1. Cucumber Hall


    Date: 9/9/2015, Categories: Historical, Author: steffanie, Rating: , Source: LushStories

    One fine Yorkshire afternoon, the 'eligible' Mr William Postlethwaite and I took a gentle walk across the moor towards the notorious Merripath House. The views were as exceptional as ever and the landscape's bleak, rolling hills inspired my imagination far more than the character of my escort. I had considered him a fair enough gentleman on first acquaintance, yet on subsequent occasions, he came across as a miserable fellow with an altogether cold personality. Not that I chanced upon William Postlethwaite's tiresome company very often, but when I did, he would engage me with awful monologues centered almost entirely upon himself. I thought him a braggart who would not flatter, nor listen and least of all dance. Even a simple contredanse seemed beyond him, for which he proffered the ridiculous reason of my diminutive stature - so I danced with my darling Hazel because I love her and she too is little, but our littleness never spoiled our fun, nor other people's and only Postlethwaite's countenance soured. Hence my agreement to tolerate further episodes of such horrible company only transpired following a forthright discussion with my dear father, who thought I should accept an unsolicited offer from Postlethwaite to escort me as and when. "But, father," I said, "the man has neither charm nor grace." "Is that so, Steffanie?" He said. "Yes, father. I dislike him, I could never... " "Ay up, lass, I'll not have you lay with anyone you're not smitten with." "Thank you, father." ...
    "But make a pretence, lass, for your own sake." Dear, dear father, he knew perfectly well I had no real interest in young gentlemen, least of all the cold, calculating Mr Postlethwaite, for whom prudence would require me to feign at least some enthusiasm for marriage, only to be rid of him at the earliest opportunity. Father's kind words confirmed his tolerance of my true nature would continue, regardless of the heartfelt concerns he held for my future. I could never thank him enough for his thoughtful counsel, he deserved nothing less than my absolute respect. "Yes, father," I said, "thank you, father. For my own sake then - and Hazel's?" "By 'eck," he said, "will you two ever set your hearts on marriage?" "Only to each other, father." "Be off with you," he said, "and be sure to look your best for Postlethwaite." Father smiled and sighed, a response that reflected the paradox of our time, one that saw remarkable progress walking hand in hand with oppression. England had walloped the French at Trafalgar, yet feared revolution at home, a potential shift of power our ruling aristocracy determined to prevent, no matter how great the cost to liberty and justice. As young women, Hazel and I had no power, but we were free enough to cast off our corsets in favour of the unrestrained fashions inspired by the Romantics. We delighted in more natural expressions of ourselves, we truly believed that something as simple as delicate, flowing dresses might light the path to equality for women ...
«12345»