Chasing Jane

Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Will

        The sun was about to set and I still wasn’t ready.  I hadn’t even made a move to smooth back my hair or to move the coat and tails from my bed onto my back.  I leaned back and closed my eyes.  I was only doing this for one reason, and that reason was Jane.  I wanted to see what she did at these sorts of functions, who she talked to, who she danced with…

        I snapped my eyes open as a very unpleasant picture came to my mind.  I stood up and walked determinedly to the pitcher of water by the window.  Instead of doing anything, I looked up into the house, into the window I knew was Jane’s.  There she was.  Standing there as plain as day in…wait, was that a corset?  I looked down and felt my cheeks burn.  I picked up the comb savagely and dipped it into the water.  Then, I ran it through my hair until all of it wasn’t falling in my eyes anymore.  I then pulled on the coat and tails.  I glanced in the cracked mirror above the pitcher.  Good enough.  I darted down the ladder from my loft bedroom, nearly knocking over the newest addition to the stable. 

        His name was James, and he was barely thirteen.  He had a soft spot for a servant girl in the house named Annie.  He was probably heading up there now to talk to her.  I rubbed my fingers through his straw colored hair absentmindedly.  He jerked away and took in my appearance and then grinned.  “Choo goin’ up there to try an impress Miss Jane, are ya now?”  He poked me in the chest.  I pushed his finger away.  “No, if you must know I’m heading “up there” to be Miss Doyle’s chaperone.  So if you please would stop asking me so many damn questions.”  He waggled a finger at me.  “You best not be usin’ any o’ that language when you’s is around Missy Jane, now.”  I just sighed and shook my head.

        I barely managed to remember to enter through the doors in the front of the house.  Mrs. Doyle was standing there waiting for me.  “You’re late, Mr. Stanton,” she said coldly.  Jane wasn’t even there yet.  I suddenly saw her glide swiftly down the stairs and stop smoothly in front of us.  Her mother glared at her.  She glared back.  She turned and smiled distractedly at me, so I smiled back, but I’m sure that I looked distracted as well.

        Her bronze hair was drawn up into a net; a few curls were already working their way free.  The pale gold dress set off her skin beautifully and made her look like she was glowing.  Her dark eyes were made up with make up that made her eye lashes look even longer and darker than they even usually looked.  Her dress was in the latest fashion; that meant her bosom was swelling out of it.  I hated to think of all the men that were going to be looking her way.  At least I was there, too. 

        So far, the balls without me were looking to be not very safe.  At least in my definition of safe. 

        She held out her arm to me and I thought about how I must have looked like such an idiot just standing there staring at her.  I took her arm and guided her to the doors that led into the ballroom.  They swung open, and I saw people peering over to see who was making the grand entrance.  Everyone froze for a moment, then I saw the crowd of finely dressed males making their way toward us, it seemed, from every possible angle.  She pulled on my arm and led us towards a blessedly testosterone free area.

        That testosterone free area also turned out to be behind a curtain, which hid a door that led out to a terrace. 

        In the fading light of the sunset I could make out her lovely face, peering up at me, smiling.  One cheek dimpled slightly, and I new she was smiling her nicest smile.  “I had to get away from all of them.  I knew that they were all going to just be staring…”  With that, she indicated at her swollen bosom.  I silently agreed with her and thanked the lord that she was not craving attention in that way.  I could certainly give it to her, but she probably would not receive it well.

        Two old ladies came out and looked suspiciously at us.  I took her arm and led her around the corner, mouthing “Shhh…” when she opened her mouth.  She looked slightly miffed until she heard the women.  “That girl has grown into the most beautiful young lady.  Who was that handsome young man she was with, I wonder?”  I could feel the heat coming off of the blush that I was sure was staining her already pink cheeks.  “Yes, I do wonder.  She looks hardly a thing like either of her parents.  What with that strangely colored hair and those eyes.  I do wish I had looked that way…”  I could almost hear the other one nodding.  “Well, I do believe I have had enough air.”  Their heels clicked back through the curtain.  We came out of hiding.

Her cheeks were indeed, pink.  A slightly pudgy gentlemen, around my age, waltzed out.  I recognized him.  Charles Thatchley, rich, but a horrible dancer.  A “foot stepper” is what Jane called him.  He saw us and made a beeline for us.  I could feel Jane trying to melt behind me.

Was this her fate?  To marry a man that loved only her looks?  Why did we have to be born on either side of the river?  She on the side of privilege; me on the side of hard work?

Why did society feel the need to separate and elevate?