Pretty Baby

two

In the Featherhew house, the antiquities and demand for decorum overpowered anything or anyone daring to bring something new inside. For generations it had been this way and Mrs. Vivienne Featherhew wouldn't be the first to break tradition. Her children, Amelia and Alexander, grew up the way many of their ancestors did. The two excelled in academics and extracurriculars. Alexander had gained the same talent as his father for polo and golf and Amelia, gorgeous and delicate on the outside, was born with a glorious voice and could capture an audience ever so easily. 

To everyone, the Featherhew family were perfection and Vivienne had to keep it this way. She promised her grandmother and her own mother she would, just as they had done for their families before. She would continue embroidering the family tree in the most pristine image she could, but Vivienne knew the second her daughter could begin crawling and speaking that perhaps her work could be unraveled. Amelia had too much fire in her heart for the world, for exploring and for paving her own path. She went through governesses every few weeks whom wouldn't stay regardless of pay increase.

"You ought to break her of this behavior," Vivienne's grandmother had whispered to her after she reprimanded eight year old Amelia of shooting an arrow at a 300 year old painting of an ancestor. The painting would be repaired but her patience with her daughter was wounded.

Even now Vivienne couldn't keep track of Amelia unless she were on good terms with her boyfriend or Alexander was in town. She made a mental note to give Marguerite Aldridge a call to see if her son and Amelia were currently together or not. They needed to take things seriously soon. Amelia being almost twenty-four and not showing promise with Ace was beginning to raise questions among their circle. Alexander, her golden son, was at least consistent with his women. They were all lovely, and recently he had singled one out who Vivienne had heard was a prolific writer.

She looked up from her deep thought at her bedroom window. It was beginning to pour and the darkness of night was settling in. Frederick would be in soon from his society meeting in less than half and hour, Alexander didn't like to stay out past 10pm and...well, maybe Amelia would be in before 11pm. Vivienne could dream.

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"What did you say your last name name was?"

Amelia placed her napkin on her lap and hesitated. "I didn't."

"Right, right. You see I just can tell you are old money. It's in the way you walk and talk."

She picked up her water, the chilled glass cool to the touch. He couldn't possibly be interested in her money, it was clear he had plenty of his own. They were on the rooftop of what was a gothic style mansion. A greenhouse was built atop decades ago and as mentioned before sitting down at an intimate table set for two, Mr. Atlas had it remodeled as simply an outdoor sitting area. it was lined with roses, an array of colors and bloom sizes, and a chandelier hung from above giving light to the evening. Amelia couldn't tell if the man was showing off and trying to impress her and if so, it would take quite some effort. She was no stranger to expensive ventures and glorious settings. She was raised around art and beauty and knew them like old friends.

"Alright, Mr. Atlas," she sipped her water. "My surname is Featherhew."

He sat a bit straighter and stared down at his silverware. They shined back at him, his reflection a product of an excellent polishing job done daily by his world-class staff. 

"You seem pained by this news," she said and set her glass down.

"Are you sure we haven't met before?"