Summer Rainault opened and closed her fan nervously, glancing around at the ball-goers with serious green eyes. A red curl brushed her bare shoulder as she turned her head, the weight of the pinned up tresses tipping her chin up. Ordinarily, she would be almost completely at home in this kind of setting, whether the location was Atlanta or London, but tonight was different.
Tonight she would meet her affianced, Philip Hubert, for the first time. She had always known she would marry to the family’s advantage, with little consideration for her own desires, but she had strongly hoped it would at least be someone she knew. Alas, the War (and General Sherman’s inexorable advance, which she wasn’t supposed to know about) had set everybody’s plans awry.
It was still annoying to be traded off (rather like a slave herself, she thought mutinously) for ships, without so much as a by-your-leave. She couldn’t even count on gracious Southern manners from Philip Hubert. It was enough to make a girl turn suffragist. Not that the British had any notion of women’s rights, Queen or no Queen.
Turning to gaze out over the crowded ballroom once again, she spotted her father, talking animatedly with another gentleman while making their way through the mass of society. Behind them trailed a tall, dark, slightly sardonic looking young man, whose eyes were so vividly blue she could see the color from several feet away. Hastily she smoothed her hands down the pale green skirts of her ballgown and stood up as straight as possible.
Reckless, and compassionate, those were the definitions of the tall, dark and handsome heir of the throne, when speaking with his father however, the boy lowered its head and accepted punishments and orders without complaint. There was no point objecting.
When a marriage was arranged, he was not fond of the idea, but upon seeing a dazzling redhead standing in the ballroom, he decided that perhaps things couldn’t be as terrible as it all seemed. Walking towards his future wife, he prince’s icy stare pierced through her own, always alluring and mysterious.
”Your highness,” Slightly arching its back, a head bow was required in reverence, respect, inevitably exposing its couterous nature to prying eyes of a jealous public. Begrudge stares, bitter whispers, icy blades shot through their limbs, but fret not, it would not cause the couple to crumble.
Fingers fondled white gloves sheltering the redhead’s scorned flesh, bringing it to a closer observation, perfum of lilies enveloping all, intoxicating the air at their surroundings “———It’s an honor to finally meet you.” Soft lips pressed a delicate kiss, forged delicacy and exuberant grace.
Her face flamed as red as her hair at his almost exaggeratedly courteous behaviour. She couldn’t jerk her hand back, much as she wanted to, but she wished there was some way to indicate her disapproval of how false he was being. Their parents had arranged the marriage; he didn’t need to pretend he was ecstatic about it.
Coolly, she said, “The honour is mine, highness,” and offered a deep curtsey, spreading her skirts with her free hand. Her father rubbed his hands together, looking very smug, and patted her back.
“Why don’t you two get acquainted?” he said jovially. “Take a nice walk in the gardens, a couple dances, something like that.”
Summer’s eyes flicked to Philip’s. But she waited, obediently, for him to make the first move.