The Night Shines Golden

Chapter One: Goldie

Unrequited love is not romantic. It is not exciting or enthralling—it is just there, like a cold sore that refuses to disappear. Marigold Fairfax had come to understand this well over time. For every day her heart skipped a beat seeing that one boy, knowing that his heart did not do the same, she cursed cupid for bestowing upon her a kind of torture that she could not escape.

It all began on a cold, dreary day in November, two weeks into the social season. The past fourteen days had been dreadfully rainy, mirroring Marigold's own gloom. While many girls spent their entire lives waiting to make their debut at eighteen, it was not nearly as exciting to do so when the social and financial standing of one's family teetered on the brink of disaster (though no one knew), and even less so when one had no idea how to handle an unwanted spotlight.

"Honestly, Mary— would it kill you to stand up straight?" Lady Fairfax said as Marigold stood in front of her bedroom mirror. "You might be mistaken for a cowering peasant." She wrinkled her heavily rouged nose.
Malva, her eldest sister, laughed unkindly. "If you think her posture is bad, just listen to her attempts at flirtatious conversation—she stumbles over every third word!" Malva said, smiling over at Marigold.

"Don't forget how yesterday, she spilled her lemonade all over my dress while attempting a curtsy," Marigold's other elder sister, Myrtle, reminded her accusatively. "I haven't forgiven you for that, you know."

Marigold could only roll her eyes at her sister's complaints. As high and mighty as her sisters  might act when it came to courting, they conveniently forgot their own failures to secure husbands last season. Consequently, the eligibility of the Fairfax girls, Marigold included, was under scrutiny, especially considering their father, Lord Fairfax, had not been seen in months. Although Lady Fairfax assured their acquaintances that he was merely on a well-deserved tour of the world, it would only be a matter of time until everyone found out that he had actually absconded to Ireland  and built a life with another woman—a waitress no less. Without him, they had no claim to their estates or title at all.
This dire situation had prompted Lady Fairfax to push her daughters into marriage to the wealthiest lords they could secure, as quickly and quietly as possible.

"Mary," Lady Fairfax implored, placing her hands on Marigold's shoulders, "I know you have little desire to debut this season, and your social graces leave much to be desired, but you must make an effort. Not every man requires a girl to possess great beauty in order for her to make a good wife."

She hated that that was the only thing she was valued for, that her own mother viewed her as nothing more than chattel to be sold off.

Her mother smiled at her through the reflection, leaving Marigold to stare at her own reflection; at her plain nose, plain blue, almost brown eyes and plain cheeks. The only thing that wasn't decidedly plain about her was her hair— a cascade of soft auburn curls that when let loose, reached the small of her back. But her hair, as her mother insisted, always was worn in an unreasonably tight updo crowned with elaborate coils. So plain she was destined to remain.

Besides, there was no reason to let one's hair down in London anyways, she thought, as Alice, her maid, slicked the hairs that had dared to escape the tight bun she'd fixed Marigold's hair into to her head. The social season marked the start of a windy, cold and dreadfully rainy winter.

"Would you like some more pomade, Mary?" Malva asked sweetly. Marigold ignored her jest and paid no mind as Malva and Myrtle collapsed into giggles, whispering to each other.

Their sisterly kinship with one another was built at her expense, the two of them delighting in their cruelty towards her. Marigold had to admit she was an easy target for them; she was not half  as confident as her sisters. While none of them could be considered beautiful, Marigold and Malva not only acted like they were Aphrodite's reincarnates, but were also skilled in their flirtations to the point that it almost made up for their lack of beauty. In contrast, Marigold's own timid and often awkward speech and demeanor were laughable even to herself.