Love is but a burden (Closed)

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Love is but a burden

As men we strive and stretch to boundless height
ascend on captivated breath
yet gelidly retreat on a folly mirror Durnbrook.
T'is my own triumphant Coturnix feather
Gold, Scarlet and Marmalade that hisses
ill with Black fault; it slithered o'er parchment
at my whim and with my purpose.

~ Duke Gregory Tellington II of Millshaven - 1806​

Gregory eyed the scribbled words with disdain. A faint glow peeked into the darkened room. He snapped his book shut, dispatching the pages littered with failure from sight. He heard footsteps nearing. Sour brows and weary eyes turned towards the door in disgust. His footsteps echoed and the light grew to unveil his calf length black breeches and long-sleeve white linen shirt.

A woman approached, "My Grace," greeted Abigail, head of house service.

She held an ivory tray decorated in blue and golden inscription. On the plate was a croissant, a cup of tea, a small glass of orange juice, a small fragrant bowl of mixed berries and a multitude of neatly, ordered condiments. Gregory sat down in his elm rocking chair. Abigail observed the tightness around his eyes and mustered a warm smile in the cold autumn air.

Pointing to a small table next to him Gregory replied, "Thank you."

He sat overlooking his scenic estate. The moon wained; a yolk of pale butter atop the Altsne mountains. His eyes walked his well kept lawn. Every blade of painstakingly symmetrical green, moist with dew. His extravagant ivory fountain stood lonesome in the moonlight. He could barely make out the various orchards scattered near the outskirts of the forest. It would be soon that the Finches, Robins, and the odd Dunnock would join in melodious song. Abigail delicately placed the tray on the table. She held out a scoop of sugar above his tea. Gregory flicked his hand. Abigail returned the spoon to rest in the sugar.

"Do you carry news," asked Gregory.

He took a sip of tea and dabbed the tip of his tongue to his upper lip. It was splendid. He knew of no other beverage, hot, or cold, that could quench his desires in so many different ways. Abigail motioned to the door.

A new woman entered carrying letters in her hand. She slipped them under the tray on the table, "My Grace."

"Thank you." he said, reaching again for his cup of tea. Following another calculated sip he lent his attention to the pack of folded writing tucked beneath his tray. The woman whose name was of no consequence to Gregory left the room.

Abigail stood proper with her hands tucked neatly behind her, "An invitation for supper and evening activity from the Duke of Gelsburg, An invitation for supper and evening activity from the Baron of Durnbrook, An invitation for supper and evening activity from the Baroness of Glenhew." She finished before Gregory could thumb through the last of the letters.

"Should deliverance be sent to confirm for any party, My Grace?"

"I shall have the Duke of Gelsburg's declination by half past. Please have John prepare my other condolences at his leisure. I do believe he has taken ill." Gregory took another sip of tea before rising, the tea cup silently laid to rest despite his motion, "Please ready my horse, lunch and attire by 7. I will be spending the morning and midday amongst the forest hunting."

He began towards the door, stopping in the middle of the large room. He glanced down at the lavish stone floor. His eyes traced the marbled black and white tiling until it fell beneath the light beige silk of his bedding. The fair mass entwined in it's web stirred quietly. Evelyn nudged and nestled her way back to stillness. Gregory looked on, standing in the half open door, illuminated in the light. The hard cast shadow outlined his rugged facial features and gave his golden sideburns away.

He released from firm expression, "Please inform Ms. Evelyn that I will be seeking solitude today, and tonight. Please have a carriage awaiting her in..." he pulled out a silver and gold pocket watch of exquisite quality. The engraving was precise; every inch of metal without flaw, or blemish, "...two hours time," he concluded aloud.

Four glasses of wine, bed at half past midnight. He nodded in agreement with himself and proceeded into the hallway.

Amelia Ashley


Amelia Ashley sat perched in the lower branches of an Ash tree, one of many near her family home. She was settled in between branches that form a y her back against the trunk and a book in her hand her feet dangling down swaying with the breeze. She was often found just like this much to her mothers dismay. But Amelia loved the cool shade of the tree and the view she had of neighboring properties to her it was simple perfection.

Her mother Elizabeth Ashley was at her wits end, they were not a rich family and neither where they poor. But they certainly did not have money to waste on dresses for Amelia and her mother could only patch the ones she had so many times before it became obvious and an embarrassment. Amelia had logically said that she should be aloud to wear pants, of cause this almost caused her mother to faint as she went into another long spiel on what was suitable and not suitable for a young lady and then she would go on and on about finding a suitable husband to improve her station and provide for her the rest of her life....never about love thought Amelia who had learned such notions from the books she read.

Her father William John Ashley an educated man and an educator by trade, would try to console his wife with the fact that Amelia was only young and had plenty of time to settle down and find a suitor, of course this never appeased her for long because Amelia would shun every attempt by her mother to match make or to make Amelia conform to societies standards of a young lady of eighteen. Today a perfect example of this, Amelia was supposed to be having high tea with some ladies from the church and their daughters. Her mother had arranged it hoping the good influence of others would wear off on her daughter....but instead Amelia had taken one of the many books from her fathers library and was perched in an ash tree watching the world go by, content to spend her day reading about far off lands and adventures on the high sea.

Donned in fresh garment Gregory made his way out the main door. He squinted. The sun had begun it's trek, leaving behind the mountain tops in search of it's midday throne. He brought a cupped hand over his brow.

"A beautiful morning is it not Ms. Abigail?"

Abigail lowered her chin, "My Grace, it is indeed such a morning."

She held the reins to Percivius. Percivius was one of Gregory's favorite stallions. Un-gelded, the dark Chestnut male was 2 years of age and would one day yield handsome offspring, both in name and appearance. His muscular physique, strong lines and unblemished coat were a true testament to the quality of his sire, Armand.

Abigail continued, "You have 60 rounds in your left pouch, My Grace. In your right pouch you have fruits, a ham sandwich, three cheese balls, a flask of wine, a flask of afternoon tea and a flask of water."

"If you should so choose Ms. Abigail, please allot my morning breakfast to the others serving the kitchen. The tea this morning was most magnificent. Also, help yourself to a full serving of fruits and grain for you and your son."

The two eyes barely above the sill instantly hid. Gregory appreciated the hired work of house service. Abigail had served him the longest. She had begun working at the estate 12 years ago for his father. While not especially high within the household hierarchy of service, she had caught Gregory's attention through focused drive and attention to detail. When his father passed on, he had decided to appoint her head house. She had continued to diligently uphold her previous work ethic and he was most pleased with her loyalty. The familiarity with certain practices helped to break the monotony of daily explanation to newer maids.

His left foot led an easy swing of his body atop Percivius. Gregory looked down to Abigail, "Depending on the abundance of quarry, I suspect my return no later than 6 this evening. Have my tea ready upon arrival. I will receive it in the kitchen while I clean the day's bounties."

"Understood, My Grace. Happy hunting."

Gregory trotted off. Looks like it'll be quite warm today. Gregory stared into the cool woods. He called Percivius to make haste, encouraging him with hands, wrist and heel. An eagerness ebbed in Gregory's soul. It was soft and blue; a morning's break. He had a book, his rifle, food for the day and most of all, solitude. The gentle serenity closed, the wind and his hair fluttered with excitement.

Walking towards the stable to ready Evelyn's horse, Abigail watched Gregory and Percivius head off towards the woods. The trail of dust growing smaller and smaller.

After spending a hour tending to his Northeastern vineyard, Gregory reached the forest. He ran a hand through his golden and brown strands in an attempt to counteract the wind and sun's mischief. Percivius' hooves shuffled softly and stopped atop the earthy foliage. Gregory held the reign firmly. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The lightly spiced air coated his scent. Pine, late summer and an inviting forest held their arms outstretched to him. Gregory decided he would visit the brook first. He couldn't wait to sit under his favorite tree and layout beneath it's majestic stand. The voice of the water would not bother his reading, nor his writing. It wasn't the pestering silence of his room, it would not stir, or shake him at his most taken of moments.

Gregory turned to the nearing audible intrusion, "Mr. Tellington!", yelled Evelyn.

She galloped towards him atop Georgia, one of his fillies. Gregory could feel the warmth of day creeping beneath his collar. His fingers moved feverishly to undo a button. Percivius snorted.

Gregory lowered his eyes and turned, "Ms. Evelyn, forgive my leave, the thought of stirring you at rest was something I could not afford my person." He dipped his head, it returned to a normal position.

His lips remained pressed. Abigail! Did she awake Evelyn? Or is this just horrid luck out to ruin my day?

Evelyn eyes remained locked, but she tilted her head slightly, "And in my current state, are you able to afford my company?" The brow above her right eye rose.

Gregory's head made a slow clockwise circle. Finishing the rotation he rolled his lips inward, "Ms. Evelyn," Gregory turned his eyes from her, "My plans for today have been set. I do not feel that the days events would be worthy of your company, nor would it be suited for your attire. I bid you g'day."

He nodded his head towards her, quickly pulling on Percivius' reigns. He rose a cheek and sucked the air between his teeth. Percivius turned. They took off towards the forest. Evelyn looked on, eyes tightly pressed together, her head slowly shaking. The silent words uttered in a soft breath unfitting a woman of her stature.

"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can." - Moby Dick

Amelia read the words aloud, and she nodded in agreement running her finger over the text on the page, she understood it deeply. When ever she felt the world closing in on her and suffocating her. Amelia ran, she would flee and climb a tree or run barefoot in a meadow or swim in a stream just to feel alive and free. She hated the stuffy oppression she was forced to live through, her mothers constant nagging and domination was more then she could stand.

Amelia wanted to live her own life and to be free to do as she pleased, just as any man was aloud the luxury to do. Many times during her life she had wished she was born a boy, and many times over she was sure her parents had occasionally given in to that fantasy as well. She was a beautiful girl long brown hair, perfect skin a sweet rosy bow for a mouth and these amazingly deep blue eyes, that seemed so deep you could drown in them. But Amelia did not care for her looks or even fuss over them she was content to be a free spirit.

She had the manners of most young ladies of her class and she knew formality when it was required. She could eat at a dinner table without causing offense and could dance if requested but she refused to let her mother push her into a life that only held ball after ball and social occasion after social occasion all with the purpose to sell her off like some object to a suitable man just to improve her station. "I would rather be a spinster house maid" she said to herself venomously and closed the book.

He nodded his head towards her, quickly pulling on Percivius' reigns. He rose a cheek and sucked the air between his teeth. Percivius turned. They took off towards the forest. Evelyn looked on, eyes tightly pressed together, her head slowly shaking. The silent words uttered in a soft breath unfitting a woman of her stature.

Oh, no, not that easy.

"Mr. Tellington!"

Georgia reared up and bolted after them. Without turning, Gregory could hear Evelyn in pursuit. The damn woman. The brown of trunks, the peaking rays of sun and the Forest's dark blue temperature blurred in his peripheral; He and Percivius flew through the underbrush. He cursed his judgment the previous night. He should have known better.

"Mister," Evelyn yelled, unable to construct full shrieks with Georgia in stride, "Tellington!"

He knew it would be only a moment before their distances ended the chase. A scream behind him forced Gregory to whiplash around. He watched in terror, Evelyn rolled to a stop on the ground. Her white gown stained with dirt, covered in twigs and leaves.

"Lord have mercy."

He slowed Percivius' and rode back to her. Dismounting he observed she was unconscious. Her face and head showed no sign of injury, there wasn't any blood, or bruising on her fair skin. He brushed her strewn blonde strands aside with his fingers, searching for injury. Surprisingly, he could find no harm. He slid his fingers down her face and to her neck. A strong beat. A smile crept across Evelyn's lips. Gregory leaped to his feet, stumbling back in reactive shock.

"Evil wretch," he stammered, "How dare you play with my attention in such, such."

She turned her head to him, still lying on the ground. Gregory bent down, hands upon his knees to collect his thoughts. She was absolutely mad! Could have bloody well killed herself.

"Did you fear for me?"

Evelyn sat up, slightly dusted the forest from her gown and rose, walking towards him.

"Of course I did."

"And what if I had been injured? Would you feel sorrow?"

The distance between them closed.

"Of course. Ms. Evelyn have you gone insane," asked Gregory, looking into her eyes.

She caressed his face, running her hand from his temple to his cheek, "So you do love me then."

Evelyn smiled, tears welled in her eyes.

Gregory felt his eyes moving away from her gaze. He contemplated his course of action. His stare stopped on the yellow and orange, speckled leaf, lying alone on the dark soil.

"No," he replied.

"Make me yours, Mr. Tellington. Marry me."

He felt the touch of her hand, sliding down his neck, his shoulder and joining her other hand in soft massage at his chest.

"I cannot make such a proposal Ms. Evelyn."

He took her wrists, removing them.

"Do not hide from your feelings," she whispered, tilting her head to intercept his stare, "I love you."

He released her wrists from his grasp and turned, walking towards Percivius without a response. He couldn't tell her. He didn't want to. It had gone too far already, that much was clearly apparent. He had never meant for her to become so atta--

She grabbed his arm, "A whore," she yelled, turning him around to view her face; the mountain for her tears to cascade down, "is that all I am? A fancy fuck for you to have and send off at your leisure?"

She slapped him with an open hand and trudged off. A nearby robin took flight with the collision. Her sobs growing in volume, fleeting as she grew further.

"Ms. Evelyn wait!"

He would not chase her. He watched her mount Georgia and ride away. He stood in contemplation. Maybe he did love her? She was beautiful. She was educated. Her family was quite situated throughout the kingdom. He stopped. He had already tried the same conceptual self-brainwashing before. It did not suit him, nor could he hold belief in it when he awoke to these women on their respective morning. He turned. Percivius nudged him again, snorting.

"Sure, let's get going."

The day was warming and Amelia knew she could not venture home so soon, her mother would be entertaining her guests and stuttering excuses as to why Amelia was not present. She smiled and wondered what illness she would have now, or what relative took ill that she simply must go and attend to, for she was a good girl. She was amused at that thought and smiled to herself, her mother was always making excuses for her and her wild tongue, her absences, her lack of wanting to be like other respectable young ladies of her age. It was of course her mothers own failing, if she simply did not push her so, Amelia would not have to rebel.

If only her mother would accept her for who she was, if only her father would defend her instead of allowing her mother to dominate were Amelia was concerned. How many times had she heard "I am sure your mother knows best" or " You must ask your mother Amelia, I do not know what is proper for a young lady...don't bother me with this." Amelia sighed there was no point wishing for the if only's, her parents would not change, but to their dismay neither would she.

Amelia climbed down from the ash tree in an awkward manner, after removing a snagging branch from her sleeve, she then quickly corrected the blue skirt of her dress that had ridden up. Adjusted and slightly flustered from her fussing and the heat, she tucked the book under her arm and then made her way across the meadow. Amelia was headed for her swimming hole, a quiet secluded brook that spilled over a few rocks. The banks of the brook shaded by large tree's. It was a lovely quiet place nestled in the forest, so out of the way and off the beaten track she was sure she was the only one who knew of it.

Not like most young ladies, Amelia has no fear of the forest or the animals that called it home. She relished in their company and delighted in watching them play and go about their business. Amelia was a free spirit and so took delight in the world around her and enjoyed exploring it every chance she got. This was how she had found her brook. On a day pretty much the same as this, she had set out to find adventure and to avoid embroidery lessons with her Aunt Beatrice. Hiding from her mother, she had walked away from the trail and deeper into the forest. Caught up in her exploring she had soon simply stumbled on the brook. And now it was a regular hiding place and a source of freedom for Amelia.

Amelia picked her way through the forest, she knew the way by heart these days. She could always hear the brook before it came into view and as it's bubbling waters got louder and louder with each step, Amelia filled with more excitement. She wasted no time the moment she was on the bank by the brook she began to undress, it was so thrilling to dive into the cold water and she simply could not wait on a day like to day it would be heavenly.

Stripping down to her corset and bloomers. Amelia unpinned her hair, folded her dress and placed it with her book, shoes and stockings near the base of one of the tree's. Smiling she took off towards the brook at a run and with a rather unlady like "wooooo hooo" followed by a splash jumped into the brook. Surfacing some where out in the middle she sighed with relief and began to float about and watch the clouds above.

Gregory and Percivius trudged through the lingering shadow. It would be midday the canopy would be overrun by the sky's radiance. Patches of the singing grove ahead of them were already consumed by day. Gregory sighed. It was long in release, apologetic in nature and meant for no one in particular. The sigh wasn't for Evelyn. It wasn't for him either. He had sighed at the prospect of love, in it's face, visibly and audibly condemning it, for everything this 17th day of May had brought him.

There were always things that he shared in common with women. Sure. But when every word had been said, every inch of flesh explored, by fingertip, or by tongue, he had found each, decidedly, lacking. His heart had never leapt higher, than it's first bound. It merely drifted. Floating on a familiar current, it ebbed on the white crests and drifted to a rising eve. Ruby crested Cardinals darted across the forest.

"That," Gregory pulled on the steeds reign, "that, is love."

At least, what he thought it should be. Their tiny brains, incapable of digesting the world's torment. Unaffected. They sang together, in chorus, screaming to the world of their joy. A vibrant stroke of red life. He turned, still saddled, to search his bag for the bound parchment. It was not in his right pouch, that which was easiest to access. He let his head dip. Of course, to record the words of love, I, must make a sacrifice. He decided to continue to the brook, once there he could re-situate and compose his thoughts through ink.

"Thirsty?"

Percivius snorted. Gregory looked on for a quarter mile, through the lightly wooded forest. The incline at it's edge hid it from view. But, it was there. He glanced a last time at the Cardinals, nestled high in an Oak's embrace. They didn't notice his envious stare. Nor should they, eyes returned to his destination. He called Percivius to take flight, his heels striking at the horse's side.


Gregory dismounted. He walked to the water's edge. He and Percivius, both lowered to the cold embrace, for Percivius, a thirsty tongue, for Gregory, two hands. The icy splash allowed him to reset the day with renewed thought and clarity. He wandered a few paces, up and down the muddy bank. Placing his hands in the pockets of his navy waistcoat, he walked towards Percivius. Gregory removed the rifle from it's tied binding, placing an eager hand at a satchel's draw. Love. The Cardinals, Evelyn and he, swirled in his mind; three different colored sauces, mixed on a blank plate.

Gregory reacted. The gun swinging wildly to his side, his knees bent, he crouched. The howl, coming from downstream. He had never heard such an expression from the wildlife and he mounted Percivius with curious intent. Gregory urged the horse to a lively speed, should the need to flee arise, the built momentum would serve their escape. Gregory clutched the rifle's metal barrel in his hand.

He neared the brook's edge, the flow of water, disappearing over it. A practiced marksmen, he was suddenly taken by the excitement of a new trophy. Green grass, trimmed the outer edges of the muddy banks below him. The clear water running, was speckled with dark stones, under it's surface. He could hear the animal, splashing about. From the magnitude of sound rearing from it's waterly stroke, it could be.. it might just be.. He paused blankly. What was it? He cocked the hammer back and placed the rifle's butt against his right shoulder. He stood, cautiously, aiming the steady Winchester above the rising line of sight.

A woman? He frowned at the oddity. There, in the watery refresh, swam a woman. Her long brown hair floating with chaotic grace, weightless in the babbling water. She propelled herself around and about, chest to the sky. Navigating without purpose; an intoxicated fish. He slowly began to lower his rifle. Her strokes paused and her head titled back.

"Aahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," she screamed, suddenly aware of Gregory.

A lone shot rang out across the brook. Birds fled their woody abodes. The gun, still pointed to the sky, shamefully sought a proper grip, the lips of the barrel smoking in laughter. Gregory moved to calm Percivius. Viewing the steed at rest, he turned back to the woman.

"I'm. I'm sorry Miss. Miss," he stammered. "Duke Gregory Tellington the Second, of Millshaven," he bowed, before continuing, "A-- At your service."

The woman stumbled to the bank, her hand outstretched.

"Amelia," she yelled in reply.

Amelia quickly snatched her belongings up, her focus remained on him. Her wet clothes flapped.

"Amelia?"

The girl took off towards the forest, her wet hair bouncing.

"Miss? Wait!"

When Gregory felt his left foot swing entirely free and fly wayward from it's muddy hold, he knew it was going to be trouble. He landed hard on his back. He looked up at Percivius, the horse looked down at him. Everything grew dark.

Amelia had been enjoying the water surrounding her limbs and cooling her warmed skin, it caressed her like a lover gentle and soothing. Smiling at that thought she was relaxed and happy in her secret place as she always was. Her hair floating freely just under the waters surface, her under clothes clinging to her skin, limbs hanging loosely as she watched the clouds above.

Then it began to change, it started as a feeling that unsettling one that creeps up over your body and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up....that one that tells you that your not alone and that you could be in danger. Annah stopped swimming and listened she heard a twig snap behind her, and tilted her head expecting to see an animal but it was a MAN with a gun. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAh" she screamed and a shot rang out.

OH GOD, HE IS TRYING TO KILL ME!! Amelia's heart pounded in her chest and in her head it was deafening and she was struggling trying hard to hear were he was so she could escape. she had no idea what he wanted, Amelia heard him settling his horse and then trying to apologize, but she was in too much of a panic to listen, she rushed for the bank and soon found herself face to face with him.

The stranger extended his hand and made a rough greeting she automatically replied with something but was not going to stay here to make small talk, he had spied on her and then tried to shoot her she grabbed up her clothing and ran as fast as her legs could carry her through the forest, she tripped and stumbled a few times ripping at her under clothes and grazing her skin but she was to scared to stop.

Gregory squinted, the sun beaming down, un-sheathed and without remorse. He groaned, feeling his attire baked into the cracked earth. He worked to free his memory from it's groggy haze. Light laughter escaped him and he rose to his feet, glad the injury sustained had been mostly absorbed by his pride, imagining his body, floating in the air; an exotic contortionist from the Far East. He looked around for Percivius. Where was he?

He called, "Percivius," with cupped hands.

He spied the steed, in the shade of an Ash tree not thirty paces from him. Smart boy. He grimaced, the pain shooting up his right leg. Yes, he remembered the fall now. Sweat laden, Gregory paused. He knelt carefully, running his parched hands through the brook's refresh. He scooped more of the cold relief and splashed it against his dry face, rinsing what fog was left from his mind.

Amelia. The poor girl. A tattered shred of cloth flagged her escape route. The lone, lilac strand, daintily wavered in the soft breeze; a handkerchief guided with a female finesse. Percivius slowed to a halt in front of him. Gregory peered at the sun, judging by it's position he assumed the time nearest 3 p.m. His head inched back at the calculation. Had he been out that long? He double checked with the watch in his pocket, his brows raised. Yes, almost a full hour.

Gregory said, "I believe it may be a bit too late to begin hunting game," turning to Percivius. Percivius snorted and Gregory chuckled, "We may still be able to salvage some pride though. What say you?"

The horse's hooves pawed eagerly at the grass and he shuffled in place briefly. Numerous, smaller estates were scattered in the brooks vicinity. The Loughterns, the Bruberks, the Churntines and the Ashleys. He thought hard about Amelia. Aside from her charming physique, a privilege her wet costume had so afforded him, he could not recall any clothing, or garment, distinguishing her residence. He paused. She had not been traveling by horse... In all likelihood, eliminating the Churntines and the Loughterns... Both possessed modest incomes and means of transportation were most certainly available. He looked towards the Bruberks estate, to the East of his own property boundaries. He rung the reigns and headed in the opposite direction. He hoped to arrive at her home before the young woman had any chance to speak of their embarrassing ordeal.

Amelia was quite breathless, she had a tight pain in her side and her bare feet hurt badly, when she finally broke free from the forest and found herself in the open spaces of the meadow. She had ripped her bloomers, scratched her arms and legs and her hair was littered with leaves and twigs and hanging across her face sticking to her wet skin....in short she was a mess.

None of this concerned Amelia, She was far too frightened to stop or to care for her appearances. Holding her clothes tightly to her chest she ran as fast as her legs would allow her, through the meadow and past her tree and headed for home. She was in such a state of panic she did not even stop to consider how she must look or of how her explanation may sound, she just wanted to make sure she as far away from the crazy man with the gun. She barreled through the front door slamming it behind her as if she had just out run the grim reaper himself and collapsed with her back against the hard wood it panting.

Having heard the commotion her mother scurried into the hall and gasped and shrieked in shock at the site of Amelia "Dear lord child what in heavens name?" she asked as she approached her daughter with great concern, Amelia looked up to her mother still to breathless to speak but the shock showed on her face. Amelia winced when she heard whispering behind her mother and looked to see the women she had supposed to have been having high tea with, her mother tugged her away from the door by the shoulder and rushed her into the kitchen embarrassed by her daughters appearance she only paused to call over her shoulder "I will return in a moment ladies please enjoy the pumpkin scones"

Amelia stumbled into the kitchen tears now streaking her cheeks, she was over come from her ordeal and by her mothers embarrassment, she knew she would not hear the end of this any time soon. Her mother huffed and closed the door before turning to Amelia "Look at you child, what on earth has gotten into you explain yourself at once"