STORY 8-The Dominate guest
Chapter One
Adelia looked into the still water of the lily pond. She slowly raised her brush to the canvas and added a tinge of violet blue. Biting her lip slightly, she dabbed the pigment gently onto the landscape.
As she did, one of her dark curls fell across her face. She pushed it away quickly. Her hair always insisted on escaping immodestly.
‘Adelia, Darling?’ her father’s voice called across the garden.
She turned and looked up from her wide brim of her hat. ‘You startled me.’ She lowered her hand, grateful she had not been working on a more minute detail.
He smiled dotingly. ‘Painting again, are you?’
She placed her brush on her palate and stood up. ‘Yes. What do you think of it?’ she asked, straightening her copious petticoats. Each morning, regardless of whether Adelia was going anywhere, her maids dressed her in a chemise, a firmly-laced corset, a crinoline, a skirt, and a bodice.
As the daughter of a textile factory owner, anything less than the most fashionable attire would have been unsuitable. Yet, her body always felt confined, every movement pulling at some cloth or lacing.
Her father stepped closer, and peered at the half-finished painting. ‘It’s quite lovely. I was saying just the other day that my daughter is the best female artist I have ever observed.’
Adelia looked back at the scenery. ‘I’m having trouble getting some of the flowers just right. Nature produces such extraordinary colours sometimes.’
Her father cleared her throat. ‘I’m just pleased you have found a refined amusement. Gentlemen love a wife with such accomplishments.’
Adelia tried to smile. No matter how much she enjoyed artistic or literary pursuits, she was keenly aware that they were only ornaments to make her a more pleasing marriage prospect. Her beauty, family wealth, and above all, her virginity were her real selling points.
‘I’m glad to see you’re wearing a hat out in this sun. It could do such harm to that porcelain skin, couldn’t it?’
Adelia touched her cheek, and lowered her face to ensure her hat covered her entire face.
‘Such a classic beauty you are. Just like your mother, God rest her soul. She had those same grey-blue eyes. Like the North Sea, I always told her.’
‘Shall I come inside?’ Adelia asked tentatively.
Although she was grateful to have the garden oasis hidden behind their London home, Adelia knew spending all day there was unacceptable. If it was, she would have done it regularly. The calm of the plants and softly humming bumblebees was a world apart from the noise of the rest of the city.
‘I was coming to tell you that we are to have a house guest,’ her father said. ‘He’s the son of the Sir Edgar and Lady Hamilton. The boy is apparently interested in learning the textile trade. Of course, I told them he’d be more than welcome to stay here as well.’
Adelia took as deep a breath as her corset would allow. ‘Are we quite sure there will be enough room?’ She already could imagine the tedium of having to dine with some stuffy spoiled stranger.
Her father would probably stop allowing her to spend her days as she liked, and instead insist learn more household management. Rumours that her father was lenient with her would do no good for her reputation. Men wanted obedient wives.
‘What do you mean, my dear? Half the house sits empty.’
She tried to smile sweetly. ‘I only mean that it seems like an increase in work for the maids. They seem to have their hands full.’
Her father waved his hand in the hair dismissively. ‘The maids will be fine. What do you think I pay them for? Besides, you can be of assistance delegating and pitching in. Remember the first role of a good woman is to be an angel in the domestic sphere.’
Adelia nodded slowly. ‘Of course.’ Her heart was already sinking and she felt a distinct dislike for the strange young man who was about to interrupt her life.
Her father turned to return inside. ‘Finish up quickly, darling. There’s preparations to be done.’
‘When is he coming?’ asked Adelia, trying to disguise her displeasure. ‘Well, this evening of course.’
Adelia permitted herself a single sigh as she began gathering up her paints.
Her father turned before entering the house. ‘Oh and the boy’s name is Victor.’
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