Candlelight (Part 2)

By Charlotte Lewis

Illaria

“And so Mr. Delent I believe that you would be making a great mistake in commissioning your portrait from Angelico considering that he did such a horrific job at painting Alfred. I mean by gods the man’s nose was the size of……”


My father droned on to Mr. Delent, and I sat listening quietly. Poised gracefully unmoving, so as not to mess my perfectly curled hair. Seen but not heard. It took a surprising amount of effort to suppress the overwhelming urge to scream and run out of the room.

I shifted slightly in an attempt to quiet my rebellious thoughts. My mother who was sitting on the other side of Papa saw my subtle movement and shot me a warning look that meant "don’t mess this up. "

It was a needless glance. I knew the importance of my father’s dinners. Or at least I knew how important they were to him and Mother had no reason to think otherwise. I always did what I was told, I was good in my lessons, and I never complained. Well, I never complained to her or Papa.

I opened my senses to the room and realized that the servants were coming with the food. They had such a timid way about them almost as if they were apologizing for their presence. Strange perhaps, but that was how father trained them. I hated it.

I smiled at the girl who served my food, but the only response I got from her was a bewildered look that came into her eyes right before she hurried away.

Mother, who never missed a thing, gave me a reproving look which I understood as; don’t interact with them. They’re beneath us.


I sighed silently to myself and glanced down at my food. It gave off pleasant aromas and the heat emanating from it was comforting. I could feel hunger gnawing at me but my corset was cutting into my ribcage quite painfully and it rather put me off eating.

So I sat there,

The hours dragging by with the same old conversations on the same five topics politics, art, education, horses, and property. Always the same conversations, no matter who the guest, no matter what the occasion.

To say the least, I was board out of my mind.

I wondered what Mother thought of it. But then again she hasn't been to as many dinners as I have. I was acutely aware of the fact that my father likes to show me off. To him I am rather like a trophy or an award. However it had never been the same with my mother. I've always thought that odd but after fifteen years, I have just come to accept it and not ask questions.

Four hours in and I was sure I would lose control and begin to scream. Thankfully my Baby Brother Emile came to my rescue by starting to cry loudly.

I looked to my mother. Receiving the nod of consent I took him and walked, as swiftly as could be socially, out of the room.

Upon my exit I handed Emile to the first Nanny I saw and began to Run. I ran through the halls, decked with the bland portraits of my ancestors. I felt as if the walls were closing in on me. I needed to get out. I couldn't’t breathe ‘course that might’ve been the corset.

I ran faster and faster, ignoring the odd looks from the butlers and maids. Finally I made it out the doors and into the grounds. But I didn’t stop there. I kept running through the gardens until I reached the rose garden. I pushed past prickly thorns and tightly woven stems pulling impatiently as they caught my dress. With one last tug I made it to the center where upon I collapsed in a heap.

I was surrounded by roses on all sides. Red, pink, yellow. I lay back staring at the stars, happy to be outside on a perfect summer’s night.

I lay there happy. Hours must’ve passed by but it felt like moments.


“Illaria!” I heard a voice call out. Recognizing it I smiled


“Over here!”


There was a rustling amid the roses and a few muttered curses as thorns broke skin.


“They're looking for you.” Still smiling I looked up at my friend


“I know.”


“You should go back”


I sighed my smile fading


“I know.”


Siren looked down at me, his eyes sympathetic.


“Come on, I’ll walk you back” with another sigh I nodded and allowed him to help me up. With one more wistful look at the roses I followed him back in the direction of the house.

We walked the more secluded paths seeing as it would be improper if we were seen together alone. People would start to talk, and if word ever got out mother would have a fit ans forbid me to speak to him ever again.

We reached the back kitchen door. I paused before entering.


“Good Luck” he said.


“Huh thanks I’ll need it.”


I entered the door leaving my best friend of fifteen years behind me and then started to my chambers, stopping only to check in with my mother and receive a lengthy lecture about politeness.


Finally I made it to my chambers. Kicking off my shoes I flopped on my bed sighing resignedly


“You really shouldn’t run off like that”


I groaned


“Not now Oma please.”


“Fine, fine as you wish m’lady. Come, help me pick out a dress for you for tomorrow.”


“Ugh you pick it”


She sighed at my unconcealed disinterest.


“Alright then, red or Purple?” she asked


“Goodness” I said surprised. “Why so fancy?”


“Because, didn’t your mother tell you? Your father finally arranged a suitable marriage for you. You meet him tomorrow”