Dandelions

The Welcoming Ball

The sun filtered through the enormous windows of the Fitzroy estate, casting light across my room as I stared at myself in the mirror, a deep frown etched on my face. I was not in the mood for today.

Outside, the carriage stood waiting with Margaret and the coachman patiently attending. Inside, I was having the daily battle with my wardrobe. I had just slipped on a pair of trousers—my preferred attire, for trousers were practical, and I had absolutely no intention of being suffocated in lace today.

I was expected to get my dress from the seamstress for the duke's ball this evening. I tried to protest but it always was futile. Father threatened to take away my horse if I disagreed so I had no choice but to oblidge. And I wore my trusted trousers.

Marionette and Zuri, my two maids, however, had other ideas. “You cannot wear trousers,” Marionette said in a dramatic whisper, as if I was committing a crime against humanity.

Zuri shook her head, hands on her hips. “Lady Celestine herself gave orders that you are to wear something more… ladylike.”

I rolled my eyes so far back I could see my own frustrations manifest. Ofcourse Celsetine ordered that, that woman was out to get me.

“Fine, but I’m not squeezing into some gown that’s designed to cut off my blood circulation.”

“Lady Adelaide, please…” Marionette pulled out a dress that looked like it had been yanked straight from the most ridiculous fashion plates in the country.

I eyed it with disdain. “I’ll die before I wear that.”

But they insisted, and before I knew it, I was being stuffed into a gown and shawl like a goose before Christmas dinner. The struggle to get the dress over my hips was real.

“Damn my cakes,” I muttered under my breath. I had a love for midnight snacking that was now coming back to haunt me.

The dress got stuck—right at my rear end. Marionette and Zuri pulled and tugged, beads of sweat forming on their brows as they wrestled with the fabric. I grunted, “Are you two trying to murder me?”

“No, my lady,” Marionette puffed out, “but perhaps… if you didn’t indulge in so many… midnight treats…”

“I’ll give up cake the day pigs fly,” I declared, my hands gripping the side of the dresser for balance.

Zuri, gently tugging from behind, looked just as exasperated. "Milady, this gown was clearly not made for someone of your... generous figure."

Generous Figure? Really?

Finally, with one massive yank, the dress went over my hips.

Victory!" I exclaimed, only to trip on the hem of the dress from the force of the tug. I toppled forward with an undignified yelp, landing face-first on the floor. My maids gasped in horror.

“My lady, are you alright?” Marionette shrieked.

I lifted my head, glaring at the floor. “I’m fine,” I muttered through gritted teeth, though my under-eye veins pulsed with irritation "I hate this cursed dress." I stood up, dusted myself off, and cursed the cakes again for good measure.

"You still look as beautiful as always Milady." Marionette tried to lighten the mood.

"Beautiful? I look like a sausage stuffed into this blasted casing," I snapped, tugging at the corset that was already beginning to restrict my breathing.

As I made my way down the stairs, the dreaded gown still clinging to me like an angry lover, my foot slipped. I felt myself go airborne for a brief, glorious second before tumbling down the grand staircase, bumping on every step on my way down.