❝𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 ❞
a bastard girl forced to dress up
as a boy for her mother's sanity
travels down the same path as she
falls for a boy that was destined
for someone else
𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐰𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐱...
The bookstoredown the street was not someplace you would imagine an eight year old child dressed in a newspaper boy's clothing three sizes too large to be loitering around, much less for the child to be reading and studying about medical herbs in thicker than the circumference of their arm.
And of course, you wouldn't expect this child, dusted off with dried mud and choppy, curly rubicund mop of hair covered by a wide rimmed black cap, to be a girl of all things.
But, against all society norms, there the girl stood, alone with only the medical herbs book, a small burnt piece of wood to serve as charcoal about the size of a small orange, and three slivers of paper, two of which were already filled.
The bookkeeper, who typically, under normal circumstances, guarded these book as if her kin, had felt enormous pity for the child and allowed the poor thing, no matter how grubby or battered they were, to pass the time in her bookstore, no matter that the child never bought any of the books she read.
So long as the young child would wash their hands to be as pristine as a babe's skin, they were allowed to roam the store and do as they pleased with the books without destroying the store or it's contents.
And what were those circumstances? Of course, they were all but speculation, but each and every one of those who were apart of the town's gossip circles knew that the rumours were almost all facts.
The knowledge itself had made its fair share way around town, so it was natural that the people noticed and recognized the small child.
The bastard son of the baron's heir, born out of wedlock from the lady-in-waiting of his fiancée. If not for the baron's parents threatening to disown him, the man would have been happily married to the poor maid, and the child would have grown up in wealth and good fortune.
Instead, the man cast away his lover, declaring her unborn child was not his responsibility, and married his fiancée, whom he did not love.
What then became of the maid was tragic. Nobody willing to take her in, for who would take in a pregnant woman with no assets? Her own family had already thrown her out on to the streets at the news that her lover would not take responsibility. No business was sane enough to hire the woman just for the fact that she was a woman. None of the houses would hire her as a governess, nor as a maid, or even a prostitute due to her young age, beauty, apparent pregnancy, and of course, the rumours.
She had only found refuge in the asylum, and even then, they had only taken her in when she was nearly bursting, using the excuse that she was coming down with a mental illness related to pre-childbirth.
The child who was born, even though he was the baron's own flesh and blood, was never recognized as the true heir, even at the news of the baron's passing not many years ago. Rather, they had passed the title off to a distant relative that lived across the land, far too green to be able to manage the estate properly, with the excuse that the relative was supposedly their only choice.
Yet, that is another story for another time.
So, on with the little girl's story. Her callused fingers swept the outline of a particular herb, which was much better names a flower. Pity, she was not educated, as the writing was quite fascinating. All she did in the small shop was look at the images, guessing words every now and then from the hushed conversations of customers.
If she thought it was of much importance, she would take her small makeshift charcoal pencil and create a beautiful, almost life-like replica of the image, ingraining it in her head, for her to redraw into a small notebook she stole from one of the nuns in the asylum.
Just as she was about to pen down the first petal of the medicinal herb, the book was snatched from her hands, leaving her to clutch thin air. Jerking her head up, she clenched her teeth as she glared up at a boy with rounded cheeks, pouty lips, and beautiful brown, almost amber eyes, who was currently reading the page she had the book opened to.
She stuck out her hand, asking for the book back as politely as possible, her lips set in a firm line.
The boy, on the other hand, merely glanced up with mirthful eyes, moving his face closer to hers. "Do you like plants too? Or just flowers? The calendula officinalisis really pretty, do you want to be my friend?"
The little girl could do nothing but gap at the boy, who was positively beaming and not at all winded by the whole paragraph he spewed out in one breath. She could not make sense of it all. Firstly, what was a calengilaopishinals, and secondly, what was the word friend? She, who did not have a proper education, nor anyone really to talk to at the asylum, where they ignored her, nor in town, where they avoided her, could not make heads nor tails of what the little exuberant boy had said.
Luckily, someone had come to her rescue. That someone clamped a hand down on the boy's shoulder, the golden cufflink on his sleeve with an intricate crest vested onto it glinting in the sun. "Now, son, it's quite rude to nab someone's book while they're still reading, and don't confuse the poor lad by speaking at a horse's gallop. Introduce yourself properly and apologize."
The man's voice was deep and calming, with a hint of amusement, yet sternness as well laced into it. It was very different from the scoffing and haughty tones that she normally heard from other nobles, or the general wealthy.
The little boy nodded eagerly at the man's word, sticking out his fair toned hand. "My name is Tewkesbury, son of the Marquess of Basilwether. I'm very sorry for taking your book while you were still reading it. What's your name?"
