The Scarlett Maiden

One: Being A Mckormick

Chapter One

The Witherworth's annual summer ball was the occasion of the evening, the one that I was being forced to attend. They were almost as wealthy as myself, and their ball was the height of talk in 

town; the very peak of the every summer snce I'd been around. People all but gave their lives to get an invite to it.

Louts.

I exhaled deeply, resisting the sinful urge to roll my eyes.

I shouldn't have such thoughts, I was a McKormick after all, one of the richest families in all of Verona. The name's oh-so-ever important reputation was to be followed at all times, even if each wealthy maiden that I was forced to dance with at each preposterous occasion was the same, need it be her impossibly perfect gown or snobbish attitude. Despite my complaints, it was my duty to marry, and to do it quickly.

"Ethan, I would hate to arrive in an untimely manner," my mother called impatiently, her voice echoing against the empty halls.

I sighed once more and examined my reflection, before climbing down the sleek spiral staircase.

At least I was allowed to wear a bowtie.

I liked bowties, bowties were cool.

"What did you do to your hair?" She scolded the moment I arrived at the doorframe, gaping at me through the vanity mirror in horror.

I shrugged, messing with it. "Nothing."

"I presume that's what happens when I allow you to dress yourself," she muttered, standing. "Ingrid shall do it tomorrow."

"Of course Mother," I chimed through my teeth.

I was an eighteen year old man after all, and perfectly capable of dressing myself. Why was it she couldn't understand this?

"Where is your brother?"

I closed my eyes very briefly as she took my arm, and strolled into the cool summer air. Here we go again, I thought. "Blake's gone with Elizabeth."

"Oh, that's right," she murmured innocently, forcing me to slow my stride. "And how long has the courtship been preceding? Do forgive me, my memory is fading."

My lips rose on one side without my doing; she was too good. "I couldn't be precise on the manner, a year perhaps?"

"Two my dearest Ethan, two years," she corrected with a nod, her hazel eyes glancing up at me. "I would love some grandchildren."

I chuckled and raised my head a little higher. The Witherworth's mansion was clearly visible ahead; I could afford to play along with her little game for a bit longer. "He's cares a great deal for her. I suspect an engagement any day now."

"I've always admired your blonde hair."

"As have I."

"Particularly when you were younger."

"It was much shorter then."

"A grandchild with that hair would be divine."

I rolled my eyes despite myself, causing my tone to come out in heavy sarcasm. "Perhaps the gene will skip, and pass on."

She stopped abruptly, not two feet from the large front gates, not two feet away from safety. "You will find a maiden worth courting this evening," she hissed, looking me directly in the eye. "You know my standards."

"Mother?"

"You won't be this handsome for long," she murmured, stroking a stray piece of hair. "We must act before it is too late."