by Abby Ayles
Mary smiled and nodded knowingly before explaining the development of her garden to Lucy. Lucy had said what she needed to say and got it off her chest. Any further conversation would only be frustrating to both of them.
After tea with Mary finished, Lucy made her way back home only to be immediately intercepted by a maid with a letter as soon as she stepped through the front door. The envelope had already been opened, no doubt by Lady Fitzgerald, who did not trust Lucy to share all her news with her parents. She read it as she walked upstairs to her bedroom.
It was a note from another suitor, inviting her to a garden party where she would be his date and they could dance and talk and get to know one another properly. He had apparently heard of her from some of his friends. She recognized the names as men she had rejected particularly viciously. Why did it always go like this?
Lucy sighed and fell back on her bed. She had assumed these men would get the message and stop propositioning her. But it seemed her meanness only made them more eager. It was as though they just saw her as a challenge, as though conquering her would be some mighty feat.
Nothing she did would chase them away properly. If she was not mean enough then her present suitors would not get the message and would continue to see her for weeks or even months. If she was mean, then her suitors would not stay long, but other men from their social circles would cluster in, ready to have a go at seducing the ogress.
Lucy cast the letter to the floor. Because her mother had read it, she was probably already obligated to go. She buried her head in her pillow and wondered whether she ought to scream or cry. All she wanted was to be left alone to become an old spinster in peace. Was that too much to ask?
Chapter 2
“I do not wish to go, that is all,” she said, avoiding her mother's steely gaze. “It is nothing personal, but I think a garden party at this time of year would be too cold.”
“You always have an excuse,” her mother said with a heavy sigh. “And do not assume I do not know they are excuses. I am older and wiser than you and I know how to spot these things.”
Lucy sighed and shook her head. “It is not an excuse, I genuinely do not wish to attend a garden party in this cold, damp weather. I could catch a cold.”
“That does not stop you from walking up and down our garden every day,” Lady Fitzgerald replied.
Lucy shrugged. “That is different.”
“Lucy... Please, just say what I can do to help you,” her mother pleaded.
“I do not need help, I need to be left alone,” Lucy insisted again. “I am sure that in time the right man will appear, but I do not intend to settle for less. Nor do I intend to go to some cold, damp garden and stand around catching cold for a man.”
Lady Fitzgerald looked about to cry. “What happened to you?” she asked, shaking her head.
Lucy shrugged. “I thought you would be pleased that I have standards. You do not wish for your daughter to marry just anyone, do you?”
Lady Fitzgerald shook her head some more. “I hope someday you realize you are not above every man on this planet, and I hope that day does not come too late.” She stared out the window as rain began to fall lightly.
It hurt Lucy to see her mother like this. But she was in no way going to give in. Her mother did not understand the severity of what had happened with Duke Perry. She did not know how deeply in love Lucy had fallen, or how painful it was to make the discovery that he had deceived her. It had done damage which would not be undone easily. It would probably never be undone at all.
“Who knows, even if you do not like Sir Connor, perhaps whilst you are there you could meet a young man who does suit your interests?” her mother put forward hopefully. “You will never meet anyone if you do not go out.”
“I do not intend to go, and that is final.” Lucy sat back in her seat and also began watching the rain bouncing off the window as the droplets grew heavier and more frequent.
“Oh, that reminds me, Sir Garvey and the Timpson girl are getting married in a week, aren't they?” Lady Fitzgerald remarked.
Lucy paused, then nodded. “I do believe so,” she replied.
Susan Timpson. She had been Lucy's friend as well when they were little. She had remained her friend when Lucy came back from boarding school, but they had grown a little distant over the course of Susan's engagement.
Lucy could not make sense of it. All her childhood friends were getting married. They knew what they were risking, she had tried to warn them, and none of them listened. All they cared about was their fancy wedding and their marriage and the prospect of having children. None of them gave a second thought to the very real risk that the man they were marrying was a lying cur.
“I suppose you will not be coming to the wedding, either?” Lady Fitzgerald said with a low tone.
Lucy hesitated. A garden party was one thing, but a wedding... She was deeply torn. She did not really believe in marriage anymore, and as such a wedding seemed far, far too much to her. But this was also not about her. This was her friend's celebration of love and friendship with a man she would spend the rest of her life with. This was the sanctification of a union between a man and a woman. She did not want to ruin that for Susan.
“Very well, I shall go to the wedding,” she said with a sigh.
Lady Fitzgerald perked up a little upon hearing this. “Really? You think you shall be able to?” she asked tentatively.
Lucy nodded. “I think Susan would want me to be there for her. And I am sure it will be a beautiful party. I would not miss it for the world.”
Lady Fitzgerald let out a relieved sigh. “At last you are saying something normal and sensible!” she remarked.
“Well, we cannot disagree on everything.” Lucy laughed nervously.
“Just think of all the wonderful, high-class young men there will be there!” her mother exclaimed in delight.
Lucy winced a little. She had been trying her utmost not to think of that. All she wanted was to be there to offer some support to a friend who had helped her through her own times of trouble. To enjoy the party and the celebration. To forget a little bit about her own life.
But she could trust her mother to make this all about scouting out potential suitors. Was nothing about anything else anymore? She felt that everywhere she went, everything she did, was just an excuse to put her on display and try and get the men bidding.
She felt a shiver run down her spine. This would not do. But what could she do now? Just tell her mother to leave her alone? That she was not going to see any of these men, or talk to any men, or dance with any men? That if the wedding meant seeing men, she would much rather not go at all? She just smiled and nodded.
She'd have to be on her guard the whole time now.
“Come, I do believe dinner is ready,” her mother said.
Listening carefully, Lucy could sure enough hear the bell being sounded. She had very little appetite, but she knew she needed to make an effort and retain her strength, so she followed her mother to the dining room nonetheless.
Her father was already in his seat being served. Everyone else had to wait for him if they arrived first, but he could start whenever he wanted. This was another reminder to Lucy of why she could never marry. After all, it was probably easy to defer to good men like her father, or Mary's husband, but it would be a nightmare to defer to someone who turned out to hate her.
Dinner had lost all its taste for her. She ate a few potatoes and some peas, but the meat and gravy felt like too much, and the idea of dessert left her stomach churning. Instead, she politely excused herself after her plate was cleared, requesting an early night so she could make sure she was well rested for the day ahead.
In her nightgown, Lucy sat on the edge of the bed, slowly brushing her hair. She could not understand why her peers insisted on continuing to marry. Surely, they were beginning to realize by now that it was a scam? These men wanted to marry them for money, or for connections, or to improve their status. They did not care
about the woman behind it all.
They would lie to her, let her believe ridiculous things, play with her heart and then turn around and marry someone else, as long as the money was convenient. And yet her friends continued to get married as though these men were making such a valiant sacrifice, as though the partnership were one of equals.
But nothing was about to change as long as it was just her. When it was just one or two young women rebelling it had no meaningful impact. But she knew that if enough of them were to do so, it could make a difference.
Ultimately, she still wanted to get married. She still wanted to be a wife, and to have a loving husband, some children, a happy home. None of that had changed. But she knew it could not happen so long as it was done for money and power. And the only way to stop men lying to trick women into marriage was for women to stand up against it. For young women and their parents to say “no more” to marriages with anyone who had been found to be a liar or greedy.
And that was not about to happen. In fact, a young woman's parents were often so eager to see her married that on top of a dowry they would usually pay for a lavish wedding to send her off. This would make sense if the parents were genuinely seeing the last of their little girl, and if the wife was nothing but a financial burden to her husband. But from what Lucy had seen, this was rarely if ever the case anymore.
More common was for the husband to become best friends with his wife's family and turn to them for money and support in his time of need. And the parents would continue to oblige as though their son in law were doing them a service.
None of it made any sense at all to Lucy. The whole affair was just pompous for the sake of it. A waste of everyone's time and money.
As she drew the comb through her hair again and again she inspected it for flaws. Her mother had taught her it was important to keep an eye out for any problems with her hair or nails, because they would get dramatically worse if not attended to swiftly. She noticed a few split ends and decided to trim the tips of her hair.
Dropping the comb, she picked up a small pair of scissors from her bedside cabinet, stood up, and walked over to her dresser, where she could watch herself in the mirror, to make sure she did not cut her hair too much, or unevenly.
All this grooming was not helping, she was sure. Men liked a woman who was well dressed, put together, groomed, feminine... Trimming, brushing, cleaning... All the care she gave her hair made it so beautifully shiny and luxurious. Even tied up in a bun, it was obvious how thick and healthy her hair was. Many of her suitors had remarked on it, and her mother often praised how beautiful she looked with her hair down ready for bed.
Perhaps she could make herself more undesirable if... she raised the scissors up to her hair. Yes, that would do nicely. If she cut enough of her hair off then none of these men could bear to look at her so much. Would it do to cut it back just a little? No, the current fashion meant wearing it done up high. She needed to cut it enough to make it impossible to wear a bun, so that everyone would know and see that her hair was short.
Her hand shaking a little, she began cutting through her thick, dark hair, watching it fall to the floor in large clumps, leaving rough, short patches behind with every slice.
Seeing the raven locks falling to the floor, she wondered how short she ought to go. She did not want to look exactly like a man. Deep down, she still desired to be pretty, and to look at herself in the mirror and appreciate herself. But... she could not continue to tolerate all the attention she got. She could not go to another event where her mother spent the entire time setting her up with men. She wanted to do something without being seen as just an item on a shop shelf.
She kept on cutting and cutting until her hair was barely long enough to frame her face. It did not look like a man's haircut, but it did not look like the long, sophisticated hair of an eligible young woman either. It looked like the cute haircut of a toddler, or an elderly person. She had to go shorter.
Chopping more and more off, she eventually realized that the length was that of a man's haircut. But she didn't dislike it. Her hair added a certain hardness to her face, a certain coldness, which she enjoyed looking at.
Lucy smiled approvingly at her reflection and began to trim her hair to make it look a little bit neater. That had always been her problem. She had always looked too sweet. Nobody could take her insults seriously if she looked sweet and lovely. They would think her petulant and spoilt.
But now... Now they would see her as the cold-hearted girl she tried to depict herself as. Or as being on the verge of insanity. Either way, her suitors would probably scatter.
She collected all the offcuts from her hair and, save one lock she put in a jewellery box, she threw it all in a wastebasket that she kept under her dresser. She felt a painful pang of regret as she did this. Seeing her beautiful, thick hair thrown away made her immediately miss it.
But she also felt much better about the wedding now. She would not have to dance with anyone, nobody would approach her and ask to speak to her parents, no older man would make inappropriate remarks. She would be left alone to talk to her friends and eat and drink and have a wonderful time.
She felt she could get used to this haircut, if it did keep suitors away. She could wear this haircut for the rest of her life if it meant nobody would try and trick her into marrying them anymore. Though, on second thought, it would probably take more than a haircut to put these men off. They were not after her, but after her father's money, after all.
She wondered whether she ought to go downstairs and show her parents. She knew they would be mortified, shout at her, and probably find some way of punishing her that she could not even dream of. They would likely question her sanity for a while. But perhaps that meant it was better to get the big reveal over and done with?
But was she ready to deal with all that anger, all that disappointment, all that drama? She yawned. No, it could wait until the morning... She was far too tired to explain her actions to them yet.
Lucy made her way over to her bed and crept under the covers, relishing the warmth. After a good night's sleep she would wake up feeling refreshed and alert, and be able to better explain her haircut to her parents.
Of course they would never understand. And they would never know the full truth as to why she did it. But at least she would be ready to argue her case if she was properly rested.
Lucy awoke to the sound of a horrified scream.
Chapter 3
Lucy had known her parents would be angry, but she had not realized quite how angry. She had seen a few other young women with shorter haircuts, and had assumed that her parents would dismiss it as faddish and silly, but nothing more.
But her mother had almost fainted that morning when the maid called her in to see what Lucy had done to her hair. And now Lady Fitzgerald sat by the window, weeping slightly, as Lord Fitzgerald scolded Lucy.
“I cannot believe you would do something like that to your poor mother,” he said, shaking his head.
Normally Lucy would have replied something along the lines of how she had done it to herself, and it was her hair. But she could read the tension in the room as well as anyone else could, and it was plain to see that her parents were far too angry for her to risk upsetting them any further.
Lord Fitzgerald sat down beside his wife and hugged her gently with one arm.
Lucy felt a pang of remorse. “Well, it is done now,” she said quietly.
“Indeed it is,” her father replied. “What on earth possessed you to do such a thing? You had such fine hair...”
Lucy shrugged a little. She could not look them in the eyes. “I suppose I was growing tired of spending so much time brushing it and caring for it.”
“What a waste,” her mother sighed.
“Plenty of other girls wear their hair short.” Lucy quite adored the new look and squared her shoulders with pride.
“But not that short,” her mother scoffed and waved her hands, “and not girls with hair as beautif
ul as yours. It will take you years to grow it back.”
Lucy shuffled a little. “I suppose I could have it neatened up a little before the wedding,” she conceded, realizing her parents would not be happy with this haircut no matter what she said.
“I am not sure you ought to show your face in public,” her mother replied.
Lucy froze on the spot. “What do you mean?” she asked.
Her mother shook her head slowly. “If you go out looking like... that, then people will assume you have gone completely loopy. Rumours will spread.”
Her father nodded. “No man in his right mind will want to marry you if they think you are predisposed to nervous breakdowns.”
Lucy shrugged. “We could just tell them it needed cutting for some reason.”
“Rumours will still spread,” her mother said with an exasperated sigh. “Whatever shall we do with you?”
“I shall see if we cannot purchase her a wig,” Lord Fitzgerald said.
The Lady nodded in agreement. “And until we know what it is we are doing with you, you are not to leave the house, or see any suitors.”
Lucy was relieved to hear she would not be seeing her suitors again for some time. That was perfect, as far as she was concerned. She was indignant about being restricted to the house, but she also understood a little of where they were coming from. Rumours always spread so much more easily when it concerns the downfall of single young women. Her parents would need time to create a story which would protect her reputation.
But this might mean she could not go to the wedding after all, which weighed heavily on her heart. She wanted to go and see her friend get married and offer moral support should she need it. But that was not going to happen unless her parents came up with a solution fast. There was a very real chance she could not go. On the plus side, it meant she would not have to buy a dress and make the effort, and would be excused. Her parents would probably say she was ill, or something to that effect.
