Marriage Consummated

Episode 1

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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.

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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.