Forbidden Enchantment

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉ℯ𝓇 1

     ༻𝟏𝟏 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫༺

I am seated in the back of the trap, squeezed between my elder brother and younger sister, as the autumn breeze playfully tousles my carefully pinned hair. Adding to my discomfort, Mother insisted I wear the most stifling dress from my wardrobe. My fingers discreetly reach up to adjust the collar, feeling as though it might strangle me if left any tighter. I discreetly unbutton the top button until Mother's sharp gaze fixes upon me. It's as though she has a sixth sense for detecting any deviation from her expectations.

"Esther, button your collar this instant! This is not the time for your whims!" she admonishes loudly, her voice carrying a note of embarrassment over a single button undone as if that would be enough to soil the Hawthorn name. With an irritated sigh, I hastily redo the top button of my dress. Meanwhile, Vincent shoots me a knowing glance, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. I recognize that look all too well—it's the same expression he wears when he's about to say something that will displease Mother and Father.

"Yeah, Esther! Don't be so ruthless," he quips, chuckling at his own jest, a reference to how limitless I was as a child; always on a new adventure, a habit Mama and Papa adored about me despite the trouble I constantly got myself into. After a moment, Father finally interjects, his gaze fixed on the road ahead and the reins of the trap in his hands.

"That's enough, Vincent," Father states firmly. Vincent's laughter quickly subsides, and he awkwardly shifts his attention to the passing scenery, familiar buildings we've seen all our lives. Mother's lips are tightly pursed, not in anger but in a suppressed amusement she chooses not to display.

"Who cares? This Mr. Ludwig fellow is probably quite odious anyway," Myra pipes up with a shrug, eliciting chuckles from us all. Despite being much younger than Vincent and me, she possesses a knack for timing her remarks to bring laughter. It's something I can't help but envy her for.

Turning my gaze ahead, I spy the imposing Ludwig estate. Mother and Father have divulged little about the man, but I know their intentions—a suitable match for me. Yet, I harbor no enthusiasm for it, my heart longing instead for independence and adventure rather than a loveless marriage for the sake of societal expectations and reproduction. Alas, my fate is predetermined, my every move dictated by the confines of high society's expectations for a young lady of my station like a leash upon a dog's neck.

As the trap comes to a halt in front of the Ludwig estate, Vincent swiftly alights and assists Myra in descending from her seat before darting off. Papa follows suit, offering his hand to Mama as she gracefully disembarks, leaving me to manage on my own. It's a familiar scenario, one I've grown accustomed to over time. Vincent's penchant for rebellion only seems to grow with each passing day, a trait I fear for his future wife to contend with.

Papa raps sharply on the front door thrice, while Mama fusses over every detail of my appearance. She adjusts my dress to perfection and attempts to rectify the tousled state of my carefully pinned hair, all the while maintaining her impeccable poise. Vincent and Myra hover awkwardly in the background, mindful not to interfere with Mama's meticulous, impulsive preparations.

After a brief wait, the door swings open, revealing the head butler awaiting our arrival.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorn, we've been expecting you. Please, do come in. Allow me to escort you to the parlor," he announces, stepping aside to allow us entry into the grand foyer. I briefly admire the exquisite craftsmanship of the architecture before Mama takes hold of my hand, ushering me towards the parlor where Mr. and Mrs. Carver eagerly await our arrival.

Mrs. Carver rises gracefully from the velvet-upholstered armchair she occupied earlier, enveloping Mama in a gentle embrace, while Mr. Carver greets Papa with a simple yet authoritative handshake. Once Mrs. Carver releases Mama, she turns her attention to me.