Come Back, Fred

The Beginning

London, 1830

Tick, tock, tick, tock...

The grandfather clock was the only sound heard in the sitting room. Darcy Debooba sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap as she continued to stare down at the tea tray in front of her.

"Well? What do you think?" Her mother inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Hmm?" Darcy murmured.

She heard her mother blow out a large breath of air. "The duke, my dear! Have you not been listening?"

Darcy turned to look at her mother sitting across from her and frowned. "He is older than Father was, Mamma...he flatulated in my presence at least four times!"

Her mother grimaced and took a sip of her tea before gently placing the delicate cup back on its matching saucer. "Oh dear...," she murmured thoughtfully, "That is most unfortunate."

Darcy nodded her head, her blond curls bobbing up and down. Her face also contorted into a grimace. She balled her hands in her lap and sighed deeply. "I don't understand why I must be married off at all! I would much rather grow into an old spinster like Aunt Gertrude."

Her mother, Lady Alisha Debooba, frowned. "Your Aunt Gertrude isn't a spinster, darling. Have you quite forgotten your Uncle Boberin? They came to call just a fortnight ago."

Darcy stared at her for a long moment as another bout of silence filled the room. ".....Ah yes! Now I recall! Ha ha, dear, decrepit Uncle Boberin. Yes, indeed."

Her mother placed her pale hand to her brow and sighed. "Nevertheless, Darcy, a husband is what every young lady needs to flourish in the ton. It is your livelihood and status."

"It is every young lady's death sentence." Darcy muttered in return. Lady Alisha glared at her daughter and simply shrugged.

"Alright, whatever. Call it what you want, darling. It does not change the fact that an unmarried lady is in need of a husband. There could be love too... maybe. I found love with your father, after all." She said sadly, looking over to the large portrait of her late husband that hung over the fireplace.

"I can only dream of being so lucky." Darcy muttered. Standing to her feet, she brushed the teacup off her lap and watched it splatter on the floor.

"Well, I must go prepare for the Buxley's ball tonight. Come, Mother, let us make haste."

"Of course, let us make haste." Her mother threw her teacup into the fireplace and stood to follow her daughter up the stairs to prepare for the ball.