighted to read them with you,¡± she beamed, looking over the titles and bindings of the books once more. ¡°We don¡¯t have many shipments of foreign authors often- let alone the novels in the library are often scientific and historical- not to say I do not mind those.¡± She seemed to be stumbling upon her words and Froce felt the pull become tighter to her. He had to sever this now, as gently as possible. ¡°Yes well...perhaps we should head inside, it is rather...¡± he paused to find the right word, but already he noticed the shift in her body language, ¡°Well, it does smell of horses, would you not say- agree, that is?¡± She made an amused noise but appeared to understand the hidden meaning in his gesture. With a quick nod the two turned back towards the entrance of the Benoit mansion, the rest of the party that was outside now gone. They didn¡¯t move forward, however, as he awaited her lead. After all, this was her world that he now belonged to. ¡°To business then,¡± she cheered, although there was no heart in her words. He knew that his sudden shift had pained her or reminded them that they were just a means to an end. Inwardly, he hoped they could comfort each other in that, but already Froce knew the danger. Falling in love was not for men like him, not for men with harbored secrets and loathsome motives. Love and poems were for men like Duse, who he might need to search out if he wanted to at least keep an agreeable peace with his future wife. He offered his right arm, which she quickly linked with a reassuring but pained smile. ¡°To business,¡± he agreed, the grief of lying sinking to his core and reaffirming his greatest fear: he would deceive everyone, especially her, with the impression of being a good man.