Chapter 1: Mary
Growing up a noble’s daughter, there was a lot of pressure to marry someone with status, and it seemed so exciting, the clothes, the money, the makeup. My mother used to doll me up like I was a contestant at a beauty pageant. And I guess, in a way, I was. I was competing for people to like me, to want to marry me. Beauty was a part of it, and showing off that we were well in doubt in terms of money helped. I liked all the dresses, as annoying as some of them were, itchy, tight, and heavy, I looked like a princess. At first, the attention wasn’t bad either. The men complimented me, danced with me, and offered me drinks.
My father wanted me to settle down and have children, and while a lot of the men offered to talk and dance and buy me drinks, there wasn’t much else. I was worried I was going to disappoint my father with the lack of offers to court me. I never realized how weird it was to be offering up your teen daughter to older men. It was just society. My mother, Ruth, had gotten married at seventeen, and being about the same age and not even being in a long-term relationship made me feel behind.
It made me put myself out there and accept drinks and things from people I probably wouldn’t have otherwise. It was a few months after my eighteenth birthday, and my parents had me attending parties and events left and right. They would practically buy me a new dress for each one, and do my makeup and hair. I remember they picked out a blue dress for me, it matched my eyes, my long brown hair was curled down around my shoulders, and I had mascara on and maroon lipstick. I looked older than I was and felt it, too. My nails were painted a silvery white.
When I entered the venue, the lights made the walls and tablecloths yellow. It was crowded, and music was playing. I took a deep breath before stepping forward. My parents had let me come on my own this time, and I realized I was nervous. Usually, they were the ones talking and making conversation and approaching people for me, but now I was on my own. I had to choose who to approach; at least I didn’t have them picking dates for me. Sometimes, their choices were questionable.
I made my way over to the bar. I wasn’t of age to drink yet, so this was where talking to others came in handy; not only did I not have to pay for them, but I could drink. I looked at the men at the bar, particularly the younger ones, who were alone or with their friends. I spotted a young, blond-haired man. He had dirty blond facial hair and blue eyes. He looked older than I, and if I wanted a drink, I needed that; he had a drink in front of him already.
I took a deep breath again and walked forward, taking a seat at the bar, a few stools down from him and his friends. They were laughing and talking. I sat playing with my hair and looking around as if I was bored, and that was when he spotted me.
The blond man stood up, but one of his friends grabbed his wrist.
“Caswell, don’t,” he warned.
Caswell, that was his name. He shrugged off his friend before he made his way over to me. I watched him. He was tall. His hair shone gold under the light. He smiled, with a hint of something that could only be read as curiosity, but maybe it was devious.
“Hello, what’s your name?” he asked.
His teeth were white and perfect, which made me nervous again.
“Mary,” I answered.
He picked up my hand and kissed the back of it. I smiled.
“Hello, Mary. I’m Caswell,” he introduced himself.
“Nice to meet you,” I greeted.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you,” I replied.
He slipped away to a bartender, ordered me a drink, and came back with it. We made light conversation before he started playing with my hair. I was drunk, more so on the energy and his touch than the actual alcohol.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he commented.
“Thank you,” I accepted politely.
“Care to dance?” he asked, releasing my hair and offering me a hand.
I took his hand, and he pulled me lightly to the dance floor. I followed him in step to the music. Our eyes were lost in each other's for a while.
“Caswell,” someone hissed, interrupting us.
Caswell glared at the older man, who had stopped him earlier, too. He looked to be in his late forties, with dark brown hair and gray growing in at his temples.
He looked at me with a sad look before his attention focused on Caswell again.
“We should go,” he stated. “We have work in the morning.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mary,” Caswell commented, not taking his eyes off the other man.
“Of course, see you around?” I replied.
“Maybe,” he replied, still looking at the other man as if he was daring him to do or say something, but he didn’t.
He kissed my hand again before leaving, and I watched them leave. It was weird, but that night I couldn’t get Caswell out of my head. The way he gently held me, and we danced to the music. It was peaceful, harmonious, and beautiful. Was this what my parents talked about when they talked about love?
I went home that night, not really wanting to, but I knew my parents would worry otherwise, and it wasn’t like Caswell had offered more, but I wanted more. I wanted to see him again. I went to a lot of parties after, looking for him. I didn’t see him again for a few weeks. I spotted him outside a venue as I arrived. It was cold out, and the air was making his cheeks red. I was glad he was alone this time; no one could interrupt us.
“Hello, Caswell,” I greeted, approaching him.
He looked up and smiled.
“Hello, Mary,” he commented.
“Your friend’s not around this time?” I asked.
His smile spread as if he understood what I was getting at.
“No, I came alone this time,” he replied. “Do you want to get a drink this time without having to worry about interruptions?”
“That would be great,” I answered.
He offered me an arm, and I accepted. He took me into the bar and bought me a few drinks before we ended up in a dark hall of the venue. We were both a little intoxicated and stumbling around, making jokes and talking. I was feeling bold, and I leaned forward and kissed him. The air was electric, and a shiver ran across my skin as we kissed. His hand threaded through my hair gently before we paused to catch our breath. His cheeks were red with more than the night air now.
“Caswell,” someone called in the distance.
He held a finger to his lips, slipping a slip of paper into the pocket of my dress before he released me and slipped away out of sight to go answer whoever was calling for him. I thought he said he was alone, but maybe he had said that and slipped away because he wanted to spend time with me rather than his friends, or maybe one of them had seen us and gone looking when we stepped out.
Once he was gone, I pulled the piece of paper out, and it had a number on it. He gave me his number. I was giddy; this meant I could call him, and we could meet up away from the parties and not have to worry about his friends seeing or showing up and interrupting. I would probably have to tell my father about him, though, or he would wonder where I was going. I was a little nervous but also proud of myself for finding someone on my own without their help. I felt like an adult.
With my accomplishment, I decided to go home and sleep off my intoxication. I found my way to the cab that I had called and got in, giving him the address to the estate I lived in with my parents. It was dark and mildly cold out when I arrived back at my house. I stumbled my way to the door and managed to unlock it. I decided it would be better to drink less in the future. I shut the door behind me and gathered my bearings, hoping not to seem as drunk as I was in front of my parents; they had seen me tipsy, but not this bad, and I was worried they wouldn’t approve of Caswell if they saw how drunk I was.
I sat down, removing my shoes slowly, and my dad appeared in the doorway. Gideon Stryker, a man who owned many businesses and handled a lot of money, had dark brown hair, peppered with grey, and pale green eyes that reminded my mother of the sea, or so she said. I meticulously untied my shoes, trying to make it seem like it was easy, but it was hard. I finally removed them before he spoke.
“Did we have fun? Did we meet anyone?” he asked.
“It was fun, and yes, I met someone. We just talked, though, he did give me his number, but it’s not anything serious yet,” I replied, making sure not to slur my words.
“What’s his name?” he asked.
“Caswell,” I replied.
He nodded as if making a mental list of who it could be. We hadn’t exchanged personal details or even last names, so his guess would be as good as mine at this point. He didn’t seem opposed to the name, and I took that as a good sign.
“Good,” he replied. “If all goes well, you’ll be married by the end of the year,” he commented.
I wasn’t opposed; I knew this was what was supposed to happen, I was excited to experience adult life, and maybe have a kid, my mother had me when she was twenty, so I figured that was the next step. I was thinking about what I would name my kid, whether they’d be a boy or a girl. I didn’t know which I wanted.
He slipped away, leaving me alone. I was grateful because when I went to get up, I stumbled again and used the wall to hold myself up. I was definitely going to have to drink less next time. I made my way upstairs to my room and slipped inside. I left the lights off as I undressed. Leaving the dress in a heap on the floor, I put on a tank top and short shorts before lying in my bed. I held Caswell’s number up; it was barely readable in the dark, but I still smiled. I could see everything falling into place; my life was going perfectly. I just had to hope Caswell felt the same, and I would be set.
