London, 1918
“Ellie!”
“No, Mother!” Elizabeth groaned, falling on to the bed and pulling her eyelids shut. Her red ball gown sprawled all around her, nearly covering the entire bed. Still, she felt her mother settle beside her on the bed.
The last thing Elizabeth wanted to do was open her eyes to look at her mother. Unfortunately for Elizabeth, tonight had been another epic fail and with the rate at which she was now turning down courtship proposal from men, she knew it would only be a matter of time before her parents either signed her up for the convent or kicked her out on the streets.
But what choice did she have? Half the men in England were fighting the war. It almost seemed to Elizabeth that the good men had gone to war and the epic failures were the only thing left to pick from. And she had tried, honestly tried. For some reason, all the men either had a massive ego too big for the size of the universe, or she found them too dense to engage in a conversation with.
Her parents concern for her indecisiveness had led them to obtain invitations for over fifty balls in less than six months. As it was, her family had already thrown three balls of their own, inviting all the eligible bachelors in town.
Two weeks ago, her father had suggested a correspondence with a family friend; Frederick Wellington. Frederick was Lord Wellington's grandson, the judge that conducted the marriage between Ethan and Gretchen. Elizabeth knew the judge to some extent but she had never met his grandson. According to Ethan, if Elizabeth didn't like a man in London, perhaps she'd find one in Plymouth intriguing.
But Elizabeth had since given up on the notion of finding the right man. If she didn't like a man she had met, she was certain she wouldn't like one she hadn't met.
“At least try.” Gretchen, her mother insisted.
“I have! I try all the time, mother! You have no idea but you're the luckiest woman alive! You literally took the best man on the planet and got married to him and now the rest of us are stuck with egocentric maniacs!” She sighed and her mother giggled.
Elizabeth opened her eyes to find Gretchen smiling down at her.
Her mother's brown eyes twinkled with delight as she beheld Elizabeth.
“Mother,” She said, rising to a sitting position beside her mother. “Why can't I live here with you and Father? Surely I wasn't built for marriage or perhaps the man for me is somewhere across the Atlantic ocean in America, like you and Father.”
Gretchen was an American who had traveled to London for a job but had eventually found love.
“It would seem that Mother and Father are eager to be rid of you, I know I am.”
Elizabeth turned her gaze to the door where her seven year old brother, Samuel, stood with a mischievous look on his face.
Samuel bore a striking resemblance to her mother with his fiery red hair and freckles. The only difference was his silver eyes; a feature he shared with Elizabeth and their father, Ethan. Elizabeth always wondered about the fact that she shared no similar physical feature with Gretchen.
Both women stood at the extreme ends of each other. Gretchen had red hair that bore a striking resemblance to flames while Elizabeth had black, curly hair. Her skin tone was light in comparison with Elizabeth's slightly tanned skin tone like her father. Gretchen's eyes were brown and Elizabeth's were silver.
“That is not true.” Gretchen's voice sounded beside Elizabeth and she immediately knew her mother's comment was more to scold her brother than to reassure her.
Samuel folded his arms across his chest and immediately made his way out of Elizabeth's room.
“It would seem so.” Elizabeth sighed.
“Your father and I care so much about you, Ellie and we would love to see you happy. At eighteen years of age and with no suitor at hand, of course any reasonable parent would be bothered.”
Elizabeth turned then to her mother. Seeing the concern and sincerity of her mother's words in her eyes, she heaved a breath.
“Fine, I will concede to Father's demands and write the letter to the mysterious Frederick.”
Gretchen's features became visibly relaxed.
“But, you must promise that if this final attempt to be rid of me doesn't work, I will no longer be bothered about a suitor or a prospective husband.”
Gretchen frowned, seemingly unwilling to agree to Elizabeth's terms.
“Mother?” Elizabeth quirked a brow.
With a sigh, Gretchen finally nodded.
~ ~
Plymouth
Standing just outside the study of his master, Bailey's legs were beginning to ache. It didn't matter that he had been working as a butler for six months now, it didn't matter that he absolutely hated the job, all that mattered was the fact that he needed it.
With the war in progress, there weren't many available jobs in England and Bailey desperately needed the money to take care of his mother.
Even now, as he stood before the shut door of his master, his mind drifted to his mother. He missed her dearly and the distance that stood between them didn't help matters either but Bailey didn't have a choice; he had to leave Birmingham to accept the job offer.
“A letter for Lord Wellington.”
Bailey's gaze immediately snapped up to find a maid standing before him; he hadn't noticed her standing there.
“Thank you.” He smiled and nodded his head, relieving her of the letter.
He waited for her to walk away before turning to knock on the door of his master.
“Enter.” Was the familiar response.
Pushing the door slightly, it immediately gave way to his master's lavishly furnished study. Many paintings of famous artists lined the wall of the study. Even the ceiling was covered in paintings of angels and saints, like an old cathedral. Knowing his master didn't care for art, Bailey knew the building must have belonged to his master's late father.
Heavy silver curtains covered the two windows that was in the room and his master was seated behind his wooden desk, a questioning look on his face.
Frederick Wellington was the twenty year old heir to the Wellington fortune. With brown hair, fierce brown eyes and a fortune to his name, Frederick was one of the most sort after bachelor in England.
“A letter, my Lord.” Bailey bowed his head.
“What does the address say?” Fredrick's commanding tone sounded in the room.
“London, my Lord.”
“Throw it out. It is either grandfather or the girl he insists I court. I have no time for such nonsense. Get rid of it and get back to work.” Frederick commanded before turning his attention to his finger nails.
Bailey wasn't the least bit surprised at his master's nonchalance.
With a sigh, he bowed slightly and turned to leave the room.
Bailey's day continued with him attending to the every need of his master. It was a demanding job and one he absolutely hated but he had no choice.
By the time he pushed the door to his tiny bunker open, he immediately threw his tired body on the bed and closed his eyes. Heaving a tired breath, his mind drifted to his mother once more. She most likely would be asleep at this hour and he knew she would frown at his retiring to bed so late at night.
Turning to the side on the bed, something in his trouser pocket poked him. He had been too tired to peel his work clothes off before climbing onto the bed.
With a frown, he immediately reached into his pocket and pulled out the source of his discomfort. The letter. As he stared at it, he realized he had forgotten to dispose of it according to his master's orders.
Would it be considered an offense if he reads it? He didn't know much about being a butler but he knew he was curios.
Tearing open the envelop, his gaze ran through the words written.
Lord Frederick,
I have been forced into trying to convince you to wife me so please bear with the sudden appearance of this letter in your estate. My parents are desperate. In truth, they are all but physically sick at my chronic 'disease'- my spinsterhood.
Bailey paused, a smile creasing his face. He didn't know why, but he all of a sudden lost every trace of fatigue in his body as he read the letter.
But fear not, I do not intend to bother you further. I am sending this letter to appease my parents but you are not obliged to respond. Actually, you are highly discouraged from responding. I am sure your silence will have the desired effect on my parents and we can both go back to living our lives.
Elizabeth Williams.
Bailey read her note over and over again that night, until he was unable to stop himself from laughing through the night.
Two hours later, he reached for a pen and a paper, deciding he wanted to hear from her again.
Besides, if she didn't intend to marry his master and his master didn't intend to marry her, then there wasn't any harm in simply sending hilarious letters that would help ease the torture of servitude for him, was there?
“Dear Elizabeth Williams...” He began.
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