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London, England 1813
Prim, proper, and perfectly poised- Betty Morrigan couldn't help but to feel like a total sham as she reflected on the person staring back at her in the mirror. Poppy finished tying off the last knot to her corset, running her hands over the fabric to smooth it out. "Wow, your mother sure does want you to sparkle tonight." She commented as the hundreds of beaded crystals bedazzling Betty's bodice caught the light of the crackling fire next to them.
Betty only rolled her eyes, "Ugh, do not get me started." As Poppy slipped on a pair of matching gloves, Betty continued ranting anyway. "She is incessant, always there breathing down my neck. She's always watching, Poppy. Always!"
"Oh, it can't be so bad now that you've got Theodore around."
She gave her ladies maid a pointed stare, as if to say 'you have no idea.' A deep breath escaped her lips as she removed herself from her maid's grasp. "It is so much worse, Poppy! She is always just... there! Watching our every move, listening in on every single conversation! He has hardly opened up to me about where his heart lies. I'm afraid his intentions are just about as clear as mud."
"Perhaps he is scared of your mother?"
"I would be concerned if he wasn't, Poppy!" Betty replied. Poppy dropped her hands to her side, nodding her head upwards to say 'huh, you're right.' She always was, Betty desperately wanted to remind her. "I do not know how much more of it I can take, Pops."
Poppy stilled, she hadn't heard that nickname in years... She could count on one hand just how many times she had been called that. Betty only called her Pops when the going got to be too much, whenever she was truly at her lowest. Whenever she was terrified or devastated or anxious... That is the only time the nickname came out. And that meant that Betty really was scared for her future. She was beginning to second guess everything.
Sensing this, Poppy looked to the girl, offering a compassionate expression. She reached forward, taking her hand. "Betty, my darling, come here." Betty nodded her head, moving to sit next to her ladies maid. "Do not listen to what anyone says. Even your own mother. I know that you hold on to the past dearly, but you need to let go. You are still holding out hope, I see it every time you catch a glimpse of him." Betty could only gawk at the woman. She thought she had been much more subtle. "Sweetheart, 1803 is long in the past now. It's dead, it's gone, it's buried. It's ready to be forgotten amongst the dirt that covers it."
Tears began to well up in Betty Morrigan's eyes. She sniffled, desperately blinking them away. "I can't just forget, Poppy." She said, gazing up at her ladies maid as a singular tear bled down her cheek.
Poppy pressed her lips into a very thin line, nodding her head in understanding. "I know." She whispered.
A comfortable silence fell over the two women. They sat there for a few minutes as Betty quietly sobbed into her maid's arms. Poppy could only rub circles into her back, trying to soothe her before she went downstairs to join her family.
