Florence and Mr. Belmont

Chapter 7

It was summer. Florence was right after her 14th birthday. She and her parents were in their country home called Stratford Park. Lady Alberton, her mother, had caught a terrible lung disease and she had wanted to recover without the whole social fuss and drama. It was so far a boring summer for Florence. Her two older sisters Cathleen and Miranda were long ago married, while her older brother was still in Oxford. Her days were always similar. She had her morning lessons, she ate lunch with her mother and father, she read another novel, she went out for a ride and continued reading her novel before falling asleep.

One day her maid got sick and because she had no one else to accompany her, she went alone for the afternoon ride. She rode on her mare through the fields and woods and came back as the sun started to set.

Just as she was heading back home she heard "How was yer ride, Florrie?".

She turned around and looked at the stable boy. He was a little bit older than her, but he was definitely still a boy. "Come 'ere and tell me more, mi lady."

Florence looked around. No one was in sight. She walked past the boy back to the stable and leaned on the wall. She looked at him. Slowly her corners of her month started to rise into a wicked smile. He came closer to her. "You're a so nice-"

"Spare your talking." She said and grabbed him at his shirt and pulled his head toward her. His hands wrapped around her small waist and his lips touched hers. And that was her summer.

Florence did not love the stable boy. Blast, she was unsure if she even liked him. It was just about the electric feeling and excitement. At the time she had no idea how improper this was. She was young. And when she was young she fought that everything was possible.

***

"Bien, I was thinking we could practice the past tense forms in today's lessons." Olivier began in his flawless French. "Qui, I know you are no beginner and your grammar is quite excellent, Mademoiselle Alberton, but let's practice the practical part."

"Call me Florence, s'il te plaît." Florence said quickly. Olivier blinked. He had a feeling it was improper for him to call her with her given name, but he was the last to question it.

"Then you should call me Olivier," he said and looked at her. He didn't know why but he liked her. Well, he liked most of the people he met. But it was different with her. He wanted to spend more time with her. He wanted to know her. He wanted her to be his friend.

"I suggest you begin," Florence interrupted his thoughts in her best French.

"Moi? Non. It is you who must practice."

"I need an example. And besides, I talk all the time during our lessons." She was right. Olivier always had so many questions. Now it was her turn, so she asked "How was your childhood?"

Olivier blinked. How was your childhood? It was a simple question. And yet, Olivier's mind went blind. There was so much to tell. And even more not to tell.

"I think that I was very lucky," he began. "And..." his voice trailed off. Should he tell her his secret? Was it even a secret? Florence waited patiently for his answer.

"My parents... they died when I was a child. Since their death I have been living with my mother's sister and her husband." Olivier hated lying. But only worse was shame.

"I am so sorry..." Florence began.

"Non. Non, it's fine." Olivier quickly added. "I actually had a very beautiful childhood. We always lived near the sea and we often went to the beach."

"Can you swim?" Florence asked.

"If I can swim? Of course! I swim better than a fish. Do you?" He ran his fingers through his hair and looked curiously at her.

"I don't know. I have been of course at a beach, but I have never tried."

"What a shame! You missed all the fun!"

"It was not my fault!" She raised her hands and laughed. "They said the water is terribly cold."

Olivier moved his head side to side and tried to make a serious face.

"Right... They probably wanted to prevent you from drowning," he teased.

She grimaced and boxed him playfully in the arm. "That's a terrible thing to say."

"Not as terrible as your French," he giggled. Florence leaned unlady-like back in her chair and crossed her arm. Teasing her was indeed fun.

"Have I by accident offended you?" He asked in his sweetest voice and leaned forward to touch sympathetically her shoulder. Her shoulder was surprisingly soft and graceful. It's just a shoulder, he reminded himself. But his hand stayed for a split second longer on her. She looked down at his hand and reached it with her own. There was no talking. Just holding their hands and staring at them. The whole incident lasted only mere seconds. Maybe even split seconds. But they knew they both lost their sense of time completely.

***

Later this week Florence went with her mother to the dressmaker for her wedding gown. As she tried on all the different shapes and colors she was feeling more and more sick. Actually, she wanted to throw up.

"Why do you look so pale, Miss Alberton?" Mrs. Brown, the shop owner, looked sincerely concerned.

"Bah! It is the pre-wedding-nervousness," Lady Alberton huffed and waved her hand. "I couldn't barely eat anything the whole week when I was getting married. Oh! I think this lace looks so lovely!"

Florence looked at herself in the mirror. Was she ready to be a wife? What if she will be miserable for the rest of her life? What if Henry will be a bad husband or father?

"I want to go home," she said quietly, but no one heard her.

"No, no, Mrs. Brown. I think this pearl white will suit her eyes better."

"Mother," Florence loudly signed and raised her voice slightly "I want to go home."

Lady Alberton looked up. "Nonsense. We just got here." With "just" she meant two and a half hours. Florence felt sicker with each passing second. Her head was pounding. Her heart was racing. She tried to steady her breathing, but she was already fully sweating. What was happening to her?

"I feel sick, mother, " she began in a hot voice.

Her mother looked up once again from the different fabrics that Mrs Brown was holding. "Oh, I told you this is completely normal. Now look at this fabric..."

But Florence stopped listening. She could hardly breathe. She started to unbutton her sample dress that she was wearing.

"Florence! Are you listening to me?" Her mother practically screamed. "Now stop fumbling with your dress! You are going to be a Countess. A Countess! The very least you must know is how to control your emotions!"

Countess. The word echoed in her ear. At that moment she realized that she never wanted to be a Countess. She always thought she wanted to. Her mother was a Countess, but it was not the title Florence always admired about her mother. It was the family. The mostly peaceful life. That's what Florence wanted.

And then she did, what she never did in her entire life - she collapsed to the ground.