Five Daughters

Grinstead Estate

Kent

December 26th, 1879

Grinstead Estate was a quaint property of fifty acres surrounded by rolling hills of orchard trees, babbling brooks and streams, and evergreen glades that grew stupendously tall if the goats did not attend to them. The fish ponds were deep and full, while the farms' harvest was always bountiful. Nestled in the heart of the property was Redhill Manor, whose white pillars supported the red and orange facade of the grand mansion with dark oak doors. Grinstead Estate was approximately forty-three miles southeast of London, thirty-four miles north of Brighton, and sixty-one miles northeast of Chester. And the owner of Grinstead Estate was Lord Frederick Watson, a mild-mannered man whose yearly income was fifty-five thousand pounds. Lord Grinstead was a tall man with a pointed nose and a tolerant disposition. The other occupants of the mansion were his wife, Lady Lydia Watson, a matriarch whose goals in life were to marry off her five aging daughters to wealthy gentlemen; his five daughters; and his only son and heir to the estate, Edward, a young boy who had just turned two and ten last summer. Lady Grinstead was a pump woman who had successfully given birth six times to healthy babies. Although, she no longer had the youthful loveliness her figure once carried, Lady Grinstead never failed to excite her husband and Lord as he adored her as much as he did in his youth.

Charlotte, the eldest of the five sisters, was the most beautiful of the Watson sisters. Her long hair was golden like fine spun cornsilk while her delicate features possessed deep-set emerald eyes, a small nose, and a rosy mouth. At the time of her debut into society, Charlotte was a picture-esque image of Beauty in which no other young lady could eclispe. At the age of four and twenty, the gentle woman was still unmarried, jilted at the alter two summers ago by a lying cheat of a scoundral. Charlotte was the most gentle of the sisters and was always inclined to see the good in others. This upcoming Season was perhaps Charlotte's first appearance since the incident and her last chance for a good marriage... Abigail was the second-eldest of the sisters at the age of two and twenty. She carried herself with charm, wit, and good humor combined with the most alluring of smiles and intelligent eyes. Her dark rings of curls were often pinned up with little charms and flowers that accentuated how light her green eyes were. If Charlotte possessed emeralds for eyes, then it was said Abigail Watson's light eyes matched the blossoms of hydrangeas as their blossoms turned from blue and pink into pale green. Abigail was a tall woman and well-read, and her father's favorite daughter.

Isabelle, the fourth Watson daughter, was eight and ten, preparing for her debut into high society. Isabelle possessed her oldest sister's good looks, but none of her gentleness. Instead, her features were bold with wide doe eyes and an easy smile. Isabelle enjoyed flirtations, light conversation, and beauty, but when she was by herself, she was much more demure and blank. She was an accomplished harpist, but a terrible singer and could hardly distinguish good from bad. She was naive and easily persuaded by those around her. On the other hand, Sophia Watson, the youngest daughter at six and ten, was a hell-cat and her mother's favorite. Sophia was pretty as a flower, borrowing much of Abigail's exotic features, such as enigmatic green eyes that were dark like unripened lemons, dark wild hair that was less curly and much more akin to waves, and finally, a seducer's glance. Her nose was pointed and sharp, possessing a haunty, confident air as she strutted around the estate and the little parishes in her father's land. Sophia was spoiled but well-loved, and she loved her family greatly in return. Sophia was quite like the wind, going where her heart desired the most. And she could not wait for the Season to begin so she could meet her friends again in London. If only February could come sooner, the girl wished.

And the fourth Watson daughter was perhaps the shared headache of Lord and Lady Grinstead. Miss Madeleine Watson was twenty and on the cusp of her birthday in the spring, yet the gloomy and stern girl lacked a young girl's youthfulness. She possessed neither dainty nor doe eyes, a sweet or gentle disposition, a mouth that was permanently set as a straight line, and she was tactfully willful. Madeleine did not lack beauty, but her character overshadowed the glossy shine of her dark hair. Her blue eyes were seemingly always stormy and still, betraying no emotions other than quiet stubborness. Madeleine was always so strictly polite, even amongst relations, and even though she was quite the most accomplished pianist amongst her sisters, to the point where her fingers were dubbed magical, the humorless young woman never played a jaunty tune in front of guests. Instead, she chose somber pieces that would fit the atmosphere of a church service. Madeleine was less of a beauty than a beast with a plain ugliness that she did not seek to hide. Lord and Lady Watson found that this daughter in particular did not seek validation and had little interest in playing her role within society.

With three daughters of marriageable age and one more that was going to make her debut within months, Lord and Lady Grinstead were worried, to say the least. It seemed that even though their daughters were accomplished, lovely, and possessed a sizeable dowry, there had not been a suitor in sight ever since Charlotte's engagement was called off. Of course, there were the rouges and scoundrals... The worried parents would spare no expense this season if it meant that their four daughters received a good match in return.

Crenshaw House

Mayfair, London

January 10th, 1880

Crenshaw House was a lovely, five-story high home with a wide street-front. The house was situated on the corner with an enormous walled courtyard and a separate garden. On the fourth floor, the enormous dressing room shared by the five daughters was visited by the esteemed and fashionable Madame Cote, a French dressmaker from Paris, the most sought-after modiste. A private appointment was almost impossible to secure, and the owner of Spindle's Thread required most of her clients to visit her shop in person. Madame Cote, a lovely and pretty woman dressed in pale blue, made an exception for the Watson ladies. The cushioned green sofa was occupied by Lady Grinstead and the dressmaker as her assistants measured the daughters in tow. She started with the youngest as Sophia did not require as much as the other sisters. Lady Grinstead had no plans to debut, or depart with, her youngest daughter yet, and it did not seem as if Sophia was clamoring to get married.

"Now," said Lady Grinstead graciously, "Madame Cote, thank you for coming on such short notice. We just arrived in London a week ago, and it took our staff some time to get the house in proper order... Although it may have been ourfault since we decided to come to London earlier than usual... Nevertheless, it is wonderful to have you make my daughters' dresses."

"Of course, my Lady," the dressmaker smiled demurely.

"Besides the essentials, accessories, and hats and shoes, I need the following for each of my oldest daughters: sixteen day dresses, ten walking dresses, ten promenade dresses, ten riding habits, eight ball gowns, twelve evening gowns, and six court dresses. My youngest does not require ball gowns and court dresses."

"Oh, Lady Sophia is not debuting?"

"No," laughed Lady Grinstead, "I wish to keep her close to me for a little while longer if I can."

"Do you have a colour in mind for each lady?"

"Hues and shade that will bring out their beauty. Make them shine more precious than jewels underneath the candlelight."

As the assistants and Madame Cote finished their measurements and designing, they began packing up their kits while a servant waited on them to see them out. As the three assistants and the dressmaker reached the door, trailing behind them was Madeleine, with her quiet and quick steps.

"I will see them out," said Madeleine, leaving no room for discussion as she dismissed the maid. The young lady's hair was pinned back in a proper and prim manner with braids, resembling more like a governess than a young lady with substantial wealth. She was wearing a morning dress that was grey and lifeless, but the young woman did not seem embarrassed or bothered by it.

"Lady Madeleine?"

"Yes?" replied the dour young woman. Madeleine looked over her shoulder, settling her dark eyes on the dressmaker.

"You did not have to see us out... Thank you."

"It was only proper."

"Lady Madeleine, do you have a preference of colours for your dresses?"

"Black."

"Black?"

"Yes."

"My Lady, if I do say so myself, black is hardly... fitting for a young woman of your age."

"Even so, I enjoy the color black."

"Yes, my lady."

Crenshaw House

Mayfair, London

January 18th, 1880

"Sisters!"

Loose locks of dark chocolate tresses whipped through the air as Sophie made a grand entrance into the shared dressing room. She was dressed in a girlish pale pink morning dress with long sleeves and lined with wool underneath while her stocking-covered feet were adorned with light green slippers. A blue shawl was wrapped around her shoulders and covered her arms as she deposited herself next to Bella, whose hair was being pinned into a simple bun by the maid. Sophie's hair was already braided neatly with pastel green ribbons looped around her hair and head. On the other hand, Bella was wearing a deeper shade of pink for her morning dress coupled with white slippers. Just one singular white ribbon adorned the base of her bun, pulling it into a neat bow. Both sisters were images of girlish youths waiting to blossom into beautiful young women.

The older sisters, Lotte and Abbie, were previously sitting by the windowsill, watching as white blanketed the streets until Sophie had unceremoniously barged in. A lovely smile broke across Lotte's face, showcasing two rows of perfect teeth, while Abbie waggled her fine brows in amusement at the younger girl. Lotte wore a deep emerald dress while Abbie wore a morning dress whose hue was akin to coral jewelry.

"Come on, sister," teased Abbie, settling down next to the young girl. "It's not even breakfast yet. What news do you have to share?"

"Father brought home guests!"

"And what of it?" asked Bella, turning to the youngest after thanking the maid.

"Well, there are young men! Not just the old ones like Uncle Charlie."

"Oh no!" exclaimed Bella, clutching her face distraughtly. "I did not apply any powder today!"

Abbie grinned waywardly before glancing over at Lotte, who didn't seem too amused, but the tenderness never left her body as she took in the words. Her arms were crossed together while her brows furrowed together slightly in a pensive manner. The blonde opened her mouth then closed it before opening it once more. She stopped short of saying what was on her mind. And before Lotte could say anything, their mother opened the door wide and motioned them to gather closer.

"Girls, it's time for breakfast and we have some guests who will be joining us at the table, so please be on your best behaviors," Lady Grinstead announced calmly. Looking around for her missing fifth, she proceeded to ask, "Where is Maddie? Is she still sleeping?"

Lotte removed herself from where the window was and approached her mother with careful, measured steps. After crossing the room, Lotte finally found her voice as she spoke up, informing her mother of her younger sister's whereabouts, "Maddie always practices right before breakfast. She is in the music room, mother." There was a firmness in her voice as she placed her hands right above her stomach.

The music room was on the first floor, and it oversaw the separate flower garden on the side. Additionally, the music room was right next to the morning room where breakfast took place. And then, as if it was on cue, all of the Watson women gasped aloud as a realization hit them. If Maddie was practicing on the piano while the guests were being led to the morning room, then that meant Maddie was going to ruin them all before the Season even started!

Oh no, oh no, thought Lady Grinstead. She hurriedly gathered her skirt in her hand and straightened her back. She then cleared her throat and said, "Come along, girls. We must move as swift as the wind while carrying ourselves with the grace of swans. We do not cause a ruckus. Carry yourselves with grace. Careful, careful steps."

And as the women made their way down the wooden staircase inlayed with white stone titles, Bella asked curiously, "Mama, who is here?"

"Lord Thomas Beaumont, Earl of Warwick, and his son, George Beaumont. Oh, Charlotte, you must meet George! He is absolutely handsome and charming! He is just three years your senior. Uncle Charlie is also here as well."

"Mother, I-" protested Charlotte. "Yes, yes, of course."

There was nothing more comforting than the ivory keys of a piano as her fingers glided over them expertly. She knew this song by heart. Piano Concerto No.3. Ludwig van Beethoven. With over two hours of practice and little breaks in between each song she practiced, Maddie couldn't help but feel a spark of joy as the twinkling sounds of chords filled the air. If there was anything that she loved, it was the sound of music, hot baths, and the occasional biscuit. A smile formed over her mouth as her sparkling blue eyes observed the wings of a blue bird beating almost in tune with her music. As the song reached its climax, her fingers moved faster and faster before a final dramatic finish as the bird flew further and further away until it was no longer in sight. A little sigh of happiness escaped her as she carefully closed the lid on the keys.

When the lid closed, there was a resounding dull thud, and then seconds later, thundering claps of applause erupted behind her from the doorway. With her back to the door, there was no way she would have known when the door had been opened or when she had gained an audience. Maddie pushed back the piano settee and smoothed her brown skirts before properly looking up. It was her father and Uncle Charlie. There were also two other faces; one that she knew of and the other face she did not recognize. The older man must have been a parliment member her father worked with while the younger man was someone she recognized from the previous two Seasons she had attended.

Who would have known that Mr. Montue, or at least that's what she remembered his name to be, would be standing in the hall outside themusic room? In her opinion, Mr. Montue was a man with flights of fancy whenever the urge struck him. Although she didn't know too much about him, she did know of him. She knew that Mr. Montue was a wastrel who lacked morals, frequenting the dance halls, ballrooms, and other popular places where the ton played while openly bringing escorts as his companions to soirees. And although she had her reservations about the young man, Maddie made sure her eyes never gave him more than what she felt was an appropriate amount of attention. And Mr. Montue himself did not pay the young woman any more attention.

Her mouth was stiff, her eyes slightly awkward, her shoulders rigid as she curtseyed properly before the men. She mustered out a "thank you" as she regained her composure, placing her hands behind her back like she so often saw her father do.

"You were wonderful, Madeleine," her father praised.

"Absolutely wonderful," Uncle Charlie added with gusto.

A smile blossomed on her face--now it wasn't a full fledged smile where her teeth showed, nor was it the kind of smile that pulled her cheeks up to her eyes. This was a smile that was simply Maddie. Content.

Breakfast was a dull affair in her honest opinion. Maddie finished her poached eggs and fish, bread with fresh butter and jam, and bacon and apple slices. On one side of the table, her father, Uncle Charlie, and the Earl, Lord Beaumont, talked about the upcoming election in March, Australian frozen mutton, and a ship. Of course, there were other things they spoke about, but that didn't interest Maddie. On the other side of the table, Mr. Montue was seated beside her, while Lotte and Abbie were seated across from Mr. Montue. Her mother looked especially hawkish, gazing at Mr. Montue like some sort of small game. Even Bella and Sophie were rather invested in the gentleman beside her. Nonetheless, she had heard what the old women said as she sat down beside them at the evening parties. Mr. Montue was a rouge without a conscience. The amount of small talk was absolutely boring her out of her mind as she retreated inside of her head, playing a grand concerto silently as one finger on the table tapped along.

Crenshaw House

Mayfair, London

February 26th, 1880

Countless boxes that were big, medium, and small were continuously coming in through the dressing room's double doors, sorted by the different colored ribbons neatly tied up. A maid dressed in all black gave Lady Watson the missive that came along with the delivery. The missive was sealed in red wax and etched in the wax was a needle and thread, showcasing who the sender was. Opening the letter, Lady Grinstead read it aloud:

To the wonderful Ladies of Grinstead,

Thank you so much for your patronage. I am terribly sorry I could not deliver the garments myself, but alas, the Season is almost here and the Ladies of Grinstead will be the most fashionable women of the Season. Here you will find the following: Lady Charlotte's garments will be in boxes with the green ribbons. Lady Abigail's garments will be in the boxes with the red ribbons and Lady Madeleine's boxes will be decorated with a black ribbon. Lady Isabella's boxes will be with blue ribbons while Lady Sophia's boxes will be with pink ribbons.

With humble gratitude and respect,

Madame Fleur Cote

One by one the sisters opened the many boxes, the two younger sisters screaming in delight as they felt the heaviness of the silk and muslin while the two older ones grinned fondly. A pleased little smile rested on Maddie's face as her hands held a silver evening gown with a decorative black mesh overlay. The maids stored away every slipper, slip, corset, dress, glove, and hat. Colors ranged from emerald to pure white in Lotte's new clothing for the season, while Abbie's clothing was a sunset glow of red, orange, and yellow. As opposed to Sophie's yellow, pink and white dresses, Isabelle's were predominantly shades of blue and green. That night, Maddie was plagued with nightmares of a hungry wolf hunting her down, tiring her out. As her feet ran and ran, the wolf pushed her down, bearing its sharp fans at her as she heard the words, "I will have you."

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Dinner with the Beaumonts

Dressing Room

Crenshaw House

Mayfair, London

March 1st, 1880

"Thank you," said Maddie, watching her maid gather a brown dress with eyelet embroidery and a ruffled trim with long sleeves and a smocked neckline. The dark-haired woman stood in her white undergarment shift, which reached almost to her ankles, and gave herself a good look in the mirror. Her pale hands lifted the underside of her bosom and she squished them. She was the tallest of the Watson girls, and she despised the size of her bosoms as she took in the young woman before her in the full-length mirror. Although they were not large like Lotte's nor nearly flat like Abbie's, Maddie couldn't help but wince as breathing was suddenly so much harder with the corset on. The bones were biting into her waist and smothering her chest.

She was utterly grateful that they did not have to go far for this dinner party. They were simply next door. The Beaumonts were cordial and a little cold, but nonetheless, it was a party Mother insisted that everyone needed to go. Good manners and having respectable relations were a must, even if Mother and Father had no plans to marry one of them off to the Beaumont heir.

What was it that her father had said? Maddie mused this as a maid helped her into a rich chocolate brown dress. Ah, now she remembered! He had said, "I will not have my daughters dishonored by the likes of that boy! I would rather my daughters not marry at all!"

"Harold!" her mother had shrieked then. "You cannot say those words!"

"Their drowries are no small fortune. The girls will live comfortably even after we are gone," her father reassured her. "Our boy will take care of his sisters even if they do not marry."

The last thing Maddie could remember hearing was the whimpers her mother made as Maddie quietly stepped away from the door, taking slow leisurely steps to the library.

Beaumont Dinner Party

Wickham Manor

Mayfair, London

March 1st, 1880

Dinner was quite the affair, Maddie supposed. Countess Warwick provided so many jellies, vegetables, custards, puddings, five types of meat and game, while the soup was green pea soup. The green color itself was murky, dark, and reminded her of vomit, with the little pieces of ham sticking out as her spoon stirred the thick liquid inside the porecelain bowl. Not that she was surprised, but the soup was more tasty than it appeared to be. Her father was sitting to the right of Lady Beaumont, who was sitting at the head of the table, while her mother was sitting to the right of Earl Warwick.The marriage season was about to begin and this dinner party was the first of many to come. Their new neighbors had inherited the manor when Old Man Jenkins passed away, leaving his belongings to his next of kin, who happened to be the current Earl of Warwick.

The small dishes of cheese and salad were finished before being cleared away for dessert, which was a mix of nuts, fruits, sweetmeats, and vanilla ice cream. Not that Maddie was particularly interested in the sweets, but her mind kept wandering over to the drawing room where there was a piano... She wondered if it had been tuned properly. Not that she would play, of course. Mother had already informed her that "there shall be no playing tonight lest something like Paddington happens again." And so she aimlessly resigned herself to the fact that her greatest amusement tonight was going to be a book.

Countess Warwick led the group of ladies over to the drawing room. The drawing room was very large, with four tall windows overlooking the front street, with soft, elegant furnishings and exquisitely carved furniture, and there was a piano nestled to one side of the room with a harp perched next to it. The weaved carpet looked newly installed, as did the flower wallpaper and the rich velvet curtains and drapery. Countess Warwick must have had her new drawing room renovated and the white marble fireplace restored.

"Miss Isabella, I hear you are quite an accomplished harpist. Perhaps you can play a piece later..." suggested Countess Warwick, fanning herself as she took a seat on the cushioned sofa. She wore a blue muslin dress with white lace detailing. "Viscountess Grinstead, you are so blessed with so many talented and beautiful daughters. I do wish I had a daughter. Now that we are neighbors, I am very glad that we have gotten to know each other much better. Are they all out in society?"

Lady Grinstead grimaced just the tiniest bit, but bit back her scowl as she smiled as kindly as she could. "Not all. My darlings, Isabella and Sophia, are still not out yet, but come April, Isabella will be presenting herself to the Queen."

"How exciting!" Countess Warwick smiled gently, snapping her fan closed as she reached for her cup of tea. The Countess was a beautiful woman with soft blonde hair and light blue eyes. Her smile was always polite, gracious, and detached. "George is also getting older... he needs to make a match this season too. George is always so charming, polite, and he always has a way with words."

Oh, Maddie could already feel it in her bones where this conversation was going. She resigned herself to the bookshelf, searching for anything that might suit her needs for the time being. Agnes Grey. That would indeed suffice. Her long, spidery hands grabbed the novel easily, and she returned to her spot on the couch. Her sisters were playing cards while listening to the matrons speak about the season. She opened the novel and read, "All true histories contain instruction; though, in some, the treasure may be hard to find, and when found, so trivial in quantity, that the dry, shrivelled kernel scarcely compensates for the trouble of cracking the nut."

The crisp condition of the novel suggested that the book was hardly read as her gloved finger turned the page. The governess, Agnes Grey, was a creature in no position of power, and the story itself was very simple. It was not even an exciting story, to say the least, but there was a power bound within the words. A simple honesty with little reservation and tranquility. And as the night grew later and later, Maddie could feel the cushion beside her sink, but that was not enough to draw her attention as she continuedher novel. Her sisters' chattering got louder and louder, but it was hardly bothersome.

"The book must be fascinating," George Beaumont, Viscount Rothbury, heir to the Earldom of Warwick, said, exuding all the goodness he could muster in his person. His warm eyes settled on the hunched young woman as a kind smile curled on his lips. He looked almost apologetic as he turned from sister to sister, eliciting sympathetic looks and glances collectively. Naturally, he returned his attention back to the young lady beside him. Despite his good facade, what he really thought was, "How dare you ignore me," and "Ugly little beast with no manners."

It was most likely a universal truth that every family in possession of moderate wealth must have at least one young lady who was both plain and stupid, and it was truly a godsend that this girl beside him confirmed his very astute knowledge. From top to bottom, she was careless with her looks. After all, that bonnet was utterly hideous and, dear he say it, it looked like something he would have already seen two Seasons ago. His dark eyes then traveled down to her boots which had little smudges of dirt around the edges. The dress - George couldn't say it was an ugly dress - it was in a shade of brown that didn't look like dirt, and it was actually a rather nice dress.

Seeing no response from the young lady beside him, Lotte sheepishly smiled and gently nudged Maddie. Maddie's calm eyes looked up at her sister and said, "Yes?"

"Maddie, Lord Rothbury is addressing you," Lotte gently explained, prompting her younger sister to close the darn book already.

"Oh, please call me George," insisted the laughing viscount. His eyes crinkled with every gentle laugh and exhale, catching the light, and it almost appeared as if his eyes were indeed twinkling.

Blinking like a wriggling fish pulled out of water, Maddie solemnly turned to the Lord beside her and said, "Lord Rothbury?"

Her tone was quiet. George couldn't help but notice the commanding stare that could even be compared to that of the coldest tsarina. The look pricked at his ego. He felt as if the woman beside him was looking down on him like a little boy before the head abbess. George smiled graciously, swallowing the tiny little lump that was lodged in his throat. He would not cower before this woman who was demanding his reverence. The indifference reflected in her cold blue eyes stung more than George would have liked to admit. And so he said, in a very sweet and low tone, "How do you like your book?"

"It's fine."

The girl then exhaled sharply and thumbed the cover of the book in her hand. The young lady's look of impatience was half-heartedly masked as he noted Viscountess Grinstead looking over with her terribly overt stare. A real smile of pleasure sickingly crossed his face as he supposed he could allow the young woman to go back to her book. After all, she was one ugly amongst beauties.

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