metanoia
/ˌmɛtəˈnɔɪə/
noun
change in one's way of life resulting from penitence or spiritual conversion.
In which the passionate Bridgerton sister doesn't want to marry.
NETFLIX'S Bridgerton Season 1.
Simon Arthur Henry Fitzranulph Basset.
WARNIN...
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••••••
Hastings house, 1813.
The final ball of any season is distinguished by one of two things, anticipation or dread.
For, while those who have been successful in the year's marriage market look forward to flaunting their perfect, joyous unions, others shudder at the thought of spending one last night before the discerning eyes of the ton.
As they know, indeed, just what the evening signifies, that their time is officially up.
And yet, to those who may still find themselves out of both choices and hopes, fear not. For who knows when and where one's fortune may change?
••••••
USUALLY, in the past couple of years the last ball of the season would leave Clara dedicating her time to actually trying to be nice. She thought it to be a breath of fresh air for Violet, because it would be the last ball she'd have to dodge suitors, confident she would not get a proposal overnight. So, during the last ball of the season, whether it was two or one years ago, Clara though still gritting her teeth, hating the ball, would act nice because after it, the season would close and she'd be left alone for a good half a year.
That year, strangely enough, as Clara descended down the stairs into the courtyard, where her and Simon's ball would take place in, she found herself reminiscing on the old days. Remembering how reckless she used to be, how bullheaded and stubborn she had been to everyone, who wanted to marry her off to someone.
Clara smiled to herself as she continued to enter the place of their upcoming ball, looking at the decorations to see how beautifully everything had been done. Although, all the credit should've been given to the servants since they made the place look like this, Clara knew that in some of those white rose decorations, food, drinks, a checkered dance floor with a fountain in the middle and many else things had her own touch to it.
A sense of pride filled Clara as she continued to walk slowly, looking around and wondering how her future child would enjoy these occasions. Whether he'd be a boy and go around dancing with women, or whether it would be a girl, Clara glaring at any suitor, who'd look at her daughter wrongly. Clara smiled to herself, resting her hands on her belly as she continued to admire the courtyard, looking up at the open sky to see grey clouds lingering above her head. Clara wondered whether it would rain, aware it could create a big problem for the ball.
Nevertheless, the evening was an hour away, and the grey clouds would soon disappear into darkness of the night, bringing the courtyard the atmosphere it needed. Clara did not even realize how much she began to think of things she used to find ridiculous, not understanding why she cared this much about a simple ball, not even having wanted to host it if not the rules or requests of people.
