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𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐥
•••
BY DAWN THE NEXT DAY, THINGS WERE IN MOTION. Abigail had took the day off and graciously prepared everything that Amelia would need once she was gone. It was a day full of quiet preparations, hiding under the thankfully unobservant eyes of her family and their staff. They seemed to not notice her change in attitude much, but they did note her affiliation with Marcus, and how they were joined at the hip once more. All they could suspect was that Amelia had accepted defeat and was returning to her former glory of a quiet, obedient daughter and a wife-to-be. As if she was finally blooming into a mature woman. They were pleased, and as time went on became less and less strict on how Amelia acted. They thought they won.
Oh, how wrong they were.
It started off small, little bursts of misbehavior. Speaking when not spoken to, interrupting someone important at a garden party, and (a shocker) using her salad fork to cut meat. She had forgotten how her parents acted around her in the presence of others, those sickly sweet smiles and warnings with malicious undertones. It made things so much more fun to do. Whether or not at the beginning they thought her wrongdoings were deliberate, she wouldn't know.
One mishap in particular that really made her exhilarated was when her Father had a few men over for lunch. She had played the perfect little daughter while everyone was eating, manners exactly perfect. But her intentions were anything but. While standing up to shake one of their hands (she had long forgotten their names, they weren't too important) she 'accidentally' spilt the pitcher of grape juice all over his expensive suit. Amelia's Father was instantly berating her, but she was already satisfied. All the work she had put in was paying off.
•••
"'I WONDER, BY MY TROTH, what thou and I Did, till we loved. Were we not weaned enough until then? But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?'" Amelia read aloud, the poetry book in her arms dropping dramatically as her head rolled back on the plush pillows of the lounge sofa. Across from her sat Marcus, who tossed a baseball in his hands. He shifted his head to look over at her, blinking slowly.
"Thy happens to be quite-eth strange-eth." He shrugged his shoulders, knocking her feet off his lap as he stood. He began pacing, both of them listening to the clock tick in the quiet room. Amelia's Father arranged a meeting with Marcus' family, and by the tone of his voice he sounded displeased. The two of them were hoping that he had fallen right into their trap.
"It's actually a little daunting, listening to the paper shuffling in there," she huffed, "it is as if he had suspected our excitement and decided to toy with us."
He had been sitting in his office for three hours, making the two preteens wait in the foyer along with waiting for Marcus' family. They would sit there together, all hearing the news as a whole. That was one thing Amelia appreciated about her Father. He never kept her out of adult conversations, even when as boring as finances. He always said she had to "be top of her classes always, learn as if she were a boy." Of course, she wasn't, and her extra knowledge didn't spare her any misdemeanor.
"You act like you are about to be sent to jail," He snorted, throwing himself back onto the couch, making Amelia yelp and pull her legs out from under him. She gasped in pain, smacking him in the head. He just laughed, fixing his hair and suit before letting out a long sigh. With his relaxing she opened her book up again. They stayed in silence for a few minutes, Amelia busying herself with reading and Marcus following the grandfather clock with his eyes. They stayed in silence for a few minutes before he started up again, making Amelia groan. She bookmarked her book and set it on the dark oak side table, giving up.
"Do you think you are going to go to jail?" He asked jokingly.
"I think what I'm about to do to you might warrant an arrest." She grabbed her book, raising it above her head in a warning way, making his hands shoot up before he realized she just had a book.
"Like that would hurt. I don't know how you can read that rubbish," Marcus announced in his cocky tone of voice, motioning to the book in her hands. Amelia dropped it to her lap in defeat yet scoffed, waving him off as if he said two and two was five. One could not begin to understand poetry until they could relate to the soulful words of someone else's pain.
"'Rubbish', please. Stay quiet. He's almost done. You are as eager as I am after all." As if the man heard her, the doors to her Father's study opened sharply. After a shared glance, he quickly called them inside. Abigail appeared through the main doorway, the cheerful smile that was ever present on her face looking extra cheeky. She lead the Mason family into the foyer where they once sat.
"Ah, Amelia. How lovely to see you again! We were worried sick," Mrs. Mason started, then her smile dropped with an edge as she peered up at her husband, perched on his arm like a lap dog, "weren't we, Nathaniel?" The said man spared her a tight smile before his dark brown eyes cast over to Amelia, making a shiver go down her back. This was the man who always spoke down of her, even around her family. All of it was brushed off as a simple joke, but she knew the burly man wanted nothing more than to end the partnership and find a richer family for their son to marry into.
Mrs. Mason, or Chelsea, was a short stubby woman with wide hips and long arms in contrast. She had a pretty face, chestnut brown eyes and a petite nose, round and tinted red by powder, presenting almost a fairy godmother form. Her hair was short, shorter than Amelia's, but pitch black. She was a kind woman, very different than her husband.
Mr. Mason was tall, slim, greedy. Amelia never paid into his looks as her entire being despised him, but of one feature that was burned into her mind; his cold, dark eyes that seemed to tell his entire backstory but never share the details- trapped in some kind of iron bar cage with no lock. Sometimes Amelia wondered if he ever felt emotions, as even when laughing with her Father, his eyes remained still.
Though Amelia didn't mind Marcus' family too much. They cared for her when she was visiting, knowing they had to because of the courting. Their staff was extremely kind as well, always letting her help out when she wanted, explore the back gardens and run through the halls with Marcus, trying not to tip over any vases in their wild adventure games. Staying at the Mason's house became second nature, a second home.
"Aaron, Chelsea, lovely to see you. Amelia and Marcus please sit." Just like that, the doors slammed closed.
