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WE ARE LIKE A BEAUTIFUL EMBROIDERY

FINE AND DELICATE, FULL OF GRACEFUL DETAILS AND ADMIRABLE LACE, YET, UNDERRATED BY THOSE WHO LACK THE KNOW-HOW TO APPRECIATE THEM.

Hello dear reader.

Join me in this beautiful period adventure that will charm you and transport you into a time, making you yearn for the discoveries that await Adelaide and Sebastian.

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This tale is set in a different era, I should forewarn. The vernacular is unique, and the issues mentioned are rooted in reality.

Fictitious towns and images sourced from the Internet.

Steamy,

Romance,

New Beginnings.

I hope to capture your attention.💋

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19th Century.

Town of Goldendale.

Rainy days of harsh winter pelt the town of Goldendale.

Our home, though old, is spacious and somehow warm and exceedingly cozy. It has always been noticed for its imposing structure, replete with intricately crafted details produced by skilled hands. It has been in the family for generations, and my father is the last heir. Even so, occasionally we must huddle by the fireplace on the coldest nights to avoid the chill, especially during that particular winter.

The first without him.

My mother and I embroider some towels, destined for sale at the annual fair marking the town's anniversary, an eagerly anticipated event where less fortunate families will benefit.

It's a custom here.

A way for wealthier families to show they care for those less endowed.

They also donate blankets and coats, since winter often punishes those without.

We have plenty to spare.

We are in the living room: she in my father's favorite rocking chair, Ciri and I on the sofa. Ciri is my maid—or was, for now she has become more like a younger sister. Since she has no family, she chose not to seek fortune as did the others who served us.

I am nineteen, and she has just turned fifteen. And to society today, the only aspect that matters is whether we have a dowry or not.

Well, at least I do, since Ciri, not being wealthy, is just a servant whom my mother grew fond of during a visit to the capital. For women in this 19th century, autonomy is scarce. Few rights are afforded to them, and they are expected to simply be accomplished homemakers, dance, play an instrument, read, grasp the basics of politics—a realm reserved for men—tend to their husbands, and of course, have the ability to bear children, many, after all.

This, even today, is true wealth.

We must be skilled and bring a good dowry, or else... it's over. The future lies in the kitchen or in a brothel. Or, perhaps, wedded to a widower, or the most unsuitable suitors in town.

But back to us...

In prior times, the money raised would go to charity in full. However, under current circumstances, she discreetly saves a portion, fully aware we will soon be in need.

Mrs. Marta is a warrior, a woman of great fiber and honor.

I admire her and aspire to be like her.

We do have some savings left, which will last only a short while longer. With my father's sudden passing—he was a banker who gradually lost everything during a severe economic crisis that viciously struck our country—and the limited opportunities this chauvinistic society offers two lone women, we will soon need to work in whatever roles arise.

We've learned of investments by foreign banks, but the bank my father worked for feared partnering with such institutions and losing the scant wealth in pounds sterling it still held.

Servants are few now, only those most loyal, or without anyplace else to go. Slaves? None. We stand against any form of human abuse. And with a large house full of antiques, silver pieces, artwork, and bronze, soon creditors would be at our door to whisk them away.

We have economized on everything, from dressmaking, attending women's gatherings, to refining the cuisine that once filled our table, to something plain, merely sustaining and upright. We've cut unnecessary donations, halving salaries.

Every saved pound is like another day of survival.

Women alone hold even less worth and no credit to their name.

In the market, we purchase only essentials. Which my mother does discreetly, because although most of society may foresee our downfall, they avoid discussing it in our presence, yet gossip among themselves on how long our "facade" will last.

She tries to keep me optimistic about the future, but I know the truth: she may end up cooking in the kitchens of the rich who once fawned over my father for a loan, and I—poor me. If not following her, I'll soon have to accept the marriage proposal of an old, fat, and lecherous man to avoid starvation. A prospect I've been seriously considering, even if it does not appeal to me at all. My mother has already received several offers for my hand, since my youthful beauty drives men to distraction...

Pale and delicate skin, dark hair, a modestly sized bust heightened by a corset lifting the male imagination, a slender waist, wide hips ideal for childbirth. A modest smile with bright, captivating eyes.

Before, my father would refuse any lingering glances at my face, and now, those who pursued me look away, not wanting to be associated with the latest bankrupt family in town. Though they still admire me from afar.

In Goldendale, those who have are worth gold, and those who do not, like us now, become dust. Or coal, since coal mining is plentiful here. It is the main wealth of the local families and residents. And the rights to the mines are passed from father to son.

Our family was once in the business, but my father studied and chose to go into finance, managing the wealth of others. As long as the market was booming, we were fine. After the crisis, banks began to struggle and the elders were the first to be dismissed.

And him. Now old, he was too weak for the emerging new industries, and without male heirs, our savings would not last.

For he was honest, unlike other colleagues who did not fall into ruin due to the same misfortune.

We have some more fortunate relatives, but whom, out of his pride, he did not want to turn to. Debts mounted, and he could not bear it.

In current society, it is common for relatives to look after each other in cases of death or financial failure, but it is entirely dependent on the whim of one party or the other.

Since he did not call, no one came, and we were left to fate...

A sudden heart attack took him about a year ago. And since then, we're hanging on by a thread.

With the financial strain, even my dowry had to be used—a move that pained my mother, as it was the sole guarantee of a decent marriage for me.

I no longer have a dowry, and therefore, no value.

According to some.

Yet I do not lose faith. Something will happen. And I cling to the wise words of my dear father:

"The beauty and discretion of a woman are her greatest treasures, do not give them away lightly, yours are meant for a purpose. Be patient and wait for the right moment. But never forget:

True love should be your compass in this decision."

Adelaide 💗19

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Delicate, strong, and full of dreams.

Committed to one goal:

To finally be happy.

❤️❤️❤️☺️❤️❤️❤️☺️❤️

Far away from there...

In Sweet Mill.

Yet another day dawns grey and colorless on Sweet Mill estate.

Confined to this place that feels more like my grave, I pass the days with absolutely nothing to jolt me back to what I once aspired to in my fleeting past life.

I had dreams, plenty of them. Typical for my age as the years caught up with each.

They once fueled me.

I was happy, I laughed. Now, the shadow that follows me inflicts constant pain on my soul.

And the reason: Her, Luise. My love and my undoing.

She left me for another without a backward glance.

The epitome of all that was good, perfect, and pure in my life, and now the embodiment of what is sad, dark, and inescapable in my daily existence.

Now, of the harmonious family life I once had, only bitterness and resentment remain in my heart.

My father and me.

An endless conflict.

Otto is my adversary now. A rival who was once my role model for an honorable and good man, someone I wanted to emulate.

Now, I just want to be far from him and his schemes for me.

I'd run from this place if I could, but invisible chains bind me tight.

I ask myself why?

Why did death choose to make an example of me?

Dead, yet I am condemned to live.

Will I ever learn what it means to truly exist again?

Sebastian. 26

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A heart shattered, a personality bold, arrogant, pretentious, and irresistible in beauty and allure.

His aim:

To inflict pain as he has been hurt.

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Introductions are made. Shall we begin?

Continuing…

My father taught me those beautiful words based on the profound love he held for my mother and vice versa.

I've never known a couple who loved each other as much. And it's precisely what I want for myself. Or wanted, before this tragedy so cruelly befell us.

Although I knew and held his words close, there comes a time when hope softens and dreams fade away.

And today, specifically today, I woke up sadder than usual. When I sat down on that couch to embroider, I plunged into a sea of thoughts and memories. Memories of a good time that will not return.

The time when we were the Montanese family, one of the wealthiest and most reputable in Valedouro.

The time I would walk side by side with my father and watch him honored and greeted by everyone we met, and who now shake their heads and sneer, if they don't outright laugh at our misfortune.

What a cruel and materialistic society. I've never accepted this kind of treatment for people who, through carelessness or pure bad luck, lose their scant dignity overnight.

In our case, much was lost.

The time when we would laugh at each other as we tried to find a joke that would make my mother laugh with us. Today, she doesn't smile, and this hurts me so much...

I look with a sigh at her, hands and fingers reddened by the friction with the embroidery needle.

"Excuse me, mother, I'm going to the sewing room to get more red thread."

It was just an excuse so she wouldn't see my tears. We're threatened with eviction. The house, mortgaged with overdue payments, groans for our help. It seems not wanting to let us go. But at any moment, the bank clerk might arrive and force us out.

We'd lose our only family asset.

I cry a little alone, to relieve my heart. And after I compose myself, since there's really no point, I wipe my face and try to muster a smile so as not to let her see me this way, although I know she does the same, many times a day.

And I return to myself.

At that moment, I hear loud knocks on the door.

I rush to the window. But what is this? Who is it?

“No, never! Get away from here right now, you deceitful opportunist!”

I hear my mother shout at the man standing before her. He is tall with broad shoulders and a square jaw, his expression stern.

He's surely over 50 years, and despite his age, he may indeed be considered handsome, with silver hair he doesn't hide underneath his feathered hat. But the expression on his face is that of a remarkable man; his gaze is dark, and his fine clothes indicate his social standing. A wealthy plantation owner, likely in coffee.

Judging by the harsh way she spoke to the gentleman, she certainly knows him, as she would never address a stranger in such a manner.

And then, looking more closely, I recognize familial traits. Traits of my father, that unmistakable thick eyebrow.

I arrive in the living room and she pulls me behind her, a sense of protection.

His eyes light up when he sees me enter, and I can see the satisfaction wash over his previously tense face because of my mother's burst of anger.

"So, this is Adele... Adelaide, I presume."

I lean close to her ear and ask with a chill in my veins.

"Who is this man, mother, and what does he want?”

“Good morning, Milady, I am your father's cousin. Otto Montanese, at your service. And I've come to save you from total ruin."

I step out from behind her.

"Father's cousin?"

"Yes." He steps forward and extends his hand for me to do the same so he could greet me with a mere brush of lips, as is custom.

I'm without gloves, so his lips cannot touch my hand.

I hesitate a moment, but proper manners compel me to reciprocate his gesture. My mother, however, steps between us once more and pulls me back.

"May we sit to talk?"

“I've already said that you're not welcome here. Therefore, my husband never called upon you. How did you learn of his death?”

The man elegantly seats himself on our sofa, pushing aside the embroidery with disgusted hands, as if those fine fabrics were something foul.

That gesture alone was enough to make me repel him, too.

Ciri quickly gathers our sewing, and then he settles in, confident and self-assured.

"News travels, Marta. And, a few months ago, he wrote to me, I suppose a few weeks before the misfortune that took him from this world. And, as I preemptively mentioned, he made a special request. Though we didn't communicate much recently, blood is blood. And I would never leave you in the lurch, especially now, with the confirmation of what I already suspected about your daughter."

"What are you talking about, Mr. Otto?”

"The undeniable beauty and grace she possesses.”

"We do not need your help. If he wrote, it was in a moment of weakness. We're managing well here, and... your initial idea of helping us, forget it, it will never happen."

He shakes his head and flashes a broad grin from ear to ear.

"Well, I've already surveyed your situation and... it's not good. I'm the only living relative, and... as a man, I have the right to claim what's left of my cousin. It's all mine. Even you two."

"Excuse me, Your Excellency..." – I say, eyes cast down.

"Otto," he corrects sternly – "Speak, Miss Adelaide."

"There isn't much left for you to... take possession of as you say. All we have is this mortgaged house. And many debts to pay."

"I know. I've already spoken with the bank. And, unless you allow me to intervene, soon you'll lose this house and end up living... well, it's not pleasant to say but, you know. On the street. And I can help."

"Not in exchange for what you desire. Your Excellency, distinguished cousin of my husband."

My mother remains firm again; it seems she truly intends to drive away what seems to be our only possible savior.

In the year we live in, 1880, women alone and without money have few chances of maintaining a decent life in that town.

"May I know what you desire in return for aiding us?"

My mother beseeches him with her eyes to keep silent.

"I'll be direct in my words. For time is money. I am in need of a wife, and... as the closest kin to your father, I may choose to marry either you or your mother to honor his name. As she," he gestures to my mother, "is out of the question for reasons you are already aware of, I choose you. Younger, prettier, who fits precisely what I need at the moment."

What? Marry my... uncle? Besides everything else, he's older and as he has already shown in various ways, a first-class arrogant.

"Sir, you are my... uncle..."

"Not exactly. I'm your father's fourth cousin. Besides, we barely share a bloodline, and even if we did, it wouldn't be an impediment."

A slight nausea hits me; it's inconceivable. I've heard of relatives marrying, but I never quite accepted that notion. And he's correct concerning the laws of kinship. He can lay claim to me as a wife, to honor my father's name.

Because with my mother, it seems he truly intends no bargain.

"And what will it be, Mrs. Marta?”

His question fills my mother with fury.

"I'm asking you to leave my house right now."

The tall man, with the elegance and demeanor of nobility, rises and snaps his fingers. Several servants enter the house, bearing enormous baskets filled with fruits, vegetables, and an abundance of fine foods and grains.

"I want nothing from you, Mr. Otto."

"Still, I will leave it here. And, I shall be generous. I am in town on business until next week. I am staying at the Milton hostel. If you change your mind, you can find me there. You know I am well within my rights, Mrs. Marta, but I want to do this in the best way possible, without being seen as an opportunist, even though the beautiful opportunity," he looks at me, "makes me very tempted to consent to this."

He makes a small bow to me.

"Milady..."

I respond with my eyes only and watch him leave through the door before my mother collapses in the chair beside her.

"Despicable opportunist, he will not get what he wants, not with you. I won't allow it. I have no idea what your father was thinking when he sent that message to this sly man, but I am still your mother, and rather than having to beg, he will not take you from here."

She breaks down in tears, and I crouch beside her, stroking her tousled hair from the commotion.

She is vain, but lately, she has become a bit sloppy due to our current situation, as the housework has been split between the few servants we have left.

Although when we go out, we still maintain the presence of society women.

From the polished and elegant woman of before, very little is left. Just appearances.

It's sad, but it's our reality.

I don't even know what to say. Because I know he's right. Without help, we will indeed soon beg, and if he does not take me as his wife, who will?

Bankrupt, ragged, and indebted... Although beautiful, status means a lot here.

Ciri brings a glass of water to calm her.

"Drink, ma'am, it will help you."

"Thank you, Ciri."

She drinks then gazes at me with tender eyes.

"I'm so sorry to put you through this, darling, but if it's up to me, you won't marry this man."

"And if there's no other way out, mother?"

Her already tearful eyes become redder.

"You have no idea who this man is, darling. That's why your father never turned to him. And now he arrives, acting the nice guy, wanting to help us... never. He only wants you."

I stand up from beside her and take a good look around, assessing our options.

Few or none.

Then I firmly face my mother, and she understands, standing up and shaking her head no.

"If there's no other way, I'll do it, mother. What I won't accept is for you to have to go humble yourself before the snobbish rich of this town."

She grabs me firmly by the shoulders.

"You will not marry him, do you understand, Adele?"

My mother's eyes are as fierce as I've never seen them before. I can't understand why she's acting like this when, as is well-known in our society, marriages of convenience are more than normal. Although it was never my personal desire, I always knew it could happen. He is older yes, perhaps, but I have witnessed marriages far more sordid than this. Girls even younger than me with older and less appealing men.

I don't respond instead I affectionately kiss her cheek.

I love my mother and will do whatever it takes to see her well.

I ask Ciri to help me stock our nearly empty pantry with the generous help from that strange cousin of my father.

Otto Montanese.

I make a little face; I can't really see myself married to him. But if this is the price for our survival and honor, I will do it.

That day we would have a decent meal, something we haven't had in a long time.

And for that, I would be thankful.

I awaken groggy as Ciri shakes me in bed.

"Miss, wake up, something's wrong."

"What... Ciri, what happened?"

I rub my eyes.

"There are strange men in the house. They're taking everything valuable."

I leap up alarmed. What? Taking our things?

I throw on a thick coat, as I'm only in a nightgown, and Ciri does the same. I light the candle that brightens the room which, in the semi-darkness, only had the timid moonlight coming through the window.

And as we reach the living room, my mother stands in a corner merely watching the burly men carry our fine furniture and family heirlooms out the door and onto large carts waiting in front of the house. It's still early, but due to the commotion, the attention of the neighbors is inevitable.

Our neighborhood is quiet but always buzzing with gossip.

We approach her and embrace her; Ciri seems frightened.

"What's happening, mother?"

She doesn't answer, only points to one of the creditors and the bank representative entering with some papers in hand.

“Mrs. Marta Montanese?”

"Yes?"

He hands my mother several sheets of paper.

"I am here on behalf of the city bank whose owner is seizing your property until the overdue mortgage of two years is paid off. After many attempts at negotiation failing, the law compels you and your family to vacate the premises within three days, or we will have to enforce your removal with police force, if necessary. Do you understand the content of these documents?"

She doesn't say anything, just lets a tear fall down her face, takes the pen, and signs the acknowledgment without resistance, knowing that arguing with this man wouldn't help. We've done it several times already, and his last visit made it clear that when they came, they would take this action.

She leaves the room as they carry out the rest of the furniture which once served as the backdrop for a complete and happy family.

Oh father, why did you have to leave us like this?

I ponder, holding back my tears—how did we come to this?

Now there is nothing left but to find a place to live and to survive.

In the following days, I set out in search of a simpler house that could accommodate the little we had left. But predictably, no one in their right mind would want to rent property to two women alone like us, and without apparent resources.

Not even the friendship of some families who used to dine at our table could make them trust us.

They are such self-seekers.

Doors slammed in our faces and many rejections.

At the end of the third day, with the approach of night, the anguish set in. Tomorrow we would have to leave, to avoid an even greater scandal than our impending eviction.

We packed everything we had into some trunks and tied the rest in sheets; wooden boxes for kitchen and sewing items and smaller personal items in smaller chests.

My mother is restless since we had to let go of the last of our servants, and only Ciri, the loyal Ciri, and our cook, Ava, and the coachman Mr. Kamut, whom my father had rescued from a slave trader, stayed with us. A cheerful lady who, having no family, said she would not leave us for anything, and so the four of us stood there, in the almost empty living room.

She takes a walk, touching the walls that still bear the cheerful tone of the paint and the light-colored wallpapers which, due to lack of maintenance, are beginning to come off, the wall candelabras, and the family portraits, which we wouldn't know how to transport since we don't even know where we're going.

In town, there's a shelter for lone women, and some of them are welcome in the mines to assist with an injured miner, or to help sort the small pebbles from the mineral extracted from the rocks. Women and children without a fixed income, those with small hands, slim fingers, and keen eyes, are selected daily for a few coins. Others work in kitchens, or as chambermaids, ironers, or laundresses... however it may be, we will have to work there. And it was with this single option that we awaited the dawn to depart without drawing too much attention.

Despite the impending poverty, pride still gasps for breath.

Since our beds were taken, we were all sleeping in the living room, wrapped up with our heads resting on some cushions, with English lace, which had passed unnoticed by the bank's inventory clerk. The women on one side and our coachman, Kamut, because of his African origin, was close to the window, keeping watch to ensure we were not attacked by some opportunistic hooligan looking to have fun with unprotected women.

What a sad fate ours is, yet I still have faith that something good will happen, or rather, must happen, and it truly depends on me now.

So as on that last night in the empty house I watch everyone sleep, and I look at my dear mother, weathered from so much trying and failing, I make my decision.

It is against everything I desire and dream of, but if it is to prevent the last remaining people I care for from living on the street, then I will act.

If there must be a sacrificial lamb, then let it be me.

I rise very slowly so as not to wake them. I put on a thick fabric dress, which will keep me warm on that cold night, and with the wine-colored hooded cloak that my father had sent for me from France, I leave the house.

Stealthy and determined.

I walk quickly through the empty streets, where only some pedestrians, others drunk, and even free women discreetly seek a target.

I have only one destination.

The Milton's hostel.

I reach the door of the famous hostel in town and one of the guards bars my way.

"Where do you think you're going at this hour, young lady?"

I remove my hood and let him see that I pose no danger.

The man looks me up and down, perhaps deducing that my current plight has led me to debauchery.

"I need to speak with Mr. Otto Montanese. He is staying here, and he is expecting me."

He examines me more closely, trying to understand what a girl like me would want with Mr. Otto at that time of night, knowing that no decent women ever walk alone, especially late at night.

"Please, it's important."

The man sighs and lets me pass.

At the reception desk, I see the attendant nearly drooling over the registry book. I break into a broad smile because I know him. We always bumped into each other at festivals or a dance our families were invited to, and he looked at me so much that I sometimes thought he would get a crick in his neck.

I give a light tap on the bell, and he wakes startled.

"Miss Montanese... what are you... doing here?"

"I need to speak with Mr. Otto. Could you call him for me?"

The handsome, slender young man also finds my request odd. But as an employee, he knows he needs to summon his superior. If he let me into a guest's room at this hour, I would be dishonored, and if he called him, it would be inconvenient.

"I can't, miss, it's too late, and you shouldn't even be on the street. Why don't you go home and come back tomorrow, when he wakes up, I'll let him know you were here."

"If I don't speak with him right now, tomorrow I will no longer have a home to return to. Please, help me..."

He knows of my predicament and was one of the few in town who did not turn away when he saw us. He sympathizes with my despairing face and decides to risk his neck for me. I am indeed desperate.

He steps out from behind the counter and asks that I sit in a discreet corner of the reception area.

"Stay here, I'll go up there. If Mr. Otto is still awake, I'll come and let you know, okay?"

I nod nervously, aware of the risks I'm running by being there.

I wait anxiously for a considerable time.

The young man hurries back and looks at me uncertainly.

"So, is he coming?"

He scratches his head and gives me a sideways glance.

"Is the gentleman related to you by any chance?"

"Yes, why?"

"He told you to go up there; he said his niece wanted to see him and it was a good sign, but I must warn you beforehand, he is not alone... If you wish, I could stay there with you, because it wouldn't be proper for you to be in the same room with the people accompanying him."

I roll my eyes.

"Let's go, then."

I don't know who's with him, and I don't care, I just want to save my home.

We arrive at the room and hear feminine laughter.

"Are you sure this is it?"

He shrugs and knocks.

The tall man with an imposing bearing opens the door and smiles at seeing me.

"I knew you would come. Enter!"

I entered and my friend was prevented from passing, looking at me from the door with bulging eyes, fearing for me. I reassured him with a look, and he signaled that he would stay outside in case I needed him.

Indeed, he fears for me more than I do.

And only then do I understand what he meant by Mr. Otto not being alone.

He is dressed in trousers and a white shirt without buttons, his gray hair tousled; the room has a peculiar smell, and as I look at the bed, I see two women lying down... and clearly, they are... nude or nearly so.

My heart races. If anyone catches me here, they'll think I am like them. I have seen them passing on the street a few times, and they are the ones who work at the men's pleasure house on the outskirts of the city. All the respectable women talk about them but do not respect them at all in their words. They call them the dregs of society and have even been expelled from places where families were present, even though everyone knows their trade, those who use their services would never dare defend them in public.

I make a move to leave, and Mr. Otto holds me back. I swallow hard. I am doomed.

"I apologize for this. But I thought it better you come here instead of us talking outside."

"You, get out!" he commands with a firm voice. "wait outside, I need to have a word with my niece."

The two grab some clothes scattered on the floor and leave, muttering softly, and I did not even dare to open my eyes to look. This is so indecent.

"You can open your eyes now, Adelaide; we are alone."

I open my eyes and he is now wearing a closed coat.

"So, niece" he jests "what do you want from me?"

"You know. I want to hear... your offer."

My chest churns. If I indeed accept this absurd proposal, I now have a small idea of what awaits me. The man is depraved.

"Did the bank come by?"

"You know they did. That's why I'm here. We have nowhere to go, and since... you offered to help us. I've come to appeal to your good sense, and... the family ties between you and my father."

"And your mother?"

"She doesn't know I've come. But don't worry, I understand the conditions for having your help, and I am not at all concerned with the consequences. I just want to see my mother... cared for."

The man approaches me, and a smile different from any I've seen crosses his face. He seems satisfied and happy, but not in a lecherous way.

"Very well, at last courage in a woman. Courage is quite a rare quality indeed. A young beauty like you, willing to sacrifice herself to save her family... that is commendable. Truly, you are your father's daughter. But rest assured. Take a seat, and I shall explain the real motives and terms of our future marriage, and after, you may tell me whether you accept or not."