Love's slaves

Chapter one

From the author: Well, this is my first chapter in English, and I haven't checked it as I'd like to. Anyway, as you may know it's about the XIX century and I'm no  history-expert at all. Just remember it's a novel and enjoy -God, I'm so nervous! Please comment.
By the way, one of the tags is #JaneAusten, because this story might turned similar in many aspecs -you will think it's a cheap copy after what i just said, but let's hope it's not a copy, and let's hope you don't think that.
With all my love and fake accent,
Daydreamer0014

There was once a young girl who, despite her age, always dreamed of becoming someone worth to be admired. That someone could only possibly be a princess, a wife, even though it was almost the same thing, or perhaps an artist.
Of course an artist would have to be somebody important's wife, because art was more like a man's hobbie. -and I say hobbie, because no pianist, painter or even the most talented dancer would be worth to admire if he wasn't rich.

This girl, Isabel, was someone's economically stable daughter. Isabel, was a great story teller, and she also played the piano, although it wasn't impressive. Nevertheless, she knew what she wanted, she wanted to be a member of society.

-Martin, do you know what you want to be as a grown man?

-Excuse me? -the child in short, dirty with earth pants replied

-What do you expect from life? -she insisted feeling mature for what she had just said with only 10 years old

The child took a deep breathe -I know what you mean, but we don't all have those opportunities, my lady

And that was the very moment when Isabel Dawford noticed Martin was a slave.

Born in 1804, Isabel was a dreamer. Daughter of a lawyer and a needlewoman, she lived in a cottage next to a factory where, as she got to know once older, children like Martin have been sold to.

It was August 23rd, 1818, Isabel's first ball.

-Martin, Martin! -she screamed hopeless at finding him

-What is it?, Miss.Dawford

-Please don't call me like that, Martin.

-I don't like it, indeed, but I must get used to it. -he said

-Sir, haven't you even looked at my dress

-Indeed, are you going somewhere special?

-Don't play the fool at me, Martin

-Never, miss Dawford -he replied, showing that shining smile that he had

-As a matter of fact, tonight's my ball

-Your ball? -he asked surprised -May I say you'll get a husband quite fast if you wear this stunning dress

-Oh, Martin. You are lucky, you may not see it, but don't you think you have at least some dignity? Women don't, but don't get me wrong. I have always wanted to marry someone, kiss him under the light of a full moon after a tiring ball, but now, it all feels so... empty -she said while walking with her friend away from the cottage where grass was already knee-high

-If I may, my dearest friend, it seems like you have read many novels

-Martin... -she complaint, hitting his shoulder very carefully and friendly

-All I can say is that you must be careful who you dance with

-I would only dance with you, sir. Please, may we practise one last time?

-I'm afraid i don't have enough time for that, perhaps you will have to dance alone if you don't win the race -the young man said before he started running back to the factory