Tutor Ella

After Papa had drawn me to his side one last time, I vowed never to decorate anything white. It was the color of death. My stomach churned with nerves at the sight of the alabaster walls, the ivory linens, and most of all his wan features. But I stayed because he needed me.

Brushing a few loose strands of graying hair out of his eyes, I dabbed a cool cloth against his feverish skin. Pointing at the nightstand, Papa instructed me to retrieve a small wrought iron box, whose contents jingled as I handed it to him.

"No, Ella." He gave me a weak smile. "It's for you, my dear."

"For me?" I asked, wide-eyed. "What about Mama?"

"Once I'm gone, she'll marry you off to the highest bidder," he said in a contemptuous tone. "Do you want that fate?"

With a horrified grimace I shook my head. Papa had deflected all of Mama's attempts to pair me off with any nobleman who had come sniffing around our house. Once he died, though, nothing could stop her.

I'd be damned if I let that happen.

"She's changed. When we were young, love was enough." Papa beckoned me nearer and handed me a copy of his will. "Mister Hall keeps the key so that your mother can't access it. Find him."

"Thank you, Papa." I pursed my lips. "But as a woman..."

Papa squeezed my hand. "Your brother Frederick can help you from the grave."

My eyes widened. "Surely you don't mean that I should...?"

"The resemblance between you two is uncanny, my dear."

"What if he returns from the war and finds I've taken his place?"

"It's been five years." Papa cringed with pain. "Frederick isn't coming back."

"I couldn't."

He grasped the metal box and pushed it toward me. "Use it wisely."

His head sank back into the pillow as a wave of exhaustion washed over him, his eyelids drooping. Papa fell into fitful slumber from which he never woke again.

He died three days later.

***

Yet another nobleman stormed to his fancy carriage after I'd rejected him. Such an arrogant twit would never convince me to don a white gown and give away my heart to him.

Never.

Mama rushed up to me and gripped me by the shoulders, a fearsome wardrobe of a woman. It took all my discipline not to defend myself the way my brother Frederick had taught me when we were younger.

"Do you want to die a poor maid, Ella?" she demanded. "Do your duty for this family and secure our future."

"A man should love me for my mind and heart." Able to breathe once more, I sighed with relief once I'd unlaced my corset. "Not because I squeeze my ribs in a vice, eat like a mouse, and engage in meaningless chatter."

"I told your father not to fill your head with all that rubbish."

"Not to enrich my mind with philosophy and science, you mean?" I retorted.

"You have the face of a horse and the body of an emaciated man." She puckered her face as though my very existence offended her. "You should be glad Lord Carmichael wishes to court you at all."

"If a man wants me for my nonexistent curves, he can go to the devil!"

Mama slapped me, stinging me with the pain of a thousand wasps.