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“Emma.” The fair, motherly voice called out. “Emma, dear!”
Stirrings lightly rumbled in the house. Something put down on a hard surface without much care, a door 's mechanism activated with considerable force, and while the footsteps that sounded afterwards weren't at a stomp, they were far from light. The widow had one leg over the other within her dress, a letter in her hand, looking up over her glasses at the doorway that soon had her grown daughter standing within it.
“If it's that bastard Earl, then-”
“Emma!” The girl crossed her arms and looked aside, one of her feet tapping loudly on the floor as her lips pursed in frustration and annoyance. “Really, is it any wonder that you've no suitor?”
“Who's to say I need one?” She shot back venomously. Silence grew between them as they looked to one another across the room, quite a few of the ornaments and pleasant little bits and bobs missing from the place they'd been when her father lived. Sold. The poor widow feared her most prized possession may be the next thing to be sold and there was little left to give before the house would be next; her cherished horse that her late husband had given her years ago when her daughter was only small.
“I do.” She said seriously, gravely, however her voice softened. “Do you really wish us to resort to the streets?” Her daughter looked away again. “If we continue like this, that's where we're headed.” The woman's thumb rubbed inside the free hand on her lap, the other still holding the letter, she was caressing the band of the wedding ring her late husband had given her. The thought sickened her but it, too, may have to be sold to stave off the debtors longer.
“This letter is from third Duke of Dawsbury-”
“That pig-?!”
“SHUSH!” The tapping of the girl's foot continued as once more she resigned her poisonous gaze away from her mother, eyes narrow, jaw clenched. “Time is running out, and you will not carry on this foolishness. He's a man of wealth, he's well read,” she moved the note in her hand causing the paper to give a crinkle sound, “he's well written, and he's mannerly-”
“Mannerly, mother?! He's a womanize-”
“He's mannerly!” She continued, her voice coming up to nearly a shriek as her eyes looked to her daughter with a mixture of fury and desperation. “He can keep, not only you,” she rattled off those last three words quickly, condescendingly, “but me as well.” Emma continued to tap her foot, arms crossed, looking away once more. “Are you so content with seeing your mother barter off her own wedding ring?!” Her voice croaked, eyes reddening and watering, the letter shuddering in her nearly clenched hand, her thumb no longer absent-mindedly toying with said ring.
Emma's features applied the smallest amount of antivenom to her look as she turned her stern face back to her mother, her desperate and scared mother.
“See... him.” She pleaded, before pursing her lips, her head reddening and shuddering with pent-up pressure as clear anger and disappointment filled her features, beyond her control. “I'll not have my daughter become some damn spinster and see to the end of our family legacy!” Emma's eyes widened, her jaw dropping, her crossed arms coming to her sides. Her mother let out a howled weep, her heels clacking along the floor as her daughter stepped aside for her to go to her bedroom, the letter thrust to the 'young' woman's chest. The Viscountess held the parchment to her bosom as she watched her hysterical mother turn to her bedroom, and Emma shuddered at the startling force with which the thick oak door had been closed.
Chapter 2
Peering down at the letter, her mother still weeping in the bedroom, she read it over.
'Dear Madam Goodwin,
Thank you for writing back to me, and giving my blessing to court your daughter Emma.'
With pursed lips and widened outraged eyes, she glanced to the direction down the hall where the muffled weeps came from. She's already given him persmission?!
'I'll roll 'round by half-past 5 on the 16th, I trust your beautiful daughter will be as punctual as usual. You truly have a marvelous gem in her, fit for the King's crown itself.'
“I'm not some bloody ornament, you appalling prick...” she muttered, her grip on the letter tightening, wrinkling it.
“So kind of you to allow free reign of us to be out as long as we like, and as per your... em... request, I prefer a degree of confidentiality but of course if you prefer, then I shall convey any 'excess difficulties' if she should indeed attempt to instill such on me. I'd be quite shocked though, a beauty such as her, she seems as though she'd be apprehensive to swat so much as a fly. Well, perhaps if the fly were a pickelhaube-topped Hun, wot? Lord knows I would take such a swat at a little buzzing Kaizer Wilhelm if I could. Pardon my attempts at wit, Madam, have a lovely day, and in spite of your generosity in regards to time I will make every attempt to have her back at a respectable hour.
Yours in appreciation,
Declan Hughes, Third Duke of Dawsbury
“God bless.” The sarcastic words were spat at the page. Oh yes, how faithfully religious, sticking your wretchedness in whatever crevace a woman may make vulnerable. Her eyes flicked back up to the numbers; 5:30PM on the 16th? Why, the 16th is that very day, she made her way to her bedroom where a small wind-up clock slowly ticked the seconds along.
“Ohhh bollocks.” The letter was quickly put down as she took up her battle station. Sitting before the bedroom mirror she looked over herself. Hair needed brushing, blush for the cheeks, fresh lipstick... she clenc
hed her teeth as she thought of the man. If anything she'd be all too happy to put on her worst dress, clean off any make-up she still had on, and go with her hair in a frizz, but evidently he would inform mother of such a thing. Time was short, there was much to do... perhaps she could look to be making a good attempt but through some means she could get him to lose interest in her. Hopefully a more thorough plan will come to her as she gets ready.
“Mother! If I may, I would appreciate your help!” She smoothed-out the wrinkled note to make it look less like she had attempted to strangle the life from it. Slowly, she heard a door open, a sniffle in the hallway, and she peered into her daughter's bedroom with red eyes. “Please? I haven't much time...” already she was brushing her hair.
“Bless you, child.” Quickly the woman was behind her, taking the brush from her hand as she went for the lipstick. “You'll do well...” it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself of it. “He's really not all bad, the letter was absolutely darling, have you read it all? He could have your father's debts, God rest his soul, cleared up in short order.”
“In a jiff.”
“A what?”
