evangeline abigale worthington

" A Miss Evangeline Abigale Worthington at the dear age of twenty-five has found herself upon the most curious of situations - entering into London's most tantalizing gossip. "

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W R I T E R .

name: bree + anne + uh
RP experience: um, EONS.
how did you find us?: i made us c:
age: 21
gender: lady

P O R T R A I T .

eye color: bright blue
hair color: brown
height: 5’ 7”
body type: slender
distinguishing features: her eyes
fashion style:

Although most of her gowns are made up of linens rather than silk and velvet, she does wear them exceedingly well. She has an array of creams with stripes, maroons, navies and dark greens that she often cinches with a silk bow. She owns two evening gowns, both of which have been handed down from her older cousin Teresa.

M A N N E R S .

profession: n/a

adoration for:

honeysuckle, bluebells, the smell of bread baking, the countryside, seeing families in love

distaste for:

the city, the smell of her fiancé’s cologne, cats

dreams:

to be free

fears:

her fiancé, that there is nothing left for her

secrets:

her fiancé has raped her, she is trapped, she is near the edge and has lost her faith and hope

main:

sweet-natured
lost
strong-willed (though she cannot see it)
soft-spoken
loyal

P A S T .

family:

Edmund Worthington, father, deceased at 40
Abigale Worthington, mother, deceased at 29

William Abbot, uncle, 59, banker
Margaret Abbot (nee Worthington), aunt, 53
Teresa Abbot, cousin, 27
Bertram Abbot, cousin, 25
Anne Abbot, cousin, 20

Henry Craven, fiancé, 29, heir to tea factory

main:

Evangeline Worthington hadn’t always been lost. Once she knew her way – life took this from her.

Clutching the sheets against her mouth, she listened to the sound of a warbler outside the curtained window. She longed to be outside that window, with the world that did not know of this room or these memories. She clutched her eyes closed and felt the cold tears stagger down her soft cheeks. He had found her that night, in the false safety of her room. This had been the first, and she knew it would not be the last. She cried until her chest heaved with her dry sobs and there was nothing left. Staring out in turbulent thought, memories of her childhood embraced her when no one else would.

The earliest memory she has is one she thought she would have forgotten. She is only a couple years old and is pressing her hands into dough, her fingers sliding into the warm mixture. She squeals out as the gummy dough squeezes through her tiny fingers; her mother laughs at her from opposite the table as she kneads her own bread. Her mother is young, and beautiful. With chestnut hair and bright blue eyes, Evangeline is a miniature doll of her. She can smell the dough - the rich, earthy smell of the yeast rising in the kiln. Flour coats her cheeks like cinders of a fire. She pats her dough into a small, lumpy mound and places it carefully into the oven. Her mother puts her own, neatly folded loaf next to hers. They stand for a moment, watching their dough crisp. Then her mother scoops her up into her arms and kisses each of her floured cheeks. There has never been a moment that Evangeline can remember being happier.

They lived in their little town in the hillsides of Surrey until Evangeline was seven. Her mother was pregnant that year, and upon delivering a stillborn baby boy, she died within the following day. Evangeline has never been able to remember her funeral, except the tiny purple Armerias she laid in the dirt at the grave. Within that year, her father sent her to live with his sister and her family in London. She couldn’t understand why at that time, but she’s come to believe it had simply been too much for him – he hadn’t been strong enough.

Her Aunt Margaret was a wasp-waisted woman with a severe line of mouth and dark, jet-black hair she always wore in a tight bun. Although she and Evangeline’s father were raised by the same parents, Margaret did not see Evangeline as family. Margaret had married slightly above in station to a rather rotund William Abbot who worked at the bank and enjoyed his cigars at the club and chocolate trifle more than his wife and children. Her aunt and uncle ignored her for the most part, and Evangeline kept to the shadows. Her cousin Teresa was the only one who paid her any mind, yet the house has become emptier upon Teresa’s marriage. She was grateful to her aunt and uncle but as the years wore on, more and more of her began to fall behind and fade away. When she was 17, she learned that her father, whom she saw scarcely twice a year, died of influenza. She had no one left now.

As she grew older, there became an increasing amount of pressure to marry and free her aunt and uncle of the burden they claimed she was. Both her cousins Teresa and Bertram had married, Bertram being even younger than her. Evangeline always had the hopes of becoming a teacher and returning to the country but doing this unmarried posed threat to the family name that her Aunt and Uncle would never have. Instead, Evangeline would repay them in the form of a respectable marriage and hope her husband would approve of her wishes.

His name was Henry Craven. A distant cousin of her Uncle William, the son of a distinguished naval captain and the heir to a large tea factory, he was known in both their social circles and that of the upper classes. The Abbots had wanted him for their youngest daughter, Anne, but he had seen Evangeline and that had been it. He had been pleasant the first few times they met, but his eyes had lingered over her in a way she did not like.

At social events, he would find her alone and kiss and touch her. His mouth was sloppy and ravenous. His hands clawing at her garments, and pulling at her skin – she couldn’t escape his grasp. He had been living in a countryside estate and on one of his visits had stayed in one of the guest rooms at her Aunt and Uncle’s home. That night he found her.

She had been awakened by the touch of his cold fingers on the loose curls of her hair, then as they loosened the ties to her nightgown. Her repeated refusals did nothing to stop him. As she kicked and shoved and twisted to be out of his grip, he kept her still. The darkness of night consumed her pale form and took away all that she had left. That morning she listened to the warbler sing and cried for everything she had lost.

With her last hope, she told her aunt the next morning as to break off the engagement. With a pained struggle, Evangeline recounted what had transpired the night before. For a moment after, it was silent. Then, her aunt turned and flashing a wild stare, slapped her. As Evangeline held a hand to her reddening cheek, her aunt told her in a whisper that sliced through the air, “How dare you. You have nothing. You are nobody. What do you think will happen if we break off this engagement? It will be social ruin for us all! All because of your mistake. Do not ever speak of such things again or you will be sent to the streets like the prostitute you are. Do you understand? You have no one but us.” It was then that Evangeline realized how trapped she had become.

Within two months she will be Mrs. Henry Craven. The thought alone sends a terrible fear through the marrow of her bones. The faith and hope she carried with her so strongly and passionately as a child is gone. She lives through each day just waiting to find the end. She doesn’t believe she will be strong enough.

E T C .

play-by: natalia vodianova
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Code:

why, hello.