“Frances,” her mother whispered gently, “Wake up.”
Frances immediately sat up, “Is it today?” She whispered softly, her blue eyes wide with excitement. Her mother nodded once more, it seemed like she was silent as usual. “Mariah is ready to go, please hurry.”
Standing up, her mother gracefully left the room. This was Monarchy, and Frances was supposed to wed into a rich family with a man to take care of the company. But with her younger sister, it was little to impossible.
Mariah was a beautiful, well-bred lady. She would never get dirty; especially on rainy days, she stays in.
Meanwhile, Frances was the dirtiest lady you will ever meet. She was nearly ill-mannered. Sighing, she ran her fingers through her delicate, long brown hair. The brunette stood up, throwing open her closet.
Glancing towards the mirror, she let out a sound identical to a groan. Frances threw on a black, long skirt that reached her waist and a white shirt that was covered with a red jacket.
“I probably look like a wreck compared to Mariah,” Frances muttered sourly, rolling her long black socks and matching it with her boots. They met knee-length.
The door cracked open before a maid, named Lucy entered. Her black, neatly sewn dress fell over her feet. “Miss Frances, your presence is requested in the entry room.”
Frances nodded gently, the Turner family was the owner of a company for various items. She was only the connection of two companies, being the eldest. Her sister, Mariah, has yet to be chosen for a suitor. Meanwhile, Frances is already soon-to-be-wed with a man named Jack Forrest. At the festival, she would be meeting with him.
The Forrest company was larger than theirs, specializing in body products.
She grimaced at the thought of marrying someone she had just met. Frances didn’t know his face, or anything like that. Swinging towards the door, her boots thudded below her feet.
Frances looked a mess compared to Mariah, who was probably awaiting her arrival in the entryway.
Lucy guided Frances through the hall, the ginger’s hands kept to herself. Tailing behind the ginger, Frances eyed the paintings that decorated the halls. Most of them voiced victory in wars, while others described the treasure in emotions.
Frances sped up a bit, hearing voices overlapping in the room. Lucy opened the door gently, closing her forest green orbs. “Miss Frances,” She announced, crossing her arm over her stomach in a gesture that allows her to enter.
Frances inhaled sharply, fixing her posture to where her parents would partially approve of her. But, alas, her attire was inferior compared to Mariah.
There in the middle of the room stood Mariah, wearing a long, red dress. Her dark brown hair fell to her back, long eyelashes fluttering. She was constantly compared to her, by her parents.
“Frances,” Her father scorned, “You slept in.”
”Hush, Edgar,” Her mother sighed, pressing the fan embedded with soft silk and jewels to her lips.
Edgar James Turner was a once another well-bred man. He was married to Elizabeth Angela Turner, who was more stubborn than a mule. Their marriage was something odd to Frances, since they were polar opposites.
Edgar scowled when Elizabeth had scorned him as if he were a child, though that expression left quickly as it came. Frances swallowed thickly as she sat down. The couch dipped with her weight, the red leather soft to the touch.
Lucy side-stepped as she shut the door gently. Lucy was a well-mannered eighteen-year-old. She was hired as a maid for the manor a few months ago, and she was helpful in many ways. Lucy walked forward, “Master, the car is awaiting in the front.”
Frances was nervous as her parents led them out, Mariah walking beside her. Frances could smell the gallon, or so she thought, of perfume that decorated Mariah.
As Lucy had said, a long, black and sleek car waited for them. As the hired driver known as Winston slid open the door for their entry. Of course, they entered one by one. Pushing in her dress neatly, Mariah slid through to her seat.
”Frances, aren’t you excited?” She whispered gently, hiding their conversation with her fan.
It seemed like fans were popular nowadays, growing pensive, Frances sighed.
”I suppose. I had never met him,” Frances whispered her worries, though it was no need to whisper. Elizabeth and Edgar sat in the far front alone, sipping glasses of wine. Normally, there was a personal bar for booze.
”Oh, you’ll be fantastic!” Mariah smiled warmly. Twirling her brown hair, “You have no idea how jealous I am.”
At that word, Frances perked up with confidence. Frances kindly spoke, “Why should you be jealous? I bet you’ll find a suitable husband, yourself.”
Mariah frowned, wearing a solemn look. “I hope so, myself.”
Frances grimaced, noticing how someone above her could even have problems. “You know, you should wear something more formal, next time!” Mariah scorned gently.
The older brunette frowned, “You humor me.”
”Truly!” Mariah kept her voice quiet.
Frances opened her mouth before the car stopped abruptly, Elizabeth stepping out with a dreamy sigh. “How nice.”
”It’s not what I expected,” Edgar muttered sourly, scowling as he followed his wife.
Frances stepped out next, her boot thudding gently as she did so. Excited chattering hit earshot, glancing towards the entrance that decorated with Japanese-Styled lanterns.
Frances clicked her tongue, noticing how seemingly packed the place was. “Be sure to be back by five,” Elizabeth spoke gently as she began walking away. It seemed like they were dumped with freedom, although Edgar frowned, against her decision.
Frances examined the lights that glittered, reflecting from the ocean shore. The beauty of the festival was beyond words, families laughed together. The ocean was a calming, dark blue. The waves lapping at the shore as children giggled. She began for the food stalls, noticing how there were foods that would never be served at the estate.
”Buttered corn, here!” A young man with black hair yelled, she was dazed from how loud it was. Frances shook her head, continuing onward. Her father described how it would end with food poisoning; she refused to listen, normally.
Her gaze trailed forward, stifling a gasp when she noticed Edgar chatting with a man. Frances was more than confused, her crystal blue eyes wide. Who was this man? Clearing her throat gently, she replaced her confused expression with a deadpanned look.
”Ah, Frances. Right on time,” Edgar spoke up, all attention going on her. “This is Jack Forrest,” He gestured towards the man who stood by him, his brown eyes meeting hers. Jack smiled warmly, though it looked more forced than she would like.
”I am Frances Turner, pleasure to meet you,” She heard her own disgusted tone.
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