To the Devil with both you and that virtue of yours! Were the greeting words of Victoria's father, hours before sunrise as he and her mother came rushing through the front door.

Being woken up was one thing, but what actually annoyed her was that if she had been listening, who else on this damned half-mile of property started to perk up their ears as well? And only days before her whole moment, drama and talk throughout the neighborhood had been the last thing she wanted.

If she heard it, she was sure that any other soul passing by the estate could as well, and yet still they continued.

“You have to be joking?!”

“For the love of Christ just shut up Elizabeth! I cannot stand you now any more than any other time you open that wretched jowl of yours!”

“I've no more a jowl than you’ve a gut yet you continue on? If you’ve spent half as much time thinking with your head as you do your coin purse then perhaps we would agree on quite literally any single thing?!”

“And just what sort of man would you expect to reason with the back biting snake that stands now in the guise of a spaniel? If not tell the neighborhood, what should stop you from publicizing the whole events of our lives? Shout our follies from the damned rooftops, why don't you! Put us in the papers, or walk from door to door to explain we’re naught but a family of fools, is that what you would wish?”

The yelling continued downstairs, forcing Victoria up and most likely Meredith as well, though neither would ever dare interfere. The sun had yet to rise, and would stay down for many more remaining hours, and Victoria at least took solace in the fact that her parents arrived home safe.

“You’re always doped up and never listen, I never should have married you! I hate the family you’ve so loved and I ha-” Elizabeth screamed this last damnation and proclamation of hate before tolls too deep had been endured.

All Victoria heard was a slap and a loud thud against the wall, not far from her room, followed by more yelling from her father. There was nothing to be done, quite so from but a lowly daughter, lest she find herself in the same danger.

The noise came to an end after that, and with it any intent to fight back. Only soft sobs peaked through the cold air, still ill at ease.

It was only but a handful of moments after silence re-enveloped the house that Victoria heard the door of her room creak open.

The footsteps alone told her that it was her mother, still crying and despite the dark an obvious bruise was spotted. There was no need to turn and greet, it was obvious she’d be awake, and with care the soft white fur of the rabbit's foot disappeared into Victoria's sleeve.

“I’m so sorry…” Elizabeth pleaded to her daughter in a voice half dead, but all she did was look at the texture of the fabric of her sheets as her mother crawled into the bed.

“Mom, no it’s… it’s fine. Please, don't apologize. Please…”

Victoria didn’t know what to say, or why her mother was apologizing to her. It was all too much. The sobbing subsided and with little attention, Elizabeth began playing with her daughter's hair. This had not been an unusual scene to hear played out but never had her mother felt the need to crawl into her bed before.

And still, she did not understand what her mother could be apologizing for.

Rather than sad she appeared… desperate. Almost needy; on the verge of asking a question or saying something yet unable completely to even open her mouth. It was pitiful.

The whole ordeal, the fighting, the late nights, the hair petting was all so nostalgic; Perhaps homey. A scene replayed time and time again forever since childhood.

Once, when Victoria was much younger than now, the family took a summer trip to Austria and, after a rather unusual musical performance manned entirely of the beastial kind, he had struck her mother upon mumbling her rather planful dislike of the canine on harpsichord.

The remainder of the piece was heard much clearer from then on, to everyone’s assured discontent. The duck on recorder was more painful, in Victoria’s estimation either way.

The beasts had their way with the stage and she knew then that it must be that way everywhere.

After some time the petting stopped and she felt her mothers breathing deep and slow; she was asleep and the pressure of her mothers unconscious body against her own was not unpleasant but definitely numbing. Trying to adjust proved to be a futile endeavor, and so settling in for a long night was about all that could be done.

The sun rose by the time she awoke and so did she after failing to fall back asleep for many hours. Still painfully aware of the night before and not wanting to confront it she was left alone in her room expecting something to happen.

Her mother was gone, but somehow her anxieties had stayed behind. She half hoped the night before had been a dream, yet the faint stains of blood between her nails proved to the contrary well enough.

It was clear she had gotten at least some sleep however, as the letter by the door on the floor of her room suggested proof enough that she had been unable to answer whoever had been sent to deliver it.

Almost every morning had given her the displeasures of being woken, dressed, fed and prayed for all on the scheduled whims of Missus Tuite yet though wanting, these past few days of being left to her own whims had proven a degree more difficult than she imagined.

If I can’t wake up on time for virtually my own birthday, it’s a wonder I can even feed myself without any help.

The event had first been conceived on Victoria’s 5th birthday which was a fact that, a full eleven years later, had been long lost behind the desires of the attendees.

With her self-depreciations and chastisements over not being able to keep a bedtime in mind, she turned to the letter. While Victoria was not lacking in companions for writing by any means, she was surprised by its arrival.

Her most dearest friend in letters was her cousin Abel who due to his most excitable nature only often wrote at the peak of winters, when so compelled by boredom did he pick up the pen, and it had only recently begun into autumn! There were aunts and friends otherwise, but none who would send any letters at all not pertaining to their acceptance or withdrawal of the night's event.

In short, it simply was not time for letters and yet still it lay there.

The address on the face of the opened envelope made clear that it had been meant for her father although it was much more likely, almost positively so, that her mother had either brought it herself or had it sent.

Somehow at home Mr. Tuite was both slovenly in his action and, strangely enough, also hated things done for him. So much so that he’d often walk right past Meredith towards the kitchen rather than wait for anything to be prepared.

It was presumptuous to think he’d bring up anything himself and besides, he always kept a quiet distance from her door. Regardless, the letter was removed and she read on.

The first few letters had been removed, as only a single page remained in the envelope, though the first few lines suggested to her that they must have been pertaining to business, tax, properties and other such details that did not matter to herself but had meant something to someone.

This someone had been suggested enough by an initial look at the return address, yet reading further had confirmed it. For some reason, this letter to her father was from his very brother, her uncle, Charles Tuite. And for an even stranger reason, the letter of an uncle she had still yet to meet, had landed on the floor of her room. It was with vivacious curiosity that she continued. Her materials began thus;

… With my apologies of many years absence given and manners of business properly attended, it is with steady and resolved hesitation, dare I say hopefulness, that I move on to the proposed goal of my writing. I know surely that while the heart of my dearest brother may stray, never shall his mind and so it is to your mind, my precious sibling, that I aim to entreat upon.

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Though past acts of trivial forgetfulness, for trivial it must be as never with spite have I sought to harm, must demand forgiveness I know more sure that it shall be given than I know of God’s own great deliverance - And it is with this belief in the greatness of God’s own children, Man, and of my brothers, that I hold firm the belief in my being forgiven. With no doubts of allowance, it is thus I continue.

As a man of law, a man of wealth and a man of God I ask most humbly, yet still more generously, for the allowance of the reconnection of myself into the graces of our family name through the means of your eldest daughter's hand.

While I’ve yet to meet the child myself I am most sure in your abilities of progenitorship to turn any ill-conceived brat of the devil into porcelain perfection, and no doubt with a child so dear as your own.

Already have I taken on the considerable burden of inquiries upon properties in your neighborhood, and already have I sought to encumber my help by preparing for the journey to Bridgefold Manor, so a fit and pleasurable response is expected. Not in writing shall any response be prepared however, for as I draw nearer while you read I shall demand that your favorable response come in person instead!

With considerable apprehension, your brother and friend

-

Charles W. Tuite

Long after finishing with the letter did the paper sit in her hand, still as the wild wind beneath water, in longing expectations for an explanation. An answer. Anything that would tell her what in the world came over her parents to allow such a selfishly hideous material to dirty the floor of her room.

Perhaps they had only wished her to know of his designs as well as his nature of pure self-righteous expectations. He may perhaps be in at any moment now, or had already arrived for the breakfast she had so mindlessly missed, and it would be useless then to try to hide his wishes.

She was near positive this must be the case, since to be so foolhardy as to attempt to use her own fathers faith against him to try for forgiveness was nothing more than the plan of a mad sap. And no mad sap made a Tuite, nor hardly at all a man as she understood it.

Yet still, near positive was only just as sure as she could be.

“Did they…” Victoria whispered to herself, setting down the letter, “Could they possibly expect me to approve his proposal after reading such a terrible thing? I mean, he called me a brat before even the decency of a look? And to my father no less.”

This thought again strengthened Victoria's newfound convictions against her uncle, and slipped the note back in its envelope before beginning to practice ways to deny a proposal so distasteful. She was positive there would never be any designs between the two.

Noise from the main dining room downstairs flooded up urging her to join, followed by the pleasant smell of the morning, pheasant and parsley. It was busy as she walked down, a completely different mood from the night before, no dreams or confessions of regret but instead a single, full plate waiting for her with all the accouterments one might hope for.

Pretending that nothing had happened after certain excitements was a family special, and that was exactly what she planned to do with both the sleepless night, and the letter. The smell of a sweet black tea through the halls helped.

It was the day before the dance, exciting, yet other things laid more heavy on her mind than in finding men to spin around with. She knew that for the maids and for her mother it would be a busy day, but thankfully that was their cross to bear.

Hours of planning, decorating, cleaning, cooking, as well as decades of traditions to entertain. A pain sure, but a pleasure for all those invited. It was over an entire month of pain for the family, but it mattered not. It was all of no consequence before their ball.

Fires could spew directly from the mouth of Hell, bringing both Europe and the sea with it, and still her father would find couples to dance and be wed and merry.

Of course there were other parties, other dances, and they always attended as a matter of course and manner, but those were elsewhere and of a dignity befitting their respective manor. To accept less than perfect would be the truest height of folly, and to that end everything from the carpets to the curtains had been uplifted to the season's fashion. It was a fresher look, with more accents of deeper reds.

A brisk luncheon and dinner came and went, and even Victoria herself knew that she should have been woken up long before this time to be doing her own share. It had probably been a rare show of pity from her mother that she had been left to sleep in.

A pity not long for this world, for as she returned to her room she noticed a heavy, teal and white dress hanging off her door with a note attached.

Good luck my dear.

With the contents of her uncle's foul letter still fresh in her mind, she could not help but to momentarily spurn the attire, yet the beauty of it and her love for the fashion had by far and clear won out.

Victoria rushed to dress, though prematurely, into the delicate piece. Though there was still another day to wait, and far too many layers to try rushing, the dress was too pretty not to try on. Much longer than any daily wear she had owned before, the entire outfit stretched from nearly the tip of her chin all the way down to the floor with almost still a meter to trail behind.

Frills ran from the end of the white collar, down the middle front and sides of the body, across sleeves and onto each of the cuffs. Down across the body of the dress the middle frills joined in, spinning at the waist. Closing the distance with each twist across before finally coming together at the very end of the train, leaving the impression that the white frills were unwrapping the delicate delicate blues of the outside fabric.

As she climbed into the sleeves and wrestled with getting the back waist of the fabric to meet in confidence with her half completed corset, she noticed small, blue flowers had been sewn into every inch of the white.

Never had she worn something so elegant or, frankly, expensive. Never had she reason to either. Everything was so smooth against her skin and even with the weight of it all, she seemed lighter than any ballerina in the whole of the world.

After a few precious moments of admiring herself, Victoria fought back into her plain sage day dress and headed downstairs to join everyone else. Nothing takes your mind away more so than the preparation of your own 16th birthday party for two-hundred.

The rest of the day was spent thus, in hurries and anxieties, and there were none that went to bed with any less than a half-full mind.

There was no adventure to be had that night.

⋯

“Good morning!” She faked a smile, still being tired so soon after waking up, just wanting to bring some light into the manor that day.

Everyone was running around, cooking or cleaning or in between waltzing around chore after chore. There was still a few hours before anyone arrived, but with the way they ran about one might imagine that guests had already begun to fly in one after another.

Their fair lady of the house, for presumably the umpteenth time, was resetting the silverware arrangements upon the dinning table in a fantastic, half sleeved pink empire dress and looked back upon her daughter as she entered the room. She had a spot more makeup than usual but nothing anyone else might notice.

Her mothers hand with the brush had been beyond fantastic long before ever having a child.

“Oh love yes, and how good a morning it is! Aren't you excited for the festivals of tonight's beautiful evening? Come, come love, let us put together this table quickly. Then shall we have Meredith get your dress and makeup together? She should have already set everything together already, or I dare say there will be consequences. Of course she’ll have to manage her own groom on her own time, still it would be a shame to have you without her and I’ve half a mind to ruin any spoils she finds, for it’d be a damned thing to have your own governess show you up, now wouldn’t it? Of course it would, now of course.”

And so they finished their task and headed back upstairs, finding Meredith to join them. Elizabeth took her to the corner and whispered a few things, only for a moment, and turned around to sit Victoria down in front of a large mirror.

“Now Victoria, your father is out making face and traveling around the town collecting his friends together for the party tonight, so it is now that we must take our time preparing.” Her mother spoke, with a sense of matter of fact while Meredith silently pulled Victoria's hair back and began working.

“Have you given any thought to your prospects for tonight? I’m more than certain your hand will be the one most asked for so please try not to let any flippant bachelor hog you for too long.” Missus Tuite spoke after a great many uncomfortable moments of silence brushing through her daughter's hair. Taking the chance to escape from the awkwardness, she took the hint and answered twice as enthusiastically as she felt.

“Oh well you know Sir Langston is a wonderful man and I’m sure he’ll be here tonight, though I don’t know him quite well and who’s to say he thinks anything of me for we’ve met only but the once some time ago but you know how I adore sailors and a fine sailor I hear he is. The papers say so, I’ve read it time and time again that he’s a fine sailor and I’m sure the papers aren’t to be mistaken, now we’d be in quite a bit of bad luck now if that were the case, no? Anyways he’s maybe a bit too old for me I suspect, for a failing husband makes no good teacher, I’m sure and Mr. Abbott’s son, you know Mr. Abbott I’m sure? Oh good. We used to have little John Abbott here in the summers for the horses I remember, and he seemed just the type of husband I’d wish to have if I recall correctly. A fine, calm natured boy but not at all shy.”

She had long since been speaking frantically, and almost told the whole of her story in a single breath until feeling her mothers hand reach onto her shoulder as if to say that’ll be fine now.

“I’m glad to hear that. I’m really very glad and you’re right, Mr. Abbott's boy is a fine man now, he’s grown very well.” She finished up her work and kissed her daughter on the cheek before standing. Grabbing her mothers hand, Victoria stood up and led herself to a mirror. She was in awe, in shock really.

For a while during the conversation Victoria expected her mother to touch on the subject of her uncle, or about the letter even, but held no disappointment at all when it did not come. A relief rather came over her and as she let them lead her to the spotlight of her own party, she relished in admiring herself anew with every step.