Post by clare abernathy on May 28, 2009 2:03:00 GMT -5
clare grace abernathy
[/b][/color][/size] A Miss Clare Abernathy at the dear age of eighteen has found herself upon the most curious of situations - entering into London's most tantilizing gossip. "[/i][/color][/font][/size][/ul][/blockquote]
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W R I T E R .
name: melinda
RP experience: too much
how did you find us?:
age:
gender:a lady
P O R T R A I T .
eye color: blue-green
hair color: dark blonde
height: 5'7"
body type: slender
distinguishing features:
fashion style:
M A N N E R S .
profession: n/a
adoration for:
distaste for:
dreams:
fears:
secrets:
main:
P A S T .
family:
main:
A soft rose blossomed upon her cheeks at the admiration of her friends. Clare held out her left hand, tilting it slightly. The intricately cut diamond and sapphire ring blossomed around her finger, refracting the lights and eliciting more awed squeals from those encircling her. Looking up her eyes met Edward’s across the room. He radiated warmth as he smiled back at her, nodding his acknowledgement before returning to his own conversation. “It is perfect, isn’t it?” she sighed, content. “It was his grandmother’s.”
She was the first to be engaged and the novelty had yet to wear off. Clare basked in the attention, savoring the moment while it lasted. The social season was commencing, and by its conclusion she would be the one fawning over the engagement rings adorning the fingers of her friends. She would feign their envy, though. “…to think, you shall marry a Hawthorne without having to endure a season!””
Clare pursed her lips as she lowered her hand. Her crystalline eyes filled with worry as she peered at her friend. “You don’t think it is too soon do you? Perhaps we should wait until the end of the season…”
It had always been the hope of both the Abernathys and the Hawthornes that one day their families would be joined. The family’s ties to one another were as deep as their fortunes, spanning generations. Clare’s childhood was filled with teas and dinners at each others homes. As a girl, these events were met with much resistance from Clare. Edward was forever teasing her – stealing hair ribbons or using her French doll as a pawn in some fanciful game in which he was the soldier. Many of these occasions found Clare running, tears streaking down her cherubic face as she went to tattle on him. He reactions only served to fuel his pranks more. Until one summer when she was seven. “I won’t play with you anymore after today,” Edward had announced, smug and confident. Clare hadn’t believed him and had demanded to know why. His face was bright with pride as he told her about attending Eton, a Hawthorne tradition. He would be leaving the next day. The evening was being held in celebration of his acceptance.
Years passed and Edward Hawthorne was relegated to a childhood acquaintance, his face only crossing her mind when her mother would mention some accomplishment she had learned from his mother in passing. The best tutors were hired to teach Clare the necessities – French, needlepoint, and piano. When she was not attending lessons she dutifully accompanied her mother on calls, conversing politely with the daughter’s from London’s best families. As they grew their conversations shifted from dolls and hair ribbons to young men and balls. Whenever someone would mention Edward, Clare found her interest piqued for reasons she did not understand. Years passed without so much as a glimpse of one another. As their separation grew to outnumber days spent together, Clare no longer listened when his name was mentioned. He was no longer part of her life.
The first whispers of summer stirred the grasses, the air filled with the end of spring’s fragrant blossoms. The garden party was splendid, one of the best she had attended that year. She ambled through the garden with her arm linked with Constance Grouse, one of her dearest friends. They discussed the lemonade and whose attire was wholly inappropriate for the event. Clare suggested they replenish their lemonade and as she turned from the beverage table she could feel eyes upon her. She kept her eyes lowered, feigning interest in her glass as she sought out the source. Across the lawn, relaxing beneath the shade of a willow tree stood the most handsome man she had ever seen. Slender and tall, dark and handsome. “Who is that?” she asked Constance discreetly.
“That,” she replied with a demure sip of her lemonade, “is Edward Hawthorne. I believe he is looking at you.”
Pleasure surged through Clare with those words. Curious, she tilted her face toward him. As their eyes met, Clare Abernathy never looked away.
“Of course not!” Constance insisted, breaking her reverie. “Unless you are having reservations…” The girls pressed eagerly around Clare, desperate for any hit of scandal to gossip about later. Clare swallowed, smiling at her friends. Questions circled through her mind. “I cannot imagine myself with anyone but him,” she answered truthfully. When Edward had asked for her hand, Clare hadn’t hesitated. She would never find another. Edward had her heart wholly and unequivocally. She had always been taught that a man should be allowed his secrets, that their minds were preoccupied with a stress she would never be able to comprehend. But there were times, as they walked in contented silence together that she longed to question him; longed to know what it was he was thinking of. There were times where she wondered how well she knew him. Running her finger over the ring she willed such thoughts away. Edward loved her. He was good to her and cared for her. His family was without blemish. This was the life she had be born to, bred for.“I am truly blessed.”
As the party progressed, Edward found his way to her side. A proud smile lit his face as they made their rounds, Clare’s hand cradled securely in his as they accepted congratulations and well wishes from those in attendance. Occasionally he would murmur into her ear how happy he was; how grateful he was that she had chosen him. Each compliment eliciting a soft blush. “Edward,” she murmured softly. “Do you find it to be warm here?”
He smiled down at her. “No. Perhaps it is all the excitement. It has been quite the evening.”
“Yes, perhaps,” she agreed. “I think I’ll just step outside to regain my senses.”
“Shall I accompany you?”
Clare shook her head and smiled at him. “I shall only be a moment and just on the terrace. I would hate to take you from the party.”
Edward pressed his lips against her forehead tenderly. “Don’t be long.” Clare nodded as she slipped silently through the crowd.
The night air caressed her face. Closing her eyes, Clare allowed it to wash over her, calming her nerves. She hated being the center of attention and tonight she had been unable to escape it. Had it not been for Edward’s presence at her side she wouldn’t have made it through. A smile traced her lips as she leaned against the cool iron railing. She belonged to Edward and there was nothing in the world that could separate them.
The shadows stirred beneath her, footsteps heavy and desperate sounded against the stones. Clare straightened as she peered into the darkness attempting to seek out the source. A female voice shrieked, raising a trail of gooseflesh along her neck. The footsteps stilled. Clare glanced back at the oblivious party, fear gripping her heart as she debated what to do. The voice sounded again, cementing her decision. It would be too late by the time she found Edward. Gathering her skirts, Clare raced toward the voices.
“You bas’ard! Wha’ am oi goin’ ta do wit’ ya?” A male voice murmured low and unintelligible in the shadows. Her heart thundered within her ears, drowning out the sounds of the party as she neared. “I beg your pardon,” she called out.
“Go ‘way!” the male voice commanded. Her mind screamed for her to return to the party as she stepped into the shadows. Slowly shaped began to take reason. A young man stood, pressing a servant girl against the wall. Her dress was pushed low around her shoulders, exposing too much flesh. In his hand he held her skirt, holding it high on her thigh. Clare’s face turned crimson as she surveyed the scene. “Rebecca?” she gasped as the young man turned to face her. “I demand that you release her at once!” Her voice shook as she stepped backward.
“It’s not what you think, miss,” he said in reassuring tones. His hand released Rebecca, one of the Abernathy’s servants as he took a step toward Clare.
“Stay away from me!” she shouted.
He reached toward her, his hand circling her slender wrist. “Calm yerself. I meant ‘er no ‘arm.”
“Let go of me!”” Clare screamed as she struggled to break free from his firm grasp. Her shoulder collided against the damp wall, her bodice catching on a nail. The loud rip of fabric sounded through the alley as she continued to fight against her unknown assailant. As he made to release her, Clare lost her footing; falling to the ground with him on top of her.
A loud gasp sounded from the terrace and Clare looked up to see the party staring at her, dirty and dress in tatters, in excited shock. The servant took in the scene, quickly untangling himself as he disappeared into the shadows. In that moment everything was frozen. Clare took in every detail. The crowd rushing toward her, arms wrapping around her as they asked what had happened. She watched as Edward and his friends ran past her without seeing. She allowed herself to be led back to the house, blankets wrapped around her shoulders. Edward, her Edward would find the servants and they would absolve her of any misdeed. Eternity passed in his absence. When he finally returned, Clare looked at him hopefully. But they were alone. Edward massaged his neck as he stared at her with concern before allowing himself to be led away by his father.
Nothing happened but everything had changed. As she watched Edward walk from her Clare felt an old fear twist in her once more: perhaps the Edward she thought she knew had never existed.
[/ul]
E T C .
play-by: abbey lee kershaw
password: twilight on the prairie
rp sample:
tally-ho![/blockquote][/size]
