Arid Yaherra
A classy lady does not simply pluck a dress from her wardrobe and slap it on as if playing a game of dolls. An outfit must be selected with care, chosen to suit one's mood and obligations of the day.
Rin can spend literally hours just browsing the contents of her wardrobe. The fortunate daughter of a well-to-do father and his educated wife, she has never known the finger cramps of a seamstress or the dirt-crusted fingers of a maid bringing in coal for her mistress. Her world is one of cream pastries and crinoline skirts, of love letters and lace.
She has pots of color to suit every occasion from afternoon tea to a grand ball. Her corsets are laid out in their own special drawer, ranging from the saucy to the slightly spacious that a girl just needs on those days when she feels bloated as a whale.
As for the dresses themselves, they come in every color acceptable for an unmarried lady. She favors hues one might find in a flower garden but also has more muted shades for formal occasions. They all have spacious bell skirts that mark her as the height of fashion. They accent her bodice without revealing too much to offend modesty. (Aside from one rich red gown that she wears only when her father is away on business.)
Her lingerie collection is her guilty secret. Bought one piece at a time on outings with her two dearest friends, it is kept in a special wooden box that can be locked with a key she keeps on her person. The pieces are of a sort that would raise eyebrows even among ladies of Paris.
These are not for wearing, but for research purposes.
Very few people know of her second identity as Loretta Lovebit. She wanted a pen name that was sickly sweet yet not so scandalous that her books would never reach the shelves of the local book shop. Loretta has little inhibition about social conventions. She dares to give voice to the forgotten, to explore the dark corners of a world so often restricted by what society deems appropriate. Her characters are the forbidden dreams of an entire generation hidden behind pompous clothes and plastered smiles.
It's easy enough to tell her mother she's writing in her journal. Her parents encouraged her interest in books. Little do they know her real reason for studying interior design and the fashionable tastes of the day. She is thinking not of pleasing her future husband, but of the setting in which Mary Jane and Rosamund Nimbledon, otherwise known as Rudy, will meet up for their latest tryst.
Only her dearest friend Ellen knows the full extent of her writing achievements. Ellen has the biggest crush on Rudy and will take this secret to the grave for fear of losing the source of her greatest guilty pleasure.
Today is a particularly fine spring day and Rin is taking full advantage of the sunlight shining gently through the bay window in the sitting room. From there, she can see the first of the roses just starting to bloom. She longs for them to be full size, so she can pluck one and tuck it into her hair every day until cruel winter returns. Their smell and color make her feel more alive.
She feels the warmth of the sun on her cheek only distantly. She is lost in that other world of her writing.
Mary Jane caresses the ivory silk of her sleeve, her painted lips pressing into a pout. The thought of carefully painted satin lips is nearly enough to break her resolve, to send her dashing for the door to intercept her lover all the sooner, when the turning of the key in the rusted lock freezes her in place. Rudy enters with the lithe grace of a tiger stalking through the moonlight-touched jungle. She pauses in the doorway, breath catching at the sight of Mary Jane with half her curls undone...
Rin has to pause and catch her own breath as thoughts of how the scene will play out send her own heart racing. A few stolen kisses are the closest she's ever come to romance. She hasn't yet decided if she wants a husband of her own. If she marries, she must find her lover on her terms. None of that arranged marriage nonsense that was her grandmother's lot.
The ring of the bell brings her out of her own thoughts. Ellen barely allows the butler time to open the door before she is floating the length of the entry hall, calling for "my precious dear heart!"
They embrace, sisters in all but blood.
"You must accept this gift, my love. These pearls will make that slender neck glow like the smile of the Duchess. She could almost compete in my affections for Rudy."
Rin smiled. "I'm sure Mary Jane would be delighted to hear you say so."
"You deplorable tease. You promised you would clue me in on this new project of yours."
Rin puts a finger to her lips, shooting a look at the distant maid who is bent over, dusting the decorative panels. "You must see the gown I intend to wear to next week's ball. Come."
When they are safely hidden in her room, she allows Ellen to secure the string of pearls in place. "This new story will take place in the Americas."
Ellen gasps. "No!"
"Oh, yes. I've read tales of that barbaric frontier. My leading lady Isabelle is the daughter of a disgraced countess and her chimney sweep husband. She falls in love with a man who insists on making his fortunes in the New World. Her affection is split between her dear rancher and a rugged mountain man who keeps her alive when she becomes lost and has to spend the winter under his care. It's going to be like nothing any lady of England has ever read."
Ellen squeals. "Oh, Rinnie! It's absolutely brilliant! You must get me an advance copy right away."
Rin blushes. "It's only an idea, for now."
"Only an idea, indeed. You are going to change the world one day, my dear. Especially when you find your real-life Rudy."
Rin smiles at Ellen's overstated praise. Her friend has more crushes than a bowl of grapes being mashed for wine.
Flirting is fun but real love is a burden Rin isn't yet ready to bear...at least for now.
credits: story by 
Pureflower | background from waterpipe.js | profile by 
Shakespeare | art by Actor
