The Life I Wish For Me {Downton Abbey}

1) Counting of the days left

Just one more week before we pack our bags and head to London for my season, and I'm brimming with excitement. The thought of being the centre of attention in Mama and Papa's eyes, instead of Mary, fills me with such giddiness. I'm looking forward to the galas, shopping sprees, making new friends, staying up late to dance the night away, paying social calls, and dressing up as a young woman out in society. The stories Mary shared about her own season in London replay in my mind, fueling my anticipation that it will be just as enchanting for me.

I began to awaken as sunlight struck my eyes, a result of leaving the curtains open to welcome the cool breeze. As the sun crested the treeline, its rays turned the room to gold, a sight that always felt special, as if I were the only one awake at that moment. Rising from the bed swung her legs out of bed and slipped her feet into the waiting slippers, I approached my reading chair where my dressing gown lay from the night before. Donning the gown, I moved to the vanity table to freshen up with the washbowl for my face and hands. Subsequently, I summoned my maid to help me dress for the day. While awaiting her arrival, I returned to my chair, gazing out at the sunrise, and recalled the poem "Sunrise" that I had once read in some book from the library.

Oh, for the hues of the early morn,
Before the glorious sun is born,
Dispelling the darkness of the night
With rays of its pellucid light:
Gilding the mountain tops of snow,
And painting all with a ruddy glow;
Making all nature smile in gold —
A very wealth of light untold !
Streaming from depths beyond our view,
Through liquid gems of pearly dew,
Pendant drops from leaf and flower,
Like diamond lights in a fairy bower.
Glistening brighter with every ray
Of the rising orb of coming day,
Till all the earth is bathed in light,
Rending the sable garb of night.
And nature's voice wakes up to raise
A tribute of eternal praise:
A very wealth of song and sound
Re-echoed from the hills around,
From bird, and bee, and rippling stream,
Rejoicing at the sun's bright gleam;
While the restless waves of the distant main,
All seem to join the glad acclaim
To Him who woke eternal night,
By His command — "Let there be light!"
And from the depths of that vast gloom,
They came like meteors from their tomb.

Then came a knock at the door, followed by a query if entry was permissible. "Come in," I responded. As the door swung open, she stepped in carrying a tray with a steaming pot of tea and a small vase of fresh flowers. Setting the tray on the side table next to my reading chair she greeted, "Good morning, How are you, my lady?" "Fine," I replied with a sleepy smile, as her maid poured a cup and handed it to her, Edith took a sip, savouring the warmth and flavour. She glanced around her room, taking in the familiar surroundings—the vanity with its silver brushes and combs, the bookshelves, and the delicate porcelain figurines on the mantelpiece.

"Shall I prepare your bath, Miss?" Jane asked, already moving towards the adjoining bathroom. "Yes, please," Edith replied, setting her tea cup down and stretching her arms. "That would be wonderful." A short while later, Jane returned to announce that the bath was ready. Edith entered the bathroom, where the scent of lavender filled the air. The warm water and fragrant oils felt heavenly as she sank into the tub, letting the heat relax her muscles.

After a few moments of soaking, Edith began her morning routine with practised efficiency. Jane assisted her with washing and rinsing her hair, the soothing ritual a comfort to both of them. Once the bath was finished, Edith stepped out, and Jane wrapped her in a thick, warm towel, guiding her back to the bedroom.

She began to help dress for breakfast. She assisted me with my stockings, chemise, and drawers before lacing up my corset. My thoughts drifted to Mary, who was as comely as any lady in our family. Standing slightly taller, her long, wavy chestnut hair and coffee-colored eyes complemented her slender frame. Unlike most of our kin, she had the less pronounced bust, even when corseted, but I had been more generously endowed in those aspects—a trait, Mama often remarked, inherited from my great-grandmother from America.