Period of Pretties, Petticoats and Power

One - Too Much London Cannot Be Good For Anyone.

One — Too Much London Cannot Be Good For Anyone.

Twelve Weeks Later

I sat in the tea room, a book on my lap and a tea in my hands. Sunlight dripped through the windows, lighting the room. It was my third favourite place in the house, with its lushes lounges and odd quietness. Except, the window was open, and the girls were running around outside, so I could hear their giggling and screeches every now and then.

My story was intriguing. I wasn’t extremely fond of fantasy novels or romances, and preferred Atlases and books that told me of other things other than London—but this was taking up all my attention. I had stumbled upon it in the large library, and decided to read it on request of Lucie.

And I was glad I did.

It was of a girl with immense power, who could do things that no one else could do. She fell in love with a man, but when the villain came to sweep her away, she fell in love with him. I preferred her with the villain, since the other man was horrid and I secretly believed he was having an affair behind her back—no matter his odd claims.

At the moment, the villain had embraced her and was telling her of the great things she could achieve, but the girl was not very thirsty for power and whenever she was, she felt slightly ill with herself. I understood—power frightened me. It seemed like you were walking on a rope that could be easily snapped if you stepped out of place.

That would not be fun.

“Excuse me, Miss Alys.” 

I looked up. Rose stood there, wrangling out her hands and looking a little nervous.

“Rose, is everything alright?”
“Yes, yes, miss, I just came to tell you of the ball that is taking place tonight. Miss Lucie has said you must attend.”

My jaw dropped. “I must?” Those words were choked out.

Rose nodded. “She does not wish to hide you from society any longer. Many have been asking about you, Miss Alys.”
“I do not think it is wise to bring me into society.” I said, cringing. “In fact, it sounds like a dreadful idea that should be thought out better.”

The ladies-maid only smiled lightly. “My apologies, Miss Alys, but that is what I have been asked to do.”

It was not fair to resist the messenger, but going out to London society was as tempting as being married and becoming an ignored house wife.

And that was not tempting at all.

Sighing through my nose, I closed the book—much to my displeasure—and placed the tea cup on the table. “I suppose I have been hiding a little too much in this house.” 

Twelve weeks was plenty of time for me, but apparently for Lucie it had been too much. I had been invited to countless balls, all which I was used the excuse, I am simply not ready, but now I knew, I was going to be pulled to this ball by my arms and legs.

“This is going to be enjoyable.” I mumbled under my breath in French.

Rose did not speak French, but I think she understood my tone, because she shot me a sad look, before shuffling me upstairs. She was taken care of in this household, unlike the maids that my mother had had—who had been bossy and rude. My father had not been—but he was dead. I felt sadness thinking about my father, who I had loved so very much.

But, you could not bring back the dead.

In my room, which had slowly piled up with books and become more like my space, Rose had laid out a dress that was made from the famous Tailor who Lucie adored. It was emerald green, with soft silk for the skirt and little roses around the waist. It looked beautiful, and I had nothing against clothing, except for the fact it was going to be the thing I wore to this ball.