By Heart

Chapter 1: Charlotte

Henry Dashwood leads Charlotte out into the gardens. The night is cold and misty broken by bits of moonlight scattered amongst the maze of hedges.

"Mr. Dashwood, whatever is the matter? The party will miss us." Charlotte asks, rearranging her dress.

Henry paces uncomfortably. "You cannot in all honesty tell me that this is the kind of life you desire?"

"I don't know what you mean." Charlotte looks away uncomfortably, not willing to betray her true feelings.

Henry only laughs. "Oh, don't you. Miss Weston, did you not tell me how you wished you could be free of this hideous gown that your mother insisted you wear; how you laugh at all the girls who think that waving a fan and simpering at eligible bachelors is enough to be married by the end of the season?"

"If only they could look past their ill-favored countenance and reprehensible character."

"You act as if you have not been scoffing and mocking all the eccentricities that this society seems to follow as norms. You act as though you have not been wishing that you could leave and never look back upon this chapter of your life. And you could have that.

"You could have it all." He takes her hands.

"With me."

Charlotte forces herself to look in Henry's brown eyes, now simmering with passion and promise. For a moment, she almost says yes.

But could she? Could she run away with no second thought of her current life, her impending engagement to Edward?

"And then she breaks into song," I sigh in exasperation. "Because why not sing about your 'true feelings' when there are like twenty people in a maze walking right beside you."

Look at me. I'm sitting here criticizing a pretty decent, albeit a little cliché script written by one of the girls at my school. She's my age you know. I could do so much better at life, but I guess existing is a hard enough job for me.

I could blame Cassie for signing me up for this play. She was the one who told me that I was the picture of the main character and that I should 'totally audition'. I ignore the feelings of anxiety that bubble up when I picture myself on stage and try to memorize the lyrics and a bit of the script.

I can do this. I can totally do this.

"Hailey!" My mother calls from downstairs. "Breakfast!"

"Coming!"

I pick up the papers and stuff them in my bag. I steal a peek in the mirror to make sure I look civilized. A black crop top and jeans is what I'm choosing to wear to my audition today. An audition for a prim and proper duchess. I'm really not sweating this. I know I'm not going to get the role. Not when the great Diane is in the running.

I take a deep breath. I am ready. My day is going to be absolutely amazing. I will be unstoppable.

As I enter the hall, my feet touch the wooden floor and I see my mother in the attached kitchen, making sandwiches. Alison Rivers, my mom, has not changed much in the past seven years. Her faded brown hair is tied in a messy, hurried bun and her apron tied clumsily around her waist, stained with varying amounts of ingredients from both, failed and successful, recipes.

"Good morning, Mom," I call out to her.

She looks up at me and smiles. "Look who's finally up."

"I've been up for a while now, actually," I smile, proudly. "I was rehearsing for that play Cassie signed me up for."