June 1813

Seldom does there come a time when one is torn between the rules of etiquette and those of fashion. However, whilst staring blankly into her mirror, Cass found herself at one of these times.

    Fashion instructed that hair should seek classical influences, drawn up into loose buns or knots, with tight ringlets framing the face. Whereas, etiquette ruled that secret matters remained so, and anything that would bring shame upon a lady or her family was quashed at all costs. Nevertheless, as Cass gazed emptily at her complexion in the glass, she could not decide which was the superior.

    Her glutinous, dark brown hair beheld a slight curl as it flowed down her back. Cass lifted the hair above her left ear, revealing the source of her quandary. The scratches lay red and raw just below where the jaw met the spine. Cass went to touch the broken area and winced, sharply sucking in her breath, as pain seared though the reddened skin, which just days before had been smooth. Memories of the previous night came flooding back, absorbing Cass until she tasted blood again: her own viscous poison. She decided that fashion was to loose this battle. To reveal these marks would not only bring shame upon her; but their perpetrator as well, and Cass feared the consequences of this.

    Pensively, she looked around her room; each object was familiar, having barely changed in seven years. She took in each trinket; each carved leg of furniture, and each painting as though they would offer her the answers she so desperately sought. Her eyes fell to a mythical painting she had endlessly tried to recreate as a child. In the faces of the Muses, she found one answer at least, for they wore their hair half drawn back and left the other half floating down past their shoulders, in the true style of Ancient Greece. Through adopting this style, Cass could keep her secrets hidden, while retaining the style her status and society required.

    She called in Lily, her maidservant, and requested that her pearl hairpins were brought to her. Cass watched the girl as she went to help her. They were of equal age and yet, Lily’s face was filled with awe as she smiled eagerly at her mistress. Cass did not like being waited on, and so released Lily early to prepare herself for the Solstice Ball. She did not need anyone else fussing around her, or looking too closely where others would not.

    Left by herself, Cass deftly fixed her hair. She did not need to copy from the painting, for she had spent many days in her childhood dreaming about the figures and memorising their dainty features. She marvelled in the effect, knowing that no one else would gain the same pleasure. For Cass had grown up in the world of whispers and criticisms and now their words meant nothing, because she knew that no one would ever be perfect enough to silence them. Dressed only in her chemise, she crossed to the window, throwing it open to let the brisk night air fill her lungs. The Downs were alive with the early evening sun. Illuminated by its glow, they sung of the beginning of summer. The sweeping contours had an air of gentle grace, and even though the sight was a familiar one, it still brought a smile to Cass’s lips.

    “Cassandra,” shattering the silence, the door handle rattled as Cass fled the window, grasping her muslin shawl and hastening it around her shoulders. Charles breached her room: imposing, proud and aloof. A slight flicker twinged his nostrils as he exuded his presence. “Cassandra, are you not yet ready for tonight’s ball? The guests will arrive shortly and I desire that you are at your best for them.” His gaze transferred from the window to his sister, appreciating her appearance for the first time. “Cassandra,” he retorted, his eyes suddenly ablaze with fury. “You have not even fixed your hair. Why? Tonight must be faultless; you must be flawless. I seek perfection and you serve me this.” He spat the words, distain and disgust etched into each syllable.

     “No, Charles.” She breathed deeply and slowly, smiling tentatively; awaiting the storm. “I have arranged my hair, and when I am changed, I shall be ready to meet our ‘noble’ guests.”

    “You will do it again, I demand that you conform to fashion. I require that you will be the foremost lady tonight.” Charles seethed, striding across the room, until his breath brushed against Cass’s cheeks. Expectantly, he cocked his head, bringing it level to hers.

    In turn, Cass brought her hand to her neck, lifting the hair from in front of her left shoulder to behind it, and tilting her head to the right, displaying the raw welts in her skin.

    The fire extinguished in Charles’s eyes, and his whole face softened. He took a step back and unclasped his hands from behind him. His tone lowered to a mere whisper and he appeared pained. “Cassie?” Momentarily startled, he breathed out heavily. “How you had it before will suffice.” A silence began to settle in the room; drifting densely between them, until regaining his purpose, Charles spoke again. “Now, because tonight is so momentous, I believed a new gown to be in order.” Abruptly, he stood up straight. Raising his voice, he called for the dress to be brought in and laid upon her bed.

    The light across the Downs had darkened as the sun endured its final descent of the day, and the silence settling again, Cass crossed to the bed. Poised and calm, she became captivated by the ivory muslin, which was so fine it appeared to float. The silvery trimmings possessed their own light, as though someone had captured tiny pieces of the stars in each thread.

    “It is enchanting,” murmured Cass, breathless from its very appearance.

    “Yes, it is the epitome of all that is beautiful and pure,” Charles added dryly and bored, “you will seem most alluring in it.” He turned to leave, however, on reaching to door he hesitated, glancing back to see Cass reach out her hand to the glowing fabric and he watched the light reflected in her face and intrigued smile, as she bit her bottom lip. He too smiled, before correcting himself and closing the door between him and his sister.

Cass delicately fingered the gown, delighting as it flowed over her hands and skin. It was simple and yet it shimmered, as though possessed by its own magic. Alone, Cass watched the remainder of the light descend from the sky, and then she finally prepared for the Solstice ball.

Laugher, music and vivacity rose from below her, as Cass opened the door to her room. She knew the guests were arriving and that the ball had started. Long ago she had learnt her role as Cummingfield’s mistress, and she had never forgotten it, and this was the role Charles wished her to play tonight. Despite such knowledge, Cass also knew that she longed to enjoy herself tonight. However, fulfilling both Charles’s wishes and her own often proved an impossible feat. Hesitantly, Cass left the confines of her room, and slowly, she made her way downstairs, gaining composure, grace and patience with each step.

    At the bottom of the Grand Staircase, Charles awaited his sister’s arrival. He was tired of smiling in this ridiculously cheerful manner as all his guests passed him, knowing that they would have a wonderful evening while he could not relax. He met their disparaging gazes with his own impatient eyes, as the anxiety in his chest tightened. He had planned this night, worried about it for weeks and now it all had to be performed perfectly; anything less than perfection would ruin all his calculations. All this was playing haphazardly through his mind, as he felt his breath falling shallow and uneven.

    He gasped as his chest suddenly became looser. Cass had appeared beside him, celestial and tantalising, as she painted a fixed smile to her face. He knew that every man in her proximity would be left breathless just as he had. After a helpless moment, Charles regained his control and supremacy, holding out his arm to his sister.

    “Your ball awaits,” he smiled assuredly, meeting her cool eyes with his fiery pair.

    “Shall I choose any specific partners?” Cass inquired, knowing she played to his bait, as she took his arm.

    “That is just who I would like you to meet.” Each syllable drooled with confidence, as he led her to meet their guests. As the pair entered the parlour, Cass felt people’s eyes alight upon her. The pair made their way to the far corner of the room. It was slightly more sheltered, as a collection of chairs had been arranged there. The occupants of these chairs had stood to greet the siblings, and on seeing the smiles that faced her, Cass could not fight back her own. The sparkling brown eyes of her best friend: Ariadne – Aria – Edwards met her, bursting with teasing excitement and delight. Beside Aria, her mother: Lady Mary talked intently with three people Cass had never seen before. On the siblings’ arrival the conversation ceased as seven head bowed in polite greeting.

    Lady Mary swiftly took it upon herself to alleviate the situation by opening dialogue. “I must congratulate you, Mr Dingham, for the Gregarians and ourselves were just admiring the splendour of tonight’s ball. Never have I seen such exquisite flowers and been so reminded of the joys of summer when indoors. One may even feel obliged to fall in love in a place adorned with such resplendence and consideration.” Both Lady Mary and Aria laughed as though she had mentioned some private joke, and Charles tittered pleasantly, although Cass was certain he was only being polite.

    “It is not just the flowers that are beautiful tonight.” A voice broke over the laughter, impassive and empty. “This must be Miss Dingham.” The tallest of the strangers bowed in Cass’s direction with a sickening smile written over his face.

    “Indeed, this is my sister, Cassandra,” replied Charles, bringing his arm forward and consequently causing Cass to take a step forward. “This,” Charles began to smile with an unnerving air of superiority and importance. “This is Mr James Gregarian, owner of our neighbour Osman House, across the border in Kent, and of Cleasby Manor, in Dorset. I believe he is a most affluent and amiable gentleman.”  Again James smiled and Cass felt the pits of her stomach move as the loathsome smile increased.

    It could be said that James had all the features of a handsome gentleman. For he was tall with thin blonde hair and startling eyes. However, while he was painstakingly thin in his frame, it was clear that he was powerful, and his face was narrow with strong features. It may be seen that he did not own any objectionable elements, but neither did he possess any attractive ones.

    “It is an honour I am sure, and the rest of your party?” Cass inquired, bringing her vision to a girl of no more than a year younger than herself. Like her brother she was tall and thin, and her gaunt face was carved with a sharp nose and watery eyes. She was blonde, yet there was no natural beauty in those locks and her fashionable air was falsely adorned.

    “This is my dear sister: Louisa Gregarian,” James gestured to his left and then he continued to his right, “and this is my younger brother: Peter.”

    Cass turned to look to him, instantly feeling herself blushing at the intensity of his stare. Like his siblings, he was tall and thin. However, his blonde curls were more luxuriant and viscous, his face was rounder and his deep brown eyes held the portal to his soul and bore into the centre of Cass’s.

    Tearing her vision away from Peter’s eyes, Cass forced herself to look back to James. “Why, may I enquire, have I never been acquainted with you before, when we live so close?” She was desperate to make conversation, before the time came for her to be left alone with James, with his lurid smile and wandering eyes. Her body brindled as she felt his eyes drop and follow the curves beneath her dress.

    “Over the past few years I have been travelling Europe, and thus have been away from home. It is only recently that I have returned to England. Now, with our families living so close, and all five of us being orphaned, it seems natural for a friendship to form between us.” He said it in a dry, unfeeling tone, but there was a hidden undertone that Cass could not trust.

    “And your siblings, did they travel with you, Mr Gregarian?” Cass faced him, trying to distract him with further questions.

    However, the mention of his siblings only seemed to irritate him. “No, unfortunately Louisa remained at home with her governess, for she does not travel well, and Peter has only just finished his tutelage.”  All the time James was speaking, he seemed fixated on Cass, his ever-growing smile spread thickly.

    “Thus, now all three of them have returned to Osman, I decided to invite them to one of our famous balls,” Charles spoke with a deliberately warm nature, which stood as a façade to his warning tone as he emphasised his final words. He shot James an obvious look, and Cass struggled to hold back her shoulders and keep her smile alive.

    “Yes, Miss Dingham, would you honour me, and this occasion, with this next dance, and show me the true manner of a Cummingfield Ball?” James had taken Charles’s enticement, and Cass felt as small and helpless as a doll, passed from child to child or sold over a counter.

     Before Cass could answer, she found herself being led into the Ballroom and onto the floor. There were flowers adorning almost every surface, tied onto each chairs’ arms and each of the wall hangings. There were thousands of candles, which illuminated the room until the very walls appeared to glow. Cass noticed a great many couples, each one filled with familiar faces and friendly smiles. Today, Cass found that she was struggling to see them as the friends of her childhood, each man looking to her as though she was an entity for their pleasure: looking to her as a ‘promising’ lady in their society, an adult and no longer a child.

    As they made their way across the floor, Cass smiled to the Watsons: Elliot and Christine, and their daughter Arabelle. They, like the Edwards, had been friends from early in Cass’s childhood, and Arabelle was just a few years older than Cass herself. Thus, despite their strict conformist ways and austere manners, Cass and Arabelle had become firm friends. However, tonight was different, for as Cass smiled to each of the Watsons in turn, Arabelle ignored her, for a gentleman had approached the mousy girl and led her onto the floor. Immediately forgiving Arabelle for choosing the pursuit of pleasure over herself, Cass turned back to James, as they settled in their positions. The music rose and she was thrust into a quadrille, with James still grasping onto her arms.

    To say that James danced well would be a blatant lie; for the truth was that he danced poorly. Cass could forgive him the odd stepping on her toes, and even the unsteady counting of his beats. However, when her toes were blackened from his own and his hands regularly fell from proper positions, she no longer felt that she could compliment him. As the danced ended, she merely stated that she had enjoyed seeing so many other couples on the floor, hoping that now she would have quenched Charles’s interest and could now benefit from the remainder of her evening. Much to her disappointment, she had more heavy counting to endure.

     As the second danced passed, time slowly ticked away from her, each second becoming a glutinous drop, enticing as it fell from the roof of a cavern. Cass had longed to travel, since hearing the tales of Sherezade in her early youth. She thought that she might find something of James that interested her in his travels in Europe. Genuinely curious, she enquired about the last few years, only to find that James has amassed very little of the foreign culture, and had merely noted that: ‘there are a great many more people,’ and ‘the English climate is considerably less desirable.’ Cass was felt a sense of the unjust and envious burn within her. She could hardly believe that there had been no mention of the scenery, foods, scents or traditions: everything she had yearned to see for so many years.

    As she spun to look around the room, promising herself never to ask about his travels again, Cass’s eyes fell on Arabelle and her partner – Mr William Hartnett. They were deep in discussion, Arabelle’s face alight as she fluttered her eyes. Although Cass was certain that behind those lashes no true passion or desire lingered, just a polite interest in a man Cass believed to be incredibly dull. She watched them, despite her strongest beliefs, feeling jealous of their conversation and easy steps.

    Finally the dance came to an end and Cass parted from James, heading over to the Watsons. However, before she could reach them, her path was interrupted by Aria, who took Cass’s arm and immediately began laughing uncontrollably. Aria directed them off the floor and over to a secluded corner. Relinquishing, Cass, Aria turned to look at her, glee still written into her eyes and lips.

    “I am glad you can find this much delight in my suffering,” Cass accused her, unable to stop herself grinning as she tried to pierce her lips, except they appeared to have a mind of their own as they broke into a smile.

    “Mother could not control herself either. Trust me, the idea is preposterous, you and Mr Gregarian. Never have I seen such a stilted man. No, he will not do for you,” Aria exclaimed all in one hurried breath, her tone filled with mirth and hilarity. She was quiet and excitable, like a small child on Christmas Eve.

    “And whom would you suggest is suitable?” Cass felt ice wash over her as she spoke. The idea of marrying Mr Gregarian seemed intolerable and too painful to imagine. However, one look at Aria’s fiery eyes melted the ice, returning her to her normal disposition.

    “Well, there are very few fortunate specimens here, I am afraid to say. Certainly, there are very few men with the untamed and passionate nature that will satisfy you or meet my standards. You know I have very high standard that I require for any future husband of yours.” Aria shot an almost evil look of mischief and wildness to her friend.

    “And do you hold such high standards for yourself or is it just my marriage that you care so greatly about?” Cass enquired, knowing the answer that would follow.

    “My marriage? You know I do not care to marry myself. I would have to meet a wild highwayman or ravishing pirate, a true man: a man of passion and fire. Until I meet such a man, I shall not marry.” Aria spoke with the passion and fire she so greatly desired. “And thus, my attentions have turned to finding you a suitable partner.”

    “As much as I greatly appreciate your attentions, do you not feel I am a little young for marriage?” Cass said, serious for the first time in the conversation.

    “At sixteen, of course not in the eyes of the law. In my eyes, yes maybe a little young, but it will do you no harm to look. It is like shopping, when you admire the fabric and the colours and yet have no intention to buy any of them. You may even try something on, and yet you are not constricted to buy it. Do you understand, little Cassie?” Aria giggled lightly, the emphasis falling in her voice.

    “That sounds a most attractive offer,” Cass replied, slyly biting her bottom lip, “I may even feel obliged to accept.”

    “Hence, we shall turn to the room, peruse what it has to offer,” Aria turned to take in the rest of the room. Many of the younger couples had taken to the floor, and after a quick glance to each of them, Aria turned back to Cass. “The other Mr Gregarian, Peter, what do you think of him Cassie? He is certainly somewhat…”

    “Attractive?” Cass suggested before she had realised what she was saying, feeling her checks redden. She lowered her eyes, determined not to look to her friend, and her teasing eyes.

    “A Michelangelo of boyish charm and blonde curls,” Aria seemed to ignite, lighting their corner with her words. “However, as I said, I do not care for such men.”

    “Whatever is wrong with him? We barely know the boy and already you have passed your judgement. Whatever happened to ‘do not judge or you too shall be judged?’ Well Aria?” Cass felt herself blushing further, and a slight fear appeared in her stomach that some disagreeable feature had shown itself in Peter’s character.

    “He is a very amiable gentleman; it is just that he does not suit my liking. However, his character does seem to mirror yours. I believe the two of you will make a fine pair. You certainly will receive my blessing.” Aria laughed at the look of horror that filled Cass’s eyes.

    “I thought we were just looking: trying before we brought. Honestly, did you not listen when I said I did not want to get married yet? I will admire young Peter for he is admirable, however, I will not flirt or court such a man.” Cass said it quite decidedly, as though she had made up her mind never to talk to Peter again, which of course, only made Aria laugh even louder.

    “Then we are decided. Maybe we can live together as old maids: destined for independent years and unconstrained fun.” Cass looked to her, unable to prevent the smile of disbelief and comfort that Aria had caused. “Miss Louisa on the other hand, unlike her brother, is a most intolerable creature: wound by fashion, etiquette and accomplishment. I know long gloves are in season, but have you seen hers? There are up to her ear lobes.” Her exasperation was evident, mingled with disbelief and disgust for the offending Louisa.

    “I noticed that you are supporting the cotton – just above the elbow – gloves; is that the style to possess?” Cass replied, sarcasm expertly woven through her words.

    “You are barely one to preach fashion to me, Cassandra Dingham. Can you explain your hair? Were we feeling rebellious?” stated Aria, filled with mock disapproval.

    “I felt like starting a new trend. Is it being widely slated by these circles?” Cass’s voice oozed with nervous confidence, as she smiled to her friend.

    “Strangely, it is not,” Aria complimented, with a tone of utter bemusement.

    “Next time though, I think I will return to normal. It is most inconvenient while I am dancing.” Cass decided.

    “That does remind me,” Aria started, “I promised Mr Nicholas Pegge a waltz. He is such a jovial young man, and an ideal dance partner. Do you not agree?”

    “Yes, he is a fine man, with such a luxurious sense of humour. Go on then, enjoy yourself, I do believe that is why you have intruded my home.” Aria did not need anymore convincing. She immediately promenaded away, shooting Cass a final roguish smile, as she took Nick’s arm. Cass watched as the pair began to skip around the room, before attempting to get up herself. However, as she went to stand, someone else joined her in her corner.

    In every girl’s childhood there should be a young boy. Whether a brother, cousin or best friend, someone is needed with whom to climb trees and battle ferocious dragons; and in Cass’s childhood this role was filled by Daniel. He sat beside her now, barely a man at only just seventeen. His vivid splash of auburn hair combined with his dazzling green eyes met Cass’s eyes, immediately bringing laughter to her face. “Are you having fun Cassie?”

    “I am trying my utmost, but I think the faeries are out to ruin the Summer Solstice.” She whispered to him with a tone as magical as the beings she spoke of. “But I think we can battle them off with our laughter.”

    “We shall certainly have to try.” He grinned slyly at her, and then looked across the floor to where the Gregarians had gathered. “Who are they, Cassie?”

    “They,” Cass began, exasperation thick on every word, “They are our newest acquaintances: the Gregarians. Charles believes we shall be the best of friends.”

    “But you do not.” Daniel tried to smirk but failed, “I saw you dancing with the eldest gentleman.”

    “Mr James Gregarian. He is certainly a…” But Cass could not think of anything to compliment him for. “Well, he is certainly a gentleman, and my feet shall never be the same again for the dances we shared.”

    This time Daniel managed a full smile, two different shades of green in his eyes. “And the other gentleman, is his as delightful as his brother?”

    “Peter? I could not say for I myself have not passed judgment. However, if he is at all like his brother, I believe that Charles has been optimistic beyond the point of lunacy. Before you ask, their sister: Miss Louisa is polite and fashionable and all that is courteous.”

    “So, you will not like her,” Daniel laughed. “However, they do not matter, for tonight we are here to have fun, and I promised myself that I would make you smile properly and not just rely on that old painted mask you have been using. Although I must be failing in my task, for your eyes have barely lit up all evening.”

    “Then dance with me, for I long to have a proper partner, and I may even reward you by removing the mask.” She laughed with disbelief, and he joined her as they made their way onto the floor. Cass put everything out of her mind, deciding that if Aria was going to have fun, then she would too. The smile that Daniel had worked so hard for soon made its appearance. Brighter than the candles and brighter than her dress, Cass glowed sending her radiance into the atmosphere.

Later that evening, her head still whirring and buzzing from the ball’s splendour, Cass found herself contemplating her evening. She lay wrapped between her sheets, the warmth of the summer night drifting around her. She had taken a great many partners, and Charles had taken her to dance with James a further three times. Her toes now throbbed beneath the sheets, and she had not dared to look at them, fearing that they would be completely blackened. Still now, she could hear the rhythm of the music beating through her head. However, James had never been able to fully grasp it. Her checks hurt from the smiles she had adopted: both real and fake.

    Despite dancing with James a great many times, it suddenly dawned on her that she had not danced once with Peter.  He had not danced with anyone. ‘How peculiar,’ Cass thought, puzzled by the young man. She had heard people discussing how ‘friendly’ and ‘handsome’ he was, but there were also terrible accusations of shyness that Cass had thought it was shameful to discuss. However, the fact remained that Peter had arrived at the Cummingfield Ball and not once taken a partner. Indeed, he was very peculiar.

 

 
    Regardless of his behaviour, it had been a wonderful evening. Cass had left her shutters open and now she could make out the moon: full and perfect. Gently swathing them in moonlight, its beam fell on the contours of the Downs, and slowly, Cass’s thoughts ebbed away, until she bathed in dreams.

The next morning dawned: bright and early. It appeared too bright and too soon for Cass, who dreaded this day every year. She could hardly believe that it had arrived again, the intensity of the sun blinding her as she surveyed the morning. She crossed to her glass, contemplating her reflection again. Today she seemed paler and narrower. There was a heaviness in her eyes, instead of her usual light; and a darkness in her spirit, which only appeared once a year. She knew it would be easier and permissible to leave her hair down, and yet, she still found herself plaiting her locks. Today was different; today she wanted to make the effort.

    She knotted her braids at the back of her head, wrapping a thick, black velvet ribbon around the loaves. After quickly adorning a puce morning gown and a black lace shawl, she was ready. She drank in several deep breaths, desperately trying to steady herself, before making her way downstairs.

    Breakfast was a tense, awkward affair, participated in mutual silence. The siblings sat at opposite ends of the grand dining table, each sensing the heavy tension that hung densely between them. However, neither one dared to break it. There was something comforting in the heavy and settled state, and even though it was uncomfortable, the pair had always found it easier to say nothing at all instead discussing it. Over the past year, relations between the two had escalated. Since the death of their parents, Charles had merely been distant, and yet, more recently his distance had turned into a deep desire to be rid of her; or at least this was how Cass felt. Even though they grew more like strangers each day, today was different: today they felt more together than ever, sharing the same isolation and the same sorrow.

    Charles lay down his knife and fork, causing a shattering chink of china. It echoed through the nothingness. Cass looked to Charles, he too seemed darker, as heavier shadows surrounded his eyes, and despite her sudden desire to smile at him, her lips felt too weak to oblige. She lay down her cutlery too, and even though she had barely touched her breakfast, she too could not manage any more. Charles’s eyes met hers, as he stood up and strode down to her end of the room, his head slightly bowed.

    “Shall we traverse to the Blue Music Room?” He held out his arm, and Cass looked away as she accepted his elbow.  He led the way, steady and stately. Both heads bowed, as Charles gently opened the door and allowed Cass to enter before him.

    The room was magnificent: it had a gentle, calming air. The blue and white walls had an eggshell appearance. Grand ceiling roses adorned the heavens, as did the lightest, chandelier. Delicate rays of light dispersed from its crystals, sending miniature rainbows onto the canvas. Chaises swathed in cornflower blue fabric lined the room, affiliated with marble busts of famous composers. Along the Southern wall hung three life size portraits: Jane, Cass’s mother; Anne, Cass grandmother; and Emily, her Great Grandmother. Each of them was dressed in the same shades of blue, their gowns depicting their era and their smiles depicting their love of Cummingfield. In the centre of the room was a large ebony piano. It was backed by a west-facing window, filled with a secluded seat. From here alcoves and copses of trees could be seen, and in the distance the Summer House peered from amongst the hills.

    “Play for me Cass. I wish to hear your dainty fingers in motion.” Charles demanded, with no option of refusing him. Cass slid onto the piano stool; her forced smile deepening and strengthening, with her fear for his next move.

    “What shall I play?” She forced her sweetest voice in an attempt to please him.

    Charles crossed to the body of the piano and leant his own over the woodwork. “Play anything, Cassandra.” He pronounced each word delicately as an individual, and emphasised each syllable with a deliberate tone. Cass began a study in A minor, lightly touching the keys as she started the first crescendo. “I do not wish for us to be heard,” Charles explained, leaning closer towards her and after a while begun again. “What did you think of Mr Gregarian yesterday?”

    “Mr James Gregarian?” began Cass carefully, as the staccato of her right hand’s chords, reflected the pricks in her stomach. “I believed him to be a polite gentleman, without any blemishes to stain his character that I have thus discovered.”

    “However, you do not sing his praises.” Charles snarled at her, and Cass missed her note, her finger slipping from its position.

    “No,” she whispered, intently fixing her eyes on the keyboard.

    “Why not? If he is faultless, then why do you not compliment him profusely?” The anger began to rise in Charles’s voice, and yet Cass knew that today she was safe.

    “No, Charles.” Her voice too increased in volume. “No, I am not copious in my commendation of his character, for although he is not disagreeable, I can find very little to admire him for. I can still see a firm friendship ahead of us, but a friendship and nothing more Charles.” Cass spoke slowly, as she reached a rallentando in the music. She paused at the last note of the phrase, before picking up speed again.

    “So, you know why I care about your feelings towards him? You know my aim and my plans for you: and yet you deliberately disobey me?” Charles was practically shouting; his eyes illuminated. He returned his figure to its full height, towering over Cass as she played. “You will learn to love him.”

    “Why?” Cass looked away from him, and away from the keyboard, to the picture of her mother. “Why do you want to get rid of me?” something in her voice trembled, as her music reached as sudden diminuendo.

    “You are almost seventeen Cassandra: a good age for marriage. You will be married and you will be happy.” His eyes joined her at their mother’s eyes, the eyes so very much like Cass’s own. Charles’s front and stature fell a little, as he struggled trying to find his words, hesitant and cautious. Cass looked to him: the furrowed brow, the sorrowful eyes. It was the same expression she had seen exactly seven years ago, the same look of fear and grief. “You will accompany me later – as always?” His tone had softened along with his demeanour, as another wave of grief doused his eyes. Cass was viciously reminded of the innocent little boy she had known in her childhood. She nodded once. He shut his eyes, breathing deeply, before turning to leave her.

    Solo and solitary, Cass finished the study. Tears eluded her eyes and darted down her checks. The final chord rang out, echoing from the ceiling: minor, dark and resonant. The strings stopped vibrating, and Cass too left the music room, and then she left the house. Clasping her shawl around her and slightly lifting her skirts, she made her way down the long path and out of Cummingfield. It was unorthodox, for she was only wearing her morning dress and had utterly inappropriate shoes, and yet Cass could not care. She left the confines of the grounds and made her way to the church, to the graveyard and to her parent’s graves.  Kneeling, she bared her palms, laying them over Jane’s grave: searching, reaching out for her mother.

    Cass could not say how long she knelt there, and if her tears had healing powers, Jane would have walked again that day. Cass found herself whispering to her mother. The endless torrent of lost thoughts and fears washed from her as she asked for help and guidance. She felt overcome by a calm resignation, her mind plagued by emptiness. The tales and myths of her youth suddenly burnt like lies, betraying her beliefs and future. She had always known that her life would never be like a fairytale or one of the magical stories to by Sherezade; however, the betrayal of the truth still crucified her dreams.

    Carved into the stone, under her mother’s name and dates was a passage Cass and Charles had chosen from the Bible.

‘Love is not happy with evil, but is happy with the truth. Love never gives up; and its faith, hope and patience never fail.’

1 Corinthians 13: 6 & 7.

Cass slowly read these words, tracing them with her finger, mouthing them as she went. She repeated it over and over again, swearing that she would not give up.

‘Faith, hope and patience,’

They were the traits her mother had taught her, and they were the traits that her mother had said were the single most important and most desirable in a person. They were the traits Cass was going to use. She would never give up on her dreams to be happy, and she would use all the ‘faith, hope and patience’ she could find.

    She wiped the last of her destitute tears from her eyes, sitting back on her ankles. She smiled weakly, praying that the Lord would help her. She read her parent’s names, their dates and the verse again, and each time she read it, it grew: gaining meaning, gaining strength, gaining passion. In the midst of all this, Cass felt herself growing too.

    “You are early,” the cordial voice penetrated her thoughts; the silent vacuum around Cass filled and roused her senses.

    “Nick,” she called out, turning to see Nicholas Pegge standing behind her. She stood up, stunned and bemused, slightly aware of her reddened checks. “I needed to be here,” she said by way of an explanation. However, Nick smiled and nodded in a manner that rendered all further explanation unnecessary.

    “Will you be returning tonight?” Nick enquired, his eyes filled with understanding and compassion.

    “As always. It is their day: the first day of summer.” She smiled longingly, “seven long years. It has been seven years since they left me and so much has changed.” She sounded disappointed that they had missed their summer. Her eyes looked as though they might refill and her bottom lip trembled, but no drops fell. The rest of her stood poised and straight, as she met Nick’s eyes.

    “You have changed, Cass. You are no longer a child, and become more of a woman each day, a lady.” He paused, the silvery tint of his eyes widening in honesty. “I noticed that at your magnificent ball last night. May I say that you looked truly marvellous - a proper young angel? I also noticed that you are very light of foot, while I spun you around the floor. You are most definitely not the same young girl I grew up knowing.” His tousled strawberry blonde hair fell forward over his eyes and his rosy checks bore slight freckles as he smiled teasingly at Cass. “And you must be happy: beauty beyond comparison, accomplished beyond belief and wealthy.” The sympathy in his voice was evident.

    Cass stared into the distance. “Yes, I should be ecstatic,” she began, gulping at the air a little. “For the rules say that I have everything I need. Yes, the law, society, my head dictate that I should be happy. But…” her voice fell short.

    “But?” he egged her on; taking his bent index finger to beneath her chin, and lifting her vision back to join his.

    “But, my heart screams the reverse of these things. It tells me that it is only my feelings that count: emotions, compassion, real passion; they are what truly lead to happiness.” She spoke quietly, almost ashamed of her innermost thoughts. However, Nick grinned back in a way that sung of pride and nature.

    “Then listen to your heart, and renounce your head.” He laughed to himself. “Decapitation is what society needs: widespread, universal decapitation.”

Cass joined his laughter, the sparkle returning to her eyes. “And more men like you, Nick, more honest men like you.”

    It was his turn to look away, this time with embarrassment and modesty. “I must leave you now, Cassie. I am deeply afraid to say that yesterday I had the misfortune of treading on Miss Laura Lipton’s toes during the Quadrille. Therefore, I feel it is only proper for me to apologise profusely, this morning. I hope you can understand the reasons for my departure.” He beamed mischievously to her.

    “Yes, Miss Laura is a beacon of beauty, both charming and fashionable. I do however, pity her poor toes, for being used as such a terrible excuse for a morning visit.” She returned his smile, and he bowed, winking slyly to her as he rose and walked away. She watched as he left the churchyard, and headed further into the village to the Lipton’s home. Alone, and yet greatly cheered, Cass began her homeward journey.

    Just inside the gates at Cummingfield, Cass stopped to take in the views of the house. It seemed almost like a doll’s house placed on the horizon. It was delightfully grand and had a natural, honest beauty. To one side of her, as Cass passed up the drive, was the Firth’s cottage. Her father had rebuilt it for Mr Firth, their steward, and now his contented family of five lived there. It was small and haphazard, and intensely filled with fondness. There, coming out of the gate, stood Daniel. His splash of hair and emerald eyes were filled with the spirit of the sun, catching its light in every strand.

    “Are you going up to the house Cassie?” he cried, waving one arm, before sprinting over to her. He had always been thin and often mistaken for a boy of many years younger. However, he had grown strong after a childhood often plagued by sickness, and now it was a sturdy gentleman who took Cass’s arm. He spoke confidently and clearly, with a smile that could light the darkest of night skies.

    “Where else would I be going?” She remarked.

    “Then it is only proper for me to escort you there.” They began walking in time up the path. “Plus, I need to visit the kitchens. Now, we have the whole of the summer before us. Can you feel it, Cassie? The Downs are alive; the whole of nature is alive, filled with renewed beauty. We have the long evenings and hot afternoons to enjoy it.” His face was alight, blissful magic playing in his eyes.

    “That sounds like an invitation. Join me for a season of frolicking and fun. Are you bold enough to accept the challenge?” Her voice filled with promise and anticipation.

    “Certainly,” he roared with laughter. “I can see it all, endless days: the burning heat and mystifying air filled with the scent of competing flowers.”

    “Exactly.” Cass sighed lightly, pure life in each breath,  “I have the feeling that the Summer House will be in almost constant use.”

    “And the gardens, and the river,” Daniel continued, baring his face to the sky and letting the sun warm his dappled skin.

    “Will Mrs Firth be baking her sublime summer fruit pies?” Cass began to picture past summers, the taste of strawberries ripe in her mouth.

    “Everyday, if you so wish.” Entwined in each other, the pair made light work of the walk up to the house. On arriving at their destination, they parted ways: Daniel heading for the kitchens and Cass going in for lunch.

    She spent the afternoon preparing for the evening, just as the sun and clouds line the way for the moon. She walked the rose garden, letting the divine honey-sweet perfumes infuse her nostrils and thoughts. Childhood memories of ‘Cassie-Anne’ and ‘Charlie’ echoed off the stonewalls as she passed the beds. As dusk began to settle, she gathered up the roses she had cut into a posy and tied it with a long black ribbon. With a final look to the failing sun, she headed back inside to change into the dress she had set aside for the occasion.

    It was a black silk satin gown, perfectly plain with delicate lace trimmings, and pure skirts. Dinner was taken in silence; not the awkward, uncomfortable silence of breakfast, but the understanding and accepting silence that only grieving siblings could share. The carriage came before Cass had expected, and the pair returned to the graveyard, and their parent’s graves.

    Even after seven years, Cass still did not know how to say goodbye. Her eyes were no longer filled with tears, her heart no longer aching from grief. She only felt an emptiness, a coldness and a longing to be held in her parents’ arms once more. She laid the flowers before them and returned to Charles’s side. He laced his arm around her and squeezed her gentle frame as a gesture to offer comfort. Cass read the stones again, the words imprinting in her mind, until, having found slight inner peace and strength, she returned to the carriage.

    Charles remained, a solitary, lonely figured, and as the sun finally set around him, he began to whisper, as Cass had done that morning. His words did not falter, nor did his manner. It was a strange sight that met Cass’s eyes as she waited: a desolate figure, his head bowed, asking for help. She thought back to the words, her parent’s last massage for them. Desperately, she prayed that Charles would find the same solace in their meaning that she had done.

‘Love is not happy with evil, but is happy with the truth. Love never gives up; and its faith, hope and patience never fail.’

June moved to July, and as the days grew longer and warmer, more of the world seemed to come to life. Days were spent with long walks: rambling over the Downs, the sun streaming onto the earth. As Cass and Daniel read in the gardens, they visited new utopias, and met new people through their stories, dreams and acquaintances. Cass learnt new concertos and songs in readiness for their summer guests. She often received letters from Arabelle and Aria: Arabelle’s filled with endless ramblings about what to wear when she arrives at Cummingfield and who will be there; whereas Aria spoke only of her opinions on local matches and gossip, and the heroines of recent novels. Each evening, Cass would visit the Firth’s, and would relish in the summer fruit pies and the warm hearty atmosphere. As the still nights grew hotter, so did Charles’s temper. Each trip to the Firth’s heralded another argument. As Charles grew more violent, Cass became more passive, barely answering when he spoke. This only exasperated him further, and as Cass’s scratches faded more were added, until one day Cass refused to see Daniel, tending to the blackened fingers of her left hand. Instead she spent her day watching the sun’s movement across the sky from her bedroom window, ignoring mealtimes and Charles’s attempts to apologise. During this time, she prayed, asking for the faith, hope and patience to forgive Charles, and before the day had ended she had found that she could not hate him.

Somewhere Cassie-Anne and Charlie danced over the Downs, splashing each other in the river. Their laughter caught on the air, carrying over the hills and trees until it reached Cass. Despite herself, she smiled.