by Abby Ayles
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 realised 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 beautiful 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.
Lucy sighed. Besides, the best way of avoiding having to dance with single men at the wedding was by not attending the wedding, right? It was what she had wanted all along: to just avoid seeing men. She could not see her suitors, or meet potential suitors, if she never went out. It was enough to make her contemplate shaving her head completely.
But she was still feeling a little remorseful, both for hurting her mother and for losing her beautiful dark locks, and she knew that her parents would start to consider her insane if she took her father's razors to her scalp. No, this would do for now. It was enough to keep men at bay.
She started when she heard a servant calling her from downstairs. Cautiously, she peered over the bannister, nervous in case it was another suitor. But it was not. Her mother had called in a hairdresser to do something about this shortcut she had given herself.
The hairdresser almost fainted when she saw Lucy's hair. “Why, only last month I gave you a trim and shaped your hair for an event... and now you look like this? Whatever happened?”
“Um, she—she had an accident in the garden,” her mother seemed to improvise. “Got some plant in her hair and the smell just wouldn't come out.”
The hairdresser shook her head. “You ought to have called me right away, I might have been able to get it out. Or at least I could have cut it properly in the first place.” She began inspecting the crude lines which Lucy's scissors had made in her hair.
Lady Fitzgerald bowed her head. “I know, but she said the smell would not let her sleep, and she was so tired she wasn't thinking straight, and...”
The hairdresser nodded. “I completely understand. Fortunately short haircuts are not entirely out of fashion. Hers may be a little shorter than is appropriate, but if we give it a bit more volume and with her face shape, I dare say she might look good.”
Lady Fitzgerald sighed in relief. “Thank goodness. She has an event to attend next week.”
“It may have even grown out a little by then,” the hairdresser said, draping a towel over Lucy and beginning to delicately trim her hair.
“I shall be going to the wedding?” Lucy asked a little surprised.
“Please, do hold still,” the hairdresser said. “This is a very delicate process, Mistress.”
“Yes, sit still,” Lady Fitzgerald echoed. “And if you look decent I see no reason why not. Though you shall need new earrings if your hair will be short. Something to fill in the space. I am sure you can look lovely enough to attract a few young men, even if your hair is short.”
This made Lucy's heart feel heavy. That was the one thing she had hoped for: to not be noticed or desired. It almost put her off going entirely. She knew she was under obligation to do whatever her parents asked of her. And she always knew they would have a plan. She just wished that they didn't. She just wished that they would be a bit more like Antoinette's parents, who had given her more freedom to select her suitors and husband.
But parents like Antoinette's were few and far between. And parents like the Fitzgeralds were common. And one could not pick one's parents any more than one could pick one's height.
The day of the wedding, Lucy was excited but also nervous. This would be her first proper outing with her hair cut short. Her hair had grown a little bit, but not noticeably. Her mother had been telling everyone about how she had messed it up in the garden and needed it chopped off.
Everything was set. Lucy was hoping it would look decent enough to not embarrass her, but bad enough to put men off. But she knew that it was likely to be the other way around. Women and married men were much more fastidious about other people's fashion choices. Single men cared much less about how you wore your hair, so long as you were rich and beautiful.
Finally in her dress, ready to put her jewellery on, Lucy looked at herself in the mirror. At least she l
iked herself with this haircut. She felt she looked bold, a little masculine, but in a good way. She was not sure how to explain this to her parents, who wanted her to be soft and sweet and girly. But she did not want to be girly. She wanted to look strong.
Exiting the coach, she breathed a sigh of relief when she was not the centre of attention. At least the hair could not be too bad. Walking up to the church, she felt in complete awe.
The wedding was so beautifully put together, for a moment it brought back thoughts of her own ideal wedding. The precious white roses clung to every possible surface in the church. Ribbons shone by candlelight up and down the pews. The rich aroma of the flowers hung in the air, and the attendants spoke in a hushed murmur of whispers, as though afraid of breaking the magic.
Sitting down for the service, Lucy needed to remind herself that it was not all about the wedding. That this beautiful event wound be followed by a marriage, and that marriage was a scam designed to trap young women and their parents in servitude to some pompous man who had managed to deceive them into thinking he was a decent human being.
The service was beautiful, though. As was the reception. After it had all passed and she was free to mingle, Lucy slipped away from her parents to observe the fine decorations in the room, the tables set for dinner later on, and the white roses which, again, littered the room. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a familiar face.
It was Antoinette. Her friend looked at her with an expression of complete bewilderment. Lucy knew it was about the hair. What else? But she smiled, nodded, and walked over to where her friend was waiting. It was a painful, but not shocking, realization that Antoinette was not alone. She was accompanied by three men. One of whom was Duke Perry. Lucy felt compelled to just turn around and leave, but she knew that not only would it be rude, but such an action would make her appear weak.
Duke Perry smiled nervously and bowed. She avoided his gaze and instead focused on Antoinette. Duke Perry may be a Duke, and she was sure her parents would chastise her for insulting him, but he was also still a scoundrel and she felt saddened that her best friend was married to such a wretched liar of a man.
“Antoinette, how do you do?” she asked.
Antoinette shook her head nervously. “Your hair!” was all she managed to exclaim.
Lucy giggled a little. “Yes, there was an... accident. I think it looks alright, though, does it not?”
Antoinette frowned a little. “But your hair was so lovely... do not worry, I am sure it will grow back.”
“I actually like it,” Lucy shook her head from side to side, “I think I might keep it like this.”
Antoinette looked aghast, but did not say anything. She was too nice of a friend to insult Lucy's tastes, even if she completely disagreed.
“Are you not going to introduce me to the fine gentlemen who are accompanying you?” Lucy asked Antoinette.
“Of course, where are my manners? This is my brother, Thomas, and his friend, Baron Andrew Jones.”
Both men bowed. Thomas was very tall and very thin, which made him look much older than his years. No wonder she hadn't recognized him! His suit had been tailored in to fit him well, giving him a slightly skeletal appearance, but his face was not sunken, and his eyes were warm and friendly, suggesting that this tall thin frame was simply how he naturally was. Thomas seemed relaxed and happy to be there.
Andrew was built like a soldier of some description. Indeed, it was shocking to Lucy that a Baron could have such a strong, lean physique, as though he had worked with his hands his entire life. His green eyes were keen, and his mousy brown hair was light and soft. His face was chiselled to perfection, and his skin had a light tan which, again, suggested he was much more physically active than the typical Baron. But, unlike Thomas, Andrew did not seem happy to be there. He had a look of disinterest and frustration about him which suggested he would rather be anywhere else, and that he did not think much of the whole affair.
Lucy could vaguely remember Thomas from growing up next door to him and Antoinette. But this Andrew... she had never seen him before. She curtsied. “It has been some time, Thomas, I did not recognize you,” she said.
Thomas nodded. “Time abroad has changed me, inside and out. You look quite lovely, even with your haircut. I am sure you were lovely before it too,” he said, bowing slightly.
He was right that the time abroad had changed him inside as well. Lucy chuckled. “The old Thomas would never have said such things.”
“The old Thomas was a bit of a bully, and a brute,” Thomas replied. “I am pleased to say I will not tease you anymore.”
“That is nice to hear,” Lucy said. “And Lord Jones, I do not believe we have met?”
Lord Andrew Jones looked at her a little coldly, as though frustrated he was even being addressed. “I was with Thomas, doing missionary work in India,” he said bluntly.
“Ah, I see. What drove you to do it?” Lucy asked.
“I wanted to get away from England and all its pompous events,” he replied.
“I understand that. But why come back, then?”
He shrugged. “I ask myself that often. I suppose I missed a few people. But I have discovered they did not miss me one bit, and I shall be back in India anon.”
Lucy nodded and glanced to Antoinette. Antoinette mirrored her motions conspiratorially, letting Lucy know that she would find out all about what Lord Jones was talking about in very short order.
The tense silence was broken by a happy “hallo!” and a flurry of activity moving amidst them. It was Julia, Thomas's fiancée. She had always been so bright and cheery, transcending beyond the level one could still be annoyed at and ending up simply delightful. When they were younger Lucy had been jealous of Julia. Julia was bright, pretty, wealthy, talented, and always happy. It had seemed wrong that she had it all. But as an adult Lucy found herself incapable of hating such a pleasant and excitable young woman.
After a little bustle, Julia had swept Thomas away for a dance, and Antoinette and Duke Perry had followed them close behind, leaving Lucy and Lord Jones standing, side by side, watching the goings-on. Lucy felt a strange affinity to Andrew at that instance, as though they were stranded on a desert island of sanity in the middle of an ocean of chaos.
Chapter 4
Lucy was not sure what she was supposed to make of the feelings which overwhelmed her that instant. She had committed herself to never fall for another man, to never trust another man, and definitely to never marry.
But standing beside Lord Andrew Jones, knowing he seemed to hold the same bitter grievance regarding English polite society, she felt a kinship like she hadn't felt in years.
“For what it is worth, I am not too partial to the society we live in either,” she said quietly.
“Is that so?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
She nodded. “And I do not say that to seduce you. I could not care less if you like me or not. I simply am glad there is someone else here who understands my perspective.”
“Good. What would you say is the least pleasant part of English society?”
Lucy shrugged. “I suppose... this.”
“Weddings?” Andrew asked.
“And balls and galas and every time someone feels the need to gather the richest people they know in a room to show off how popular and wealthy they are,” Lucy explained. “I mean... I suppose it makes sense for something like a wedding. But when every other day there is another event we are all expected to attend, then the events which are actually important disappear, do they not?”
“I do not understand this sort of thing,” Andrew said, and narrowed his eyes. “All this fuss and attention and nonsense over... what?”
“It's just a show,” Lucy said. “And the only reason there is always such a great turnout is because people are looking to make connections. New friends in higher places, someone to invest in their business—”
“Someone to fool into the next wedding,” Andrew interrupted.
Lucy chuckled. “Precisely. It's all self-serving, is it not? And it is possibly the worst place to meet people. Everyone is putting on a front, everyone is being dishonest and trying to win everyone else over.”
Andrew shrugged. “I am not so sure it is the worst place to meet people.”
“Ah no? How come?” Lucy asked.
“I met you here, you seem like a decent person,” Andrew replied.
Lucy felt a blush rising and her heart beating faster. She took a deep breath to calm herself down. No, it wasn't like that. It was oddly exciting to be talking to someone who understood how she felt. But nothing more. “You seem like a decent person also,” she replied. “However do not take that to mean that I am interested in you courting me.”
Andrew nodded. “I will not. And do not take anything I say as flirting. I will be honest with you, whether that means insulting or flattering you, but I have no interest whatsoever in marriage, to you or anyone else.”
“That is a relief,” Lucy said. And she meant it. It felt like the weight of the world had just floated off her shoulders.
“It is rare to find a woman who is not interested in marriage,” Andrew said.
“Well, it is not my fault I have not been conned into thinking it is a good idea to permanently tie myself to someone who put on his best face to win my parents over,” she snapped back.
Andrew chuckled. “Calm down. And I do believe it is the women who do the conning. Always giving the impression you are good and sweet and kind and pure, when really all you want is to secure a husband so you can start running around acting like spoilt children again.”
Lucy shook her head. “Well, I am not sure I agree with you. But neither of us have been conned, either way.”
“True enough.” His eyes fell on the dancing couples and Lucy detected a slightly far-off gaze. She too looked at them, feeling the urge to dance and enjoy herself. Only now she could do it without any further obligation.
