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Father was bent over a slim volume, puffing on his pipe as we entered, seemingly oblivious to the company. I assessed his figure, so much more frail than the man he’d been just three years ago. His pallor ashen, his hair white and thinning. His clothes sagged on his frame, as if he’d never quite fill them out again.
My nails bit into my palms, anxiety gnawing on my insides as I came before the fire, afraid to look any closer at my father. William followed suit to the hearth, handing me a cup of tea from the tray in front of Father.
“I’m sure you are most excited to plan your dress for the ball,” William said quietly, his mouth kicked up on one side. My eyes widened, had he asked Father’s permission? What would Father say about it?
As if he read my mind, Father closed his novel and stared at the two of us. I wondered what he saw. Could he see through us both, see the way our bodies were angled together, so close that if we took another step, we’d be touching? Did he see the kiss branded on my lips? Did he see where William had placed his hands?
Did he see how badly I wanted to close the distance between us?
“How was your drive?” he simply asked.
“Oh, it was quite lovely, Father!” I replied all too quickly, turning to face William, as if the guilt in my eyes would give us away. “Mr. Blackwell took me to the loveliest place; a little pond, it was stunning.”
“I certainly am glad about that.” Father droned.
“Miss Abbott speaks of a little place I found during the Autumn,” William explained, his eyes, seemingly full of the same wanting, pouring into mine before facing Father. “A small clearing inside the forest with a pretty little pond. It's frozen over now, and perfect for skating.” William picked up a tea cup and saucer for himself.
“Sounds delightful,”
“It is Father, truly,” I was there in my mind, in William’s embrace, not in the parlor.
“Mrs. Quinn stopped by earlier today to speak with your mother about the Christmas ball,” Father noted, rising, and coming to stand amongst us. He leaned against the hearth next to me, smoking deeply.
“I was actually going to ask you about that, sir,” William interjected.
“What about it, Mr. Blackwell?”
“I was rather hoping you would allow me to escort the young Miss Abbott to the ball.” Such confidence, not a waver in his tone. My teeth found my lip, watching Father’s face intently, on edge.
“I don't see why not. Mrs. Quinn came to call for Mr. Quinn’s nephew, who had no one to take at all. Dreadful boy he is, nothing but trouble. They say he beds every girl he comes across. Disgraceful. But you, Mr. Blackwell"–my father stepped toward William, shaking his pipe in his direction–“you seem like a well-rounded young man. Fortune, class, style, business minded. I like it.”
“I'm glad to hear it, sir,” William beamed, winking at me. I felt a sudden rush of excitement, almost too giddy to stand still anymore.
“Miss, your mother has requested your presence,” Mary said from the doorway. Setting my teacup on the hearth, I bowed to the men and quickly followed Mary up the stairs to my bedroom. “She's wanting to change your dress so I can fix it, since you've gotten it all wet and muddy,”
I peered down in embarrassment and noticed the amount of dirt caked on the hem.
“Oh, Mary, I am so sorry. I didn't mean to create so much work for you again. We need to find something glamorous for the Christmas ball, Mr. Blackwell has asked me to accompany him,” I shared with her as I gripped her arm.
“Well, this is exciting indeed, I’ll get to work right away and see what we can come up with,” she laughed.
I stepped into my room to my mother bent over a skirt and white top on my bed. She was glowing, unlike father. Her black hair sat upon her head in a tight bun, curled strands framing the sides of her face, a contrast with her shocking ice blue eyes, outlined by a thick fringe of long, black lashes. But even with all her beauty, it was her smile, her heart shaped lips that made it no wonder my father loved her so much.
“Come here, quickly before Mr. Blackwell decides to leave! You must change into this lovely gown I bought you the other day.” Mary and Mother began to hurriedly undress me.
“Mother, what is this?” Pure confusion as I eyed the shape of the neckline.
“Oh, shush! You know it's beautiful and you love it. Let me tighten your stays, come here.” She spun me around in my bloomers and corset, untied the strings, and pulled them tightly; tighter than they had been in a week. I sucked in as much as I could, the hard material pressing into my ribs, rearranging my insides. It ached and crushed me.
I gasped as she tied them and observed her work. “I feel like your waist hasn't been this small for a while. Can you breathe?” she teased. I glowered at her.
“No,” I huffed.
“Beauty is pain, my darling daughter. If you want to win Mr. Blackwell's heart, you must not breathe,” she laughed to herself, throwing the lavender skirt over me, fixing a white lace shirt after. The square neckline was low enough to expose half my breasts with long tight sleeves.
Mother tied a white bow around my waist, tugging my hair from its braided bun and fluffing it about me. “Oh, my dear, dear Rosemary.”
“Mother,” I started to say, “This neckline is near indecent! Surely you pawned this off of Katherine!” I flushed as I stared at myself, the absolute scandal of my femininity on display. But Mother only chuckled.
