- part one -
The party was in full swing, and I couldn't find a single one of my three sisters across the entire estate. I have four, of course, but Meg doesn't count right now because she ditched me to dance on the occasion that she 'must dance because this party is just so splendid!'
The waiter carrying around a tray of champagne glasses is purposely avoiding me I think. I've strewn myself out on one of the chaise lounges, my chin propped on one hand, wearing the dress Aunt March sent me for my birthday. It's a deep marigold—Meg was instantly jealous.
"You and Amy are my last hope," Auntie sighs, lifting a fine china glass to her lips. My tea has gone cold, and I don't have the heart to tell her.
"What about Jo?" I ask, and uncross and cross my ankles again. "I thought you were thinking of taking her with you to Europe."
"She's never getting married." She dismisses me with a wave. "You're my favorite now."
I've been asked to dance—not a surprise, considering I'm what Auntie regards as the 'only March with a face worth looking at' even though my sisters are each beautiful in their own ways.
Except for Jo. Her nose is funny.
I close my eyes for a moment, allowing the hustle and bustle of the room to wrap around me like a bubble. The squeak of shoes against the hardwood floors, tinkling laughter of ladies and booming chuckles of gentlemen, and the clatter of glasses being set on trays with their contents empty.
It's a peaceful bliss, and while my fingers tap against the velvet cushions of the sofa I find myself humming along to the upbeat of the music.
"Excuse me, madam," a voice breaks my train of thought and my eyes pop open.
It's a boy come to ask to dance. He's got a neat mass of dark curls atop his head, and the dark fabric of his coat contrasts nicely with the paleness his skin. Alabaster, almost. Smooth. His eyes are trained on mine, and his lips, a little on the thin side, are pressed into a line.
"If you want to dance with me at least look excited about it." I suggest, and raise one petite brow.
The corners of his mouth lift only a little.
"It's your sister, Meg. She's sprained her ankle and needs to go home. Jo sent me to get you—they're waiting in the carriage." His tone is even, but there's a small seed of worry, and I find myself wondering who this boy is and how he knows my sisters.
"Oh heavens," I sigh, and sit up, running my hands down the front of my dress. I didn't get to dance with anyone but it's my own fault—I kept rejecting them waiting for the perfect partner to come round.
The boy waits for me to stand completely before turning on his heel and heading towards the door of Mrs. Gardiner's estate. I catch up to him in an instant, hating the sentiment that girls walk behind boys.
He looks at me, but I keep my face forward, beginning to wonder if my statement from earlier came across as rude. 'If you want to dance with me at least look excited about it.' I shiver involuntarily, and even though it is freezing, it's not from the cold.
Once outside I can hear my sisters bickering all the way from across the lawn, Jo with her wild hair whipping in the night breeze, Meg leaned against the side of a magnificent carriage holding her foot.
"This is all so ridiculous!" Meg insists, while Jo stands facing her with her hands on her hips. "I can't believe we're accepting this—it's too much!"
"Oh, shut up Meg, you couldn't walk home if you tried."
I clear my throat as we approach and they turn their heads, Jo having the nerve to look agitated while Meg seems relieved.
"Finally, we can go," Jo scoffs, annoyed at me for absolutely no reason, while Meg let's out a low sigh, her breath causing a cloud from the freeze.
The boy beside me steps away towards Jo, and their heads hang low together as they speak. It seems intimate, so I look away, at Meg, who shifts her weight by leaning against the carriage side.
"There you are, Lillian," she beams, and I immediately feel a wave of unease wash over me.
"You poor thing," I pout, and take her free hand in my own. "I knew those silly shoes were going to cause you a problem."
"You did not you suggested them." Jo grunts, already taking leave to climb inside the carriage, the dark haired boy assisting her.
Meg pulls her hand from mine and huffs a cloud of air out.
"It's so early! You can't mean to go yet?" She demands awkwardly to the boy, her mouth a pink grimace.
"I always go early, I do, truly!" The boy laughs, and turns to look at the two of us still in the snow. "Please let me take you home. It's all on my way, you know. My house is just beside yours."
"You're the Laurence boy!" I burst excitedly, my smile stretching so big there must be a dimple showing.
All three pairs of eyes lock onto me, and I feel a deep blush pull it's way up onto my cheeks. I'm hoping it just seems like the cold getting to me, and I clear my throat, mashing my lips together to suppress my grin.
"Laurie," he greets me, and reaches out, taking my hand in his. His palm is warm, a stark contrast to the temperatures surrounding us, and I feel the blush begin to return when my sisters don't give me the gift of looking away. "And you're Lillian?"
"Only Meg calls her that," Jo snips, and I cut my eyes to her sharply. She holds my gaze boldly for a split second more before turning away, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Everyone else calls her Lily," Meg saves, and after a pointed look, I realize I'm still grasping Laurie's hand. His smile has changed from friendly to slightly awkward, and I drop my hand to my side, face burning all over again.
"I'll take the box so you three will have room for Meg to prop up her foot," Laurie states, and Jo starts to protest, but he's already on his way up.
After a beat Meg looks over at me and raises her eyebrows quickly, then allows me to help her inside the carriage. I follow her after a moment more, allowing the snow to fall on my head.
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The entire ride home Jo tells us about the fantastic evening she had with Laurie, who just loves dancing and hates college and all the matters of school and it's bores. I lean my hand on my chin and stare out the window, trying not to let myself feel too elegant because a carriage is taking us back to the house.
"It was hilarious, Meg," Jo laughs. She hasn't spoken a word to me yet. "Hey, Lil'," A balled up scarf hits the side of my face with the force of a slap, and I gasp, the slight sting of the impact causing annoyance to flare up inside me. "if you would've actually been social instead of lying on the couch the whole time maybe you would have a story to tell too. I can't always be the sole provider."
"I didn't want to dance," I lie through gritted teeth, embarrassed at her accusation.
Jo rolls her eyes with the dramatics of all the seventeen years of attitude she's been building up, and her pupils go so far back under her eyelids it seems like it should be painful. She crosses one leg boyishly over the other and slouches forward, playing with her lemonade stained gloves. Meg insisted she wouldn't leave the house unless Jo brought them with her.
"You did want to dance," she says, and looks up at me, her eyes narrowed. "You just wanted to be snobby. Reject all the boys that wanted to dance with you."
"Did not!" I gasp.
The outburst is very childlike, and I hurriedly clasp my hands one over the other on my knee in the way that Auntie has relentlessly drilled into my head. Jo catches the movement and outright laughs.
"Posh." She adds, and Meg huffs lightly through her nose. Huffing is a common thing of Meg's—she's too decent to argue, so she just breathes loudly so we get her point.
I turn away from her and look out the window again, trying not to let the hurt show on my face. I don't think I was being snobby. Is it a crime to be picky with your men?
"Ooh! She's snoshy, Meg. I need to write that down—OW!" Jo yelps when Meg kicks her as lightly in the shin as she can, and I have to bite back a shit eating grin.
The carriage rumbles to a stop in front of our familiar front drive, and after a few moments of inaudible chatter outside, Laurie hops down and stands outside my window. Our eyes meet, and I look away.
"We've arrived ladies," he cheers, and opens the carriage door.
"We have eyes," Jo bursts through the door before anyone else has the chance to move, successfully knocking my knees together in the process as well as jostling Meg's ankle.
"Ow!" Both of us scoff in unison, and share a disbelieving glance.
"She's acting up because of him—it'll pass," Meg sighs, giving me one more meaningful glance. I press my tongue into my cheek and choose not to respond. 'She's acting the same as always.' I think to myself.
Laurie steps up and helps Meg out of the carriage, and then once she and Jo are hobbling towards the front door chattering loudly, he steps towards me. I feel glued to the seat even though I can see him standing there, and after a moment of refusing to look I do.
He's waiting patiently, an ebony speck against an otherwise white washed snowy landscape, the rosiness in his cheeks and the green in his eyes the only otherwise color. My dress, the vibrant marigold, catches lamplight as I shift towards the exit.
"Here," he mutters and offers me his hand, helping me drop out of the coach and into the snow. My shoes, practical flats, are beginning to soak in the white powder, so much so that I can't feel my toes.
This time I let go of his hand right when it's socially expected to, and when I glance over at him, I notice he's close to my exact height, save a few inches taller. The closeness of us, the closeness of strangers, is too much for me, so I tear my eyes from his and start off towards the door.
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After a storm of chatter and way too loudly raised voices spill out the stories of the night, Marmee has gotten ice for Meg's ankle and all of us (including Laurie, oddly enough) have settled into the living room. Jo had stolen away some bonbons from the party, and Amy and Beth snack on them from the sofa.
"If I might say, it's fun pretending to be a finer lady, to come home from a party in a carriage and sit in my dress—even if I did hurt my foot." Meg laments while Marmee brushes her hair quietly, eyes shining as she watches us.
"I don't think finer girls have any more fun than us," Jo argues half-heartedly, now a little more tired than she was only an hour before.
"Even so," my older sister continues as if she hadn't been contradicted, "I'd rather be poor and be with all of you than rich and without."
She and Beth share smiles before the second youngest sister breaks the mood.
"I'd take the riches," Amy pipes up from the couch. "We're all gonna' live away from each other one day anyways. Better rich and apart than poor."
"That wasn't what she was saying, God, Amy!" Jo scoffs, and the blonde shrugs carelessly before biting into her second bonbon.
Meg says something in reply and Jo shoots back a quick return, but by now I've zoned out. My attention has settled on the boy leaning with his arms crossed against the wall in the corner, not quite in the conversation, not quite out.
He seems content on just listening, and his eyes are lit up in the way one's do when viewing something very interesting, like an opera or a ballet. We are neither of those things, and his involvement is a bit disarming.
"I'm going to bed," I decide, my voice overlapping Jo's, who stops talking. "after I check on the cat."
My room is shared with Meg's, since Jo claimed the attic, and I have a feeling by the flabbergasted expression on the third eldest sister's face she's going to be up for a while inside it writing away.
Choruses of 'goodnight's ring out around the room, and I tug my skirts into my hands, headed towards the small spare room on the lowest level across the dining, where my little space is, and also the back door.
I peek outside said door for a moment, and after no sign of the cat, I give up, ready for bed any moment now. Right as I lock it up and turn back around, I practically leap out of my skin.
"OH—my—" I suck in air through my nose, my heart beating erratically inside my chest. "Jesus Christ you're quiet,"
Laurie's lips kick up at the corners, and he rocks back on his heels lightly, hands shoved into his pockets. He lets out a small sigh and glances down at the floor, then back up at me.
"Apologies for uh—for startling you, it's just..." he pauses for a second, and a tinge of embarrassment creeps into his expression. Huh. And just when I thought being embarrassed had began to become my trademark emotion to feel around him. "I heard what Jo said in the carriage."
"What?" I demand, and the roles are reserved. Blush leaps into my face, and I quickly lower my voice. "How did you...?"
"I was on the box, not the moon," he teases lightly, but when he notices my stricken expression, he winces. "Sorry I—" He clears his throat. Rocks back on his heels again. "I didn't think you were being snoshy. Snobby."
When he says the word Jo invented, my blush deepens. How much had he heard? Clearly enough to be a weigh in on the conversation we'd held.
"I'm rambling," he laughs, and shakes his head. "What I meant to say was, since you didn't get to dance before we left, I wanted to ask you if you wanted to now?"
Cue record scratch.
I blink at him for a moment as my mouth goes dry, and stare at the third hand—fourth?—he's offered to me this evening. After a few moments my brain tries to work again, but I still don't know how to reply.
"Cmon," he mumbles, and laughs awkwardly. "If you want to dance with me at least look excited about it,"
This time I look up at him, a strange feeling beginning inside my chest. When he realizes I recognize his words he smiles, this time with teeth, and I'm oddly appreciative it isn't a perfect smile. Tiny teeth, slightly crooked in some areas.
Makes the grip that seems to be pulling me back seem less tight.
"Okay," I exhale, and give him my hand, the warm grasp already becoming familiar.
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