Stand and Be Eaten

Chapter 1

     Naturally, the trip went very, very wrong.

     Lady Annabelle Moore had spent so much time reassuring her father that she could make the relatively short jaunt to Lady Winthrop's home on her own that it really was something of a relief when it all went awry. It was with an odd sense of calm that Lady Belle, as she was known to her particular friends, reflected on the hours that had led to this moment, wherein the carriage was shuddering and bucking as it was brought to an abrupt, forceful halt.

     The shouting of mens' voices, rough and vulgar, permeated the sumptuously padded and upholstered carriage interior. Lady Belle's loyal maid, Harriet, had both arms splayed in an attempt to balance herself; her wide, blinking eyes gave her such an appearance of an owl that Belle nearly burst into irrational laughter.

* * *

      The morning had been pleasant enough, dawning with all the golden promise of an early spring day. His Grace, Duke of Cumbria (though most referred to him as 'the General' these days), had been wholly unprepared for the assault of charm and persuasion that Lady Belle had launched as she was seated at the breakfast table. The footman had scarcely scooted her chair beneath her before she unholstered her first weapon: She smiled her most winning, charming smile at her father.

      She had dressed carefully, choosing to wear a silk dress of cheerful pink over a skirt of cream and pink stripes. A surplus of ruffles and lace trimmings spoke to her affinity for feminine, expensive dress. In contrast, she wore a simple pink ribbon tied high about her neck, the ends trailing down her back. A plain silver crucifix hung between her collarbones. Harriet, her maid, had pomaded and powdered her hair into a deceptively simple coiffure that contrasted the complexity of the dress. Her cheeks were lightly rouged, appropriate for a young lady of twenty years.

     Therefore, Belle was assured that she looked the picture of femininity and exactly what a lady should be. She lifted her napkin delicately, draping it in her lap exactly as she should, her shoulders and neck at precisely the correct angle. Unfortunately for her, this display was entirely lost on the General, who did not once lift his eyes from the pile of correspondence he read with narrowed eyes.

     Clearing her throat, she tried again, speaking softly. "Good morning, Father."

      "Mm," was all the reply that warranted.

     She bore this undignified reply easily, and instead turned her attention to an attending footman. "Coffee, please," she said coolly, indicating her porcelain and gilt cup.

     "No coffee," the General barked, never looking up from the letter he was reading.

     Belle could feel her jaw tightening, and she resisted the urge to grind her teeth. Though she looked every bit a soft, demure creature, she had a stubborn streak that had driven more than one governess to distraction. She did not favour her father, with his dark hair and thick, bushy brows, but she had entirely inherited his spine of pure iron.

     "Dearest Father, you of all people must know how important it is to start the morning with energy and vitality–I have heard you say so more than once, especially to your soldiers," she said, all sweet reasonability.

     An affirmative grunt met that.

     "It is imperative, therefore, that I be allowed my morning coffee, no? I should hate to be flagging when I call on Lady Winthrop this afternoon," she said with forced casualness. She lifted her cup again, nodding significantly at the footman, who paled slightly and his eyes darted from Belle to the General.