INTRODUCTION
MARCH 28, 1813

THE BLITHFIELD MANOR had never felt so fervently delighted of one's arrival since the day the estate had housed a distant relative of the Royal family's closest friends, offering some form of shelter at the time-being under the harsh frivolity of a tremendous storm, hoping to be put a good word to the Prince, more importantly, even the Queen herself. It was quite fanciful to expect such things, especially when they all knew fairly well that it would be too convenient to achieve such high regard over simple decency, but of course, their conjectures have yet been supported. The commotion was long overdue for a whole other happening as of this very moment.

          A licit buzz was more than what lets on upon knowledge that Lady Beatrice Blithfield, with the grace of her younger sister Lady Ianthe, had finally come home.

          Travelling from one place to another, accompanying the oldest during her betrothal endeavours was never one of those adventures Ianthe enjoyed, not for one bit, indeed. It was perhaps the enjoyment it lacked to provide, or maybe it was the pungent odour of Beatrice's perfume — the sickly amount of cherries and roses, of course ( a deadly pair, it has been ) — there was no telling of the reason why the middle daughter had taken such a distaste for their prolonged trips around England. Taking into account her love for travels, it was news that she loathed having to prance around awaiting her sister's maturity until she is ready to be presented to the high court.

          News of their arrival purged the entirety of London. It had been quite a subject to prattle about, most certainly to those of significance to the nobility. But of course, none of this concerned dear blissfully ignorant Beatrice, the never-changing epitome that everyone most definitely admired. If it weren't for the vigorous fidgeting of her sister's feet, she would have constantly ignored the suffocating ambience in the already stuffy carriage.

          "Oh, would you quit your squirming, Ianthe? We're nearly there." Says the young debutante in haste, stern to the bones. She gave a sharp look towards the lady who almost instantly ceased her fussing. Though it was quite piercing to that of which she could almost pass to perfect the same gaze their mother would use to reign Ianthe into her place, it had not nearly been enough to puncture the girl's interminable chattering.

          It was a luxury to get her to shut her trap, but much more of a happenstance to maintain the now-fading tranquility of a few silent seconds.

          "Are you quite sure there is nothing that you are even the slightest bit vexed about?" The girl questions with precariousness, biting her nails as she awaited Beatrice's response.

          She finally spoke, "Oh, come now, Ianthe. On a day like this? I could never speak of worries and concerns! We're finally going home, after all!"

          "But that is exactly what bothers me, Rosie! Do you ever read the letters Mother sends us?" Ianthe struggles under the scrutinizing gaze sent her way, confused as to the similar dubiety in her sister's expression.

          She answered, appearing hesitant. Almost as if she's come to realize the severity of it all at how serious Ianthe seemed. This girl was all fun and games, first and foremost, so witnessing such an imploring look upon her was certainly disconcerting. "Well, of course I do! Whatever do you think of me?"

          At the way her nostrils flared and her stare, excruciatingly, never once panning away from the view outside, Ianthe figured she hasn't.

          "Oh really?" Ianthe narrowed her eyes, tucking her arms over her chest as she leaned into her cushioned seat. "Then what is it that I wish for you to address? What do you think awaits us back in the city at this very moment?"

          "Why with the sudden inquisitions—"

          Ianthe raised a challenging brow, "Are you evading my so-called inquisitions, then?"

          Beatrice stares on with an agape mouth, startled by her sister's gall and stupefying accusations, before clearing her throat as she gathers herself. With false elation and a giddy posture, she finally amends her prior mistake, "Well, we are to be greeted by. . . cordial salutations! Everyone will be delighted upon our arrival!"

          She supposed she seemed as though she were meaning to persuade herself rather than the girl before her, now wearing a ridiculous expression. "Cordial salutations? What are we, the British army coming home from war?"

          "Ianthe, good God, don't speak of honorable men in such a manner—"

          "Beatrice, we will be the zenith of all gossip! The height of everybody's entertainment!" Ianthe declares without much inhibition, she figured it was too late for that now.

          "Hey, I am aware of that now, alright?" Beatrice was non-plussed. It wasn't as if she had turned a blind eye to their dilemmas like her sister was painting her out to be! She was merely attempting to weigh their options more peacefully, quietly, with less yelling and more thinking.

          Heavens, how did she manage to secure a loud-mouth bother of a sister to accompany her instead of a husband? The latter would've been more beneficial!

          Regardless of such desires and baseless musings, tuning out the droning voice of her most vexing sibling, it could only last so long as to wave aside her sonority. Ianthe was quite boisterous like that, always having something to say. Each discourse proves itself lengthy and discursive, to be more specific.

          ". . . Honestly, woman, if you wish to successfully seize a worthy suitor, you best find it upon yourself to heed Mama's every word," Ianthe advises, the older girl finally offering attention to her sister. "Or you shall live an ill-fated life without so much as a significance in society."

          A look of horror passed Beatrice's features, the idea causing her immediate worry. What if? "How abrasive, Ianthe! Why would you ever wish such misfortune upon me—"

          "Beatrice, I was merely—"

          "—No, Ianthe, enough. You have said enough. I am grateful for your reminder, as well as your. . . doubtless concern regarding my future. Should you grant me a piece of counseling then you must proffer it with kindness, with even the slightest bit of remorse." Beatrice felt her cheeks heating with disturbance, feeling dumbfounded at her sister's Heedless antics. "I know what will happen, as you have just made clear. But we are our Father's daughters, and we will face them like so."

          Silence plagues the siblings, only the sound of the wind outside their ride along with the ever-so-soft humming of their coachman and the sound of the horse's oddly satisfying, mellow hooves clicking against the ground. Neither of the two spoke a single word.

          Beatrice knew, just as much, that her sister was merely attempting to help. No matter how offhand her way of conveying it has been.

          She needed, had to, heed her mother's warnings. Had it not been for her mother suggesting this trip, she would not be quite ready to face the Queen at court, or maybe be primed for betrothal at all. Her family had expected a hefty hereafter for her, a future that still awaits to be doomed or in dire hope, requisite enough for marriage to be achieved.

          Ianthe pursed her lips and sighed before finally speaking again, "I apologize, Beatrice. I did not wish to seem so obtrusive. . ." With a hesitant glance towards her still frowning sister, she grumbled under her breath, "And unkind, too."

          Sighing, she clasped her hands, lips jutting forward in half-hearted desperation. She still expected her sister to excuse her for this, of course, but such measures were quite a charming addition to her antics. "Forgive me? Please?"

          She was a woman of her word, keeping her values close more often than when she didn't, and regrets were a forte she was not too familiar with. After all, she was fostered within a family worth millions of shillings and more, never knowing the circumstances that occurred beyond glass windows and cemented walls.

          However, when all such occasion is set aside, she had also been nursed to maturity surrounded by kindness and grace, though she would often rather retire from it. Mistakes, when she was so openly admonished for, were inevitably necessary to confess.

         "You of all people should know that your bonny tricks will not acquaint to such actions, Mal," her stern glare softened seeing the enlarged eyes of her sister, sparkling with genuine rue.

         "Do believe that I my sincerity, Rosie," she huffs, "This is a chance I would prefer not to frequent."

          "Should I deem myself honored for your expected propriety?" Beatrice scoffed.

          Ianthe deepened her frown at this, holding her tongue as to avoid further discord.

          The older of the two heaves an aggravated breath after deliberation, "Oh, alright. You must stop giving me those puppy ​​eyes. You look no more than a wounded dog scrounging for a bone to gnaw."

          "Did it not work, sister? I am quite the adorable one, aren't I?" Ianthe teases the lady that just lets out a short laugh, amused at most.

          The glee faded from the atmosphere, replaced by a tense weight not even seconds after Beatrice had ceased her giggles. It was only a matter of time before they recur their impending matters through sifting thoughts, either of them now far from their lighthearted banters.

          "We're just by the Dennings' farmhouse, a few carriage rides away from the creek," The young, ebony-haired colleen voiced out her observations on the change of the surroundings.

          Ianthe's gaze remained upon her folded fingers, gloved with silk and itchy with discomfort. She'd love nothing more than to be as young as once was when they habitually visited the creek as per their father's desires. Owning an estate just a few minutes of walking away from the rivulet, they were juvenile and no younger than a decade and five.

          She longed for those inestimable moments, partly because she was absolved from uncomfortable attire and also because she could still feel the tender embrace that of which only her father could provide.

          Distancing herself from the sentimentality, she reels away from her thoughts to pay more attention to the growing ruckus outside her carriage that had reached her ears. The sound of the horse's hooves became sharper, as though it hooved through cement streets, people talking over one another, vendors beckoning clueless nobles into buying their products.

          It was chaos, and oh, how it enraptured her.

          Ianthe was delighted at the architecture that greets her once she decides to replicate Beatrice's actions, witnessing the ton promenading the streets of the ever-virtuous city of London. Despite the look of terror and turmoil on her sister's expression, her current state was the least of her problems for now.

          Because, after almost a year deprived of her family's company, Mallory was finally home.

EDITED: 03/28/2022
04/08/2022