Author’s note: I wrote this story about a year ago, then I forgot about it and then I decided to re-read what I’d posted. It made me shudder with embarrassment. So I’ve re-written it, not changing much except the writing style and format and such. I detest the choppiness of the previous version. I really, really am sorry for leaving this for so long!

Just a little background info: This is set over a hundred years ago but the language isn't going to be exactly like it was then. Having not lived in the Edwardian era, I wouldn't know exactly how to speak in that manner, but I'll do my very best. It is, of course, an AU story, but I'm going to keep the characters as much in canon as possible. Any changes are necessary to the story, and I will not deviate from the personalities given to the characters by J.K. Rowling. As the whole HP experience belongs to her, of course.

So, anyway, without further ado...

-Prologue-

The dress was a dull, navy colour, swathed tightly around her waist and gathered just under her chin with large, gold buttons. Long sleeves clung to her slender arms and white lace hung over her pale, fidgeting hands. The skirt was large and heavy, but it would have been less restricting had it not been for the many underskirts and petticoats it concealed. She wore no jewellery save for the gold pendant her mother had given her for her last birthday and her hair was rolled up in a tight bun.

The maid stood back to admire her handiwork, and her surveying mother clapped her hands and sighed delightedly. This had been exactly the effect that Mrs. Catherine Evans had been hoping for. A pretty, well mannered daughter, the epitome of decorum and dignity. When Mr. Chamberly came to dinner, he was sure to fall for her, there would be a wedding within a year, and Mrs. Evans would finally be able to relax in the knowledge that both of her daughters had made wealthy and suitable matches.

“You look beautiful, my darling,” she said, smiling as her daughter clasped her hand tightly

“I cannot but help feel anxious, mother. I have never done anything like this before, and what if he does not like me?”

“He shall be quite smitten with you, my darling, and quite rightfully so. What man would not want a wife as accomplished and beautiful as you?” The daughter blushed quite endearingly, and Catherine stroked her pretty face.

“I shall go downstairs and see that Nicholas has set the table properly,” she said in a businesslike fashion, turning to the maid. “I do not want to take any risks with this evening. Mary, come, leave my daughter to herself for a few minutes, to prepare.”

Mrs. Evans swept regally from the room, with her ever faithful maid following right behind her. The very second they left; the smile was dropped from the young girl’s face as she turned around to survey what she figured to be her own disgusting, miserable reflection in the looking glass.

It was too tight, this dress. Her father had given it to her just the other day, a present from Paris. It was the latest design, apparently, and her mother had been delighted when it was found to fit her most perfectly. This was just the dress that her daughter could wear when Mr. Chamberly was to call. It gave just the right impression, of a rich, innocent girl with a pleasing figure and a stately manner. It clung to her body like a bandage.

It was like her shroud, she thought morbidly.

The pendant, an old heirloom, had been passed from generation to generation of youngest daughters for many years. It was an antique, worth probably more than the dress, in the shape of a swan with intricate patterns, all completely in gold.

But she hated gold jewellery. To her, it looked cheap and tasteless.

Her mother had called her beautiful, and she supposed she could agree with that, to a certain extent. She was tall and slender, with a pale complexion, a buttoned nose, rosy cheeks and an alluring smile. They were all admirable physical qualities, to be sure, but not uncommon in healthy young ladies. Her eyes were what garnered the most attention, for they really were undeniably stunning.

Her eyes were emerald green, almond shaped, and although most called them gorgeous, she absolutely despised them. She hated them because even though she could smile and laugh and be quite the convincing actress, her eyes would always give away her despair with an obviousness that irritated her almost to madness. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, for her, nobody else ever seemed to notice. Sometimes she hoped, in vain, that someone would see, and sometimes she would thank her lucky stars that nobody ever would.

Something she loved, almost as much as she hated her eyes, was her hair. Her hair, in her own opinion, seemed to signify the personality she was in possession of. It was red. Not a carroty red, nor a blondish red, but a dark, fiery red. It was thick, wavy, abundant and wild. When she let it down, it would tumble down past her shoulders and land at her waist, flying this way and that and never behaving itself. Long before she reached the age of coming out and doing her hair up, her mother insisted that her hair be kept in a bun at all times. So for the last two years, at the end of the day, she would let it down and twirl in front of the mirror, feeling free for just a few moments, before she would tie it into her nightcap and hide it once more.

Her mother had called her accomplished, but she didn’t consider herself to be so. She could play the piano perfectly, read French and German most easily, sing beautifully, draw, sew, knit and crochet, and this was all her parents, and indeed, society, seemed to think she needed as an education. No one knew how she would sneak down to the library in the dead of night and read as many books as she could find, books that her mother deemed inappropriate for a young lady. No one knew of her interest in politics, in travel, in the lives of the lower classes, or in literature. No one knew how she had befriended the servants. No one knew what she would practice in the dead of night, or how adept she was at it. No one knew how good an actress she was.

She smoothed a stray hair and fixed a smile upon her face. There was to be a dinner party tonight. Her father’s business partners would be in attendance, as would some of her mother’s acquaintances, her sister, her sister’s husband, and his cousin, Mr. Edward Chamberly. The man she was to be betrothed to. He had spotted her a month ago at a county ball and enquired as to who the enchanting redhead was. When her mother had gotten wind of this fact, she had invited him over to their next dinner party on the spot. It was widely known that the rich, charming and handsome Chamberly was looking for a wife, and her daughter was just the right age to marry. Lady Catherine had spent the most part of the day giving her daughter instructions.

Agree with everything Mr. Chamberly says, remember to curtsey, sit up straight, don’t talk too much and don’t talk too little… she knew it all by heart now. She had heard it all before, when her sister had been looking for a husband. As opposed to her, her sister had been most delighted at the prospect of being betrothed and as luck would have it, she had managed to marry a man she loved. Somehow, she doubted that the same would happen to her.

But there wasn’t time to worry about that now, her mother was calling her. She walked sedately towards the door, breathing in and out as deeply as her dress would allow her, and going over appropriate dinner conversation in her mind. Before she opened the door, she turned back and looked once more at the girl in the looking glass.

She would go downstairs, have dinner, smile graciously at compliments, behave charmingly, and have a lovely time.

And then she would sign her life away.

R-e-v-i-e-w: If you know what it spells, do what it says.