Chapter 1 The Man in the Top Hat
In Victorian England, in a charming townhouse in the heart of London, one of many set in a row of uniform, architectural elegance across from Trenton Park, lived a young lady with extraordinary aspirations. With her unworldly beauty found in her honeyed strawberry locks and peridot eyes, sharp, dainty cheekbones, and petite figure, Lady Annemarie Dawson closer resembled a nymph than a young lady of the affluent ton she belonged to.
And contrary to the expectations of her time, she was a woman of unconventional vision. At her age, appreciable debutantes like herself were expected to present themselves at fashionable balls, socialize with debonair socialites, and thus procure a suitable husband to wed. This young lady of ethereal beauty however tended to avoid glamorous galas. She preferred the quiet corner of her window, hoping for love to come to her than to find it in the glittering ballroom where superficial presentations were at their best.
For her window held the object of her keen, undivided attention that strummed her heart. That object was the man in the top hat.
“Annemarie, how long will you keep ogling that gentleman?” Winifred, Annemarie’s lady-in-waiting sighed in vexation at her mistress who sat draped against the window with her head turned to the world outside. She did not turn but smiled as though nothing could dampen her spirits.
“As long as he passes by my window,” she replied serenely. “The man in the top hat… I wonder what his name is.”
“You’ve been ogling him for a month and still have no idea who he is,” Winifred said with a scoff while pouring tea for her mistress. “Why not go down and meet him and get an introduction?”
“And ruin the mystery?” Annemarie gasped. “I’m perfectly content to see him from afar every day. Why wreck everything with formalities?”
“You’ll never acquire a husband at this rate,” Winifred clicked her tongue. “How hopeless you are, Annemarie. I wonder what you even see in him since you’ve never met him.” But Annemarie did not enlighten her maid. She did not share how she had seen the man in the top hat frequent past her window to stop and smell the primroses by her wall without seeing her. She did not share how she had seen him drop a shilling in the wayside beggar’s hand every morning on his leisurely constitutional down the street. She did not share how he’d always stop for a quick game of cricket with the town’s children after school hours at Trenton Park. Nor did she share how she’d seen him return in the afternoons from the direction of the butcher’s with a small tidbit which he fed the stray mutt along the road.
No, Annemarie kept all the gentleman’s little kindnesses to herself.
“I’ve never seen his face,” she said softly to herself when Winifred had left. “No matter what he looks like, I know he has a kind heart. If meeting him will change the course of his path away from my window, I would rather leave things as they are and admire him from afar.” And so Annemarie continued in her unrequited fondness for the gentleman, whose face was hidden by his top hat but whose heart was plain to see.
However, she wasn’t the only one who had her eye on a paramour from a distance.
