Dagger In The Heart

Chapter 1: The Lady At Home

Nadine

In 1813, women were nothing but cattle to be forced to marry a man to bear him an heir, preferably a son. All women were supposed to play the role of the perfect lady. Play dress up, cake their faces in powders, creams and paint to stand out amongst the other cattle all huddled around to catch the eye of a potential man who deems you worthy to share a bed with. Mothers only duties are to match up to their dolls of daughters up with many, many suitors to see if one of them would enjoy what little the poor girl could offer, the only thing she could offer is being a beautiful trophy for him to show off, have her mouth shut tight, follow his orders and is willing to bear his children.
These were the way things were for us women in this period. Nothing but objects that live and grow up in freedom, to become a beautiful flower once adulthood reaches them but once it does, they have whisked away with their mothers, forced to talk with strange, status-holding men just to see if you are to be wanted by a stranger. If you are then God rest your soul.
You will live the life of a baby-making slave to him. Good luck tasting freedom again, my dear lady.

My quill drips with Ink that stained the bottom right corner of yet another page to my journal where I write down my happiest of emotions. I sighed softly upon glancing over to the ink stain.
"It's ok. It's just a stain. It didn't get on my words, did it?" I ask myself as my fingers gently lift my page just a bit so I could see the damage I caused accidentally. The ink stain soaked into the page bled through to my other two pages but I was content with that. As long as my rage full rants weren't ruined by the one tiny mistake I made on the delicate paper then I was at peace.
I sighed once more and pushed up from my vanity, the chair's legs screeched against the floor as I pushed it back to stand up from its seat. This journal contained many of my complaints in it, scribbled words about freedom for women and equal rights. A bunch of nonsense to men if they ever laid eyes upon the numerous pages I've filled with inked words but to me, each page was a beauty. A reality I wish became real. A desire I find myself itching to have. Women weren't cattle or were meant to do as we were told like slaves, we were the world. We are the life-givers, giving life into this world so that that child may grow to become a fine young, respectful person. We aren't meant to be used only for mating and birthing, we are so much more. I planned on proving to my father that I, I am so much more than what society has deemed me for-

A thundering sound echoed in the distance, getting closer and closer until the thunderous racket of running great beasts was just outside of my window. I rushed over and peeled back my pale lavender curtain to see exactly who dared to interrupt my thinking process. A tall man leaned down and climbed out of the black beauty of the carriage that was hooked up to four equally beautiful beasts of power. The horses were as black as ink, their names were braided and were decorated in golden ringlets that gleamed in the sun's rays.
My eyes lingered on the tall older man as he gave away his feathered cap to a nearby servant, his hair was as brown as oak wood with tan skin that looked to be sun-kissed. My father's eyes lingered up towards my second-floor window in which I was peering out, we locked eyes for a couple of heartbeats before a smile slowly spread itself across my face and my father rushed inside. I blink a few times to see if my eyes played tricks on me but I should have known my father was always as fast as a predator in the hunt of its prey.

I grinned like a little devious girl and spun on my heels, gathering up my pink shirts in both of my hands, and ran out of my room, careful not to let any of my shirts slip from my grasp, or otherwise, I would have made a fool of myself. The daughter of a Duke should never embarrass herself. I kept rushing through our mansion with the wind whipping past my ears, blowing mouthfuls of chilly air into my earlobes but I didn't falter. I needed to meet my father and greet him back home. A grand mission I was on, running down a flight of carpet-covered stairs while being mindful that now one of my hands was holding up my skirts. The other was hovering over the wooden railing in case I ever do misstep like a fool and trip down.
I jumped the next two steps and landed on the floor with adrenaline rushing through my very veins. It was unladylike to jump downstairs or even rush when one must take her time and be on time but while I glanced around while gathering up my skirts with two hands once more, I realized in that very second, there were no ladies in this household.
I was the very definition of being society's worst lady ever. I was rebellious and I lived for the thrill of it all. Let the other women judge me all they wish, at least I am what they are talking about other than relationships, status, and what sort of trouble they could have stirred up next with their worthless gossip. I reached the middle of the main entrance where my father stood waiting for me.