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Flora released a heavy sigh as she thought about the past Season. Her mother had been excited and anxious. She had fretted for months about the upcoming Season. She put the dressmaker in their small village to work making more dresses than the woman probably had the capacity to create.
At twenty-two, Flora was nearing the age of spinsterhood. In just two years, she would be twenty-four, which meant that she had one more London Season to secure a match.
The thought made her stomach turn. Flora did not think there was anything wrong with being a spinster. She knew several ladies who had not married, and they appeared content enough.
But Flora did not desire that life for herself. It was not that Flora was desperate for a husband, but that she could not imagine bringing shame to her mother by not securing a match.
And, if Flora were honest with herself, she did not desire to be a burden on those she loved. Spinsters were not just looked down upon by society; they were dependent, forever, on the charity of their family. As an only child, Flora would be an albatross to her mother and father, a symbol of failure. When they passed, Flora was not sure what would happen to her.
The problem was that Flora did not know what kept her from making a match. Though she was not the most beautiful women of the Ton, she was not homely. Her hair was a light brown that sometimes looked golden in good lighting. Her hazel eyes were specked with gold, and she often received compliments on her features.
She was not titled, but her family did well for themselves, and whoever married her would receive an adequate dowry.
Men had been interested in her, but no one had made an offer. They came into her life, courting her for a period of time before they eventually stopped calling upon her.
Her mother suggested that the impediment might be Flora’s curious nature. Though Flora took up feminine pursuits such as, embroidery and the piano forte, her favourite hobby was reading. Flora loved a good book, and it was not something that she felt she needed to hide.
If she were to marry someone, they should know everything about her.
For the past five Seasons, making a match started to get more and more challenging, and this last Season had been the most difficult.
The carriage rolled on, and Flora continued to watch the scenery as she fell deeper and deeper into her thoughts.
The difficulty of the last Season was why Flora was heading to Kent for an extended stay. Her best friend, Abigail, who’d been married at the end of the last Season had written to Flora offering her the opportunity to come to the countryside.
Flora jumped at the offer. She desired nothing more than to escape the expectations of her family, at least for a time. Though Flora would consider herself close to her parents, she could not spend the remainder of the fall and winter with the weight of their expectations weighing down upon her.
Flora worried that her mother might marry her off to the first young man that looked her way. When Flora received the invitation from Abigail, her mother had been excited at the prospect of eligible young men in the village of Kent.
She suspected that it was the only reason her mother allowed her to go to Kent at the end of the Season.
Though Abigail had mentioned some eligible young men in the area, Flora suspected that she was just being facetious. Flora was not travelling to Kent to find a husband. In fact, she would be glad if no one mentioned the marriage market for the next several months.
Sighing once more, Flora tried her best to focus on anything other than the weight of the last few months. She was coming to Kent for a breath of fresh air, and to see her friend. It had been nearly a year since she looked upon Abigail’s face, and Flora was eager to see how marriage suited her best friend.
The carriage hit a small bump causing Miss Taylor’s eyes to fly open with a start. Flora hid a smirk behind her gloved hand as her lady’s maid looked at her with wide eyes.
“I believe that we hit a bump,” Flora told her as way of explanation.
Miss Taylor nodded, discretely wiping the drool off her chin.
Flora looked back out the window, her stomach clenching in excitement as she caught sight of Abigail’s home.
The large, white structure seemed to pop up out of nowhere as they cleared a small hill, and Flora held her breath at the sight of it. It was done in the Georgian style, and the front had two large, white columns framing a very impressive doorway.
One side of the house was covered in purple climbing wisteria, which Flora thought was the most charming thing she had ever seen.
“There is Abigail!” Flora yelled out.
Flora could see Abigail. She was standing at the front waving excitedly at the carriage. Flora wondered how she knew that they arrived, but as the carriage stopped in front of the door, she did not spend too much time considering it.
Instead, she flung the door open, not content to wait for the footmen to assist her. She tumbled out of the carriage, her skirts tangling in her legs, and she nearly tumbled to the ground in her haste.
“Flora!” Abigail cried out.
She rushed toward her, her own skirts flying behind her. Flora righted herself just in time for Abigail to slam herself into Flora’s arms. “You made it!” she squealed.
Flora laughed and tightened her arms around her friend. “Was there a doubt that I would?” she asked. “I wrote to you a week ago to remind you of my arrival.”
