Unbetrothed (A 19th Century story)

The Arrival

A landscape, captured through my very eyes. A moment paused in time, luring me to stay forever.

That is how the view called to me.

I stared out through the tarnishing window pane at the lowering sun. Its ray's blurred into a formation of colour aligning the skyline so evenly that even Papa might see it...wherever he is.

"Daphne!" The door opened and my gaze was already glued to my mothers displeased face before she could find my figure in the eccentric room.

With baby blue walls and gold dripping off anything it could touch, the fourth drawing room had been graciously gifted to me as my new painting room. And the easel that sat without a dollop of paint on it only reminded me of the eager paint-coated brush in my hands. I'd been meaning to start, but the sunset was all too pretty to remove my eyes from.

"Daphne, didn't anyone tell you? The Jackson household shall be arriving prominently, and—heavens, that dress shan't do; you've smeared paint on it!"

I looked down at the pale blue frock I'd been burdened to wear today and she was right, across it was a large smear of wild green. In the contrast against the blue, it looked as if it were the sky and the lands below.

The news of the Jackson household formed a knot in my stomach that I couldn't quite understand: For years the boys, Isaiah, Malik and Dante, tormented and teased away at my character. I found them egregious and irksome. I was the family friend who remained aloof and estranged from their gatherings. Yet they always found ways to include me in their fun somehow.

My face fell into a desperation.

"Really Mama? Must we accommodate them again?" My voice was posh and proper, exactly as I'd been raised to sound.

It was as if I'd scolded her with hot water.

"Really now, Daphne, they have been family friends for as long as you could walk. Besides, they're still your fathers friends, even if he's—" She didn't finish her sentence and the uncomfortable silence grew.

The Jackson household were all three boys—well, I suppose men now—who now lived with one another. Amélia—my best friend—say's it's like a supposed university accommodation. But before they became the Jackson household, they were The Oxley family, The Jackson family and The Morton family. The four entwined families—mine included—shared vacations and celebrations, and that is why I've been forced to endure visits throughout my childhood. They started when I was four, and became sparser as I developed into teenage-hood. After Papa died, we stopped gathering. At Christmas, chairs sat empty at our overly large dining table. The guest rooms became dust havens, and my mother's happiness faded drastically.

Caroline Axton had always been, and always would be a socialight. But Papa's death had shocked her into a state of depression, and her bitterness towards the world never failed to project itself in my direction. That is why this was so important to her; a reunion to celebrate Alfred Axton, Papa's life.

Even Alexander, my much older brother, was arriving for the occasion. For a man of twenty-five, he lives away from home, pursuing his business ideas in the capital.

I'd always wanted to live in London, but Mama flurries at the idea, saying: 'the air is awfully dirty there, you'd never be able to wear white!'

"Mama, those boys don't even like me!"

"Men, Daphne, they're young men now. Not much older than yourself; twenty-two and twenty-three, I last heard," my mother chastised in that familiar tone.

"Fine, but I haven't seen these men in three years, what on earth will I say?"

My mother gave me an almost apologetic look.