The two friends proceeded to choose dresses for both and arrange their hair and appearance.  When they finally descended the stairs, perfectly in time to leave for the ball, Reina had her dark blonde hair whipped up in and was wearing a dark red-tinted purple dress.  It was long, sleek: perfectly accentuating her slim figure.  Avia had her dark hair in a thick French-style braid with a deep scarlet dress which flared out a bit at the bottom, likewise bringing out her curves. 

Both girls were considered “elderly” of those unmarried but both laughed in joy at their appearance, knowing they would catch the eye of the men at the party but knowing too that they would not make any moves to woo either of them.  Not that they especially desired the courtship of any of those in the small town around Ely, but they had long ago vowed to find humor in the horrid whole situation. 

“Just remember that we got plenty of looks from young men when we visited London!” Reina whispered in her friend’s ear.  Avia nodded in delight; if nothing else they had that encouraging thought. 

The carriage drew up and the group including Reina, her mother, father, brother and Avia stepped up unto it and it soon swung away from the house and down the short drive.

The Andresen family was well-off, their house huge.  Reina, being critical, could accuse the family of being snobby and she might be right. However, neither she nor Avia much cared for the politics and social intrigue of the community and so did their best to ignore it all.  

Reina’s heart pounded as she alighted from the closed carriage and up the stairs into the great hall of the Kimbolton Castle.  The great hall was decorated in pure white marble and furnished sparsely, letting the wide center staircase have its effect along with the tall imposing pillars.  Avia grabbed her hand and squeezed it and together they walked in front of Reina’s family into the grand ballroom. 

The ballroom had a warmer aura then the great hall, the floor was black marble but the walls were a deep dark oak which shone with the golden candle light.  The heavy burgundy drapes also added to the warmth of the room.  The chaise lounges and settees spread about the perimeter of the room were a rich golden crème tone, perfectly matching the stucco ceiling and complimenting the dark floor and walls.  Great golden chandeliers filled with candles hung from the ceiling and candelabras sat besides the lounges. 

Plastering a smile on her face, Reina glanced around the room: she did not see him at first and was able to relax a bit.  Avia did see someone she was interested in though: he was tall, well built, with light golden red hair and had a certain look in his eyes as he met hers.  She felt a thrill go through her and suddenly she turned to Reina:

“I think I know how you feel every Sunday now.”

          “What do you mean?” Reina replied.

          “See that guy over there?” Avia whispered in excitement.  Reina looked.

          “You mean the tall handsome one with the light reddish blonde hair?” She asked.

          “Yes,” responded Avia, “I can promise you he keeps looking over here. There is something about him.”  Reina just smiled and nodded, moving away to observe those mingling from a distance, she was preoccupied: she still had not seen John. 

In the end it was not until supper that she heard his distinct voice among those of his friends: Sir Leonard, Rendell, and Andersen, (all of whom were handsome although none, according to Reina, could hold a candle to John).  She felt her whole body freeze when she heard his laugh and her head snapped around… their eyes locked, he smiled.  Your lips twitched up involuntarily, but she then frowned and quickly moved away into the crowd.

It was unfortunate (or fortunate depending on how it is all viewed) that he was seated only three chairs down from her and across the table to her left.  She tried to avoid turning her head in that direction but was forced to when Avia, sitting at her immediate left, spoke to her in whispered tones.

“Reina! He just looked at you with a smile on his face!” She said almost as soon as they sat down.

“Darn him. Darn you! I can not handle this Avia! What am I to do?” Reina pleaded in misery.  Avia just patted Reina’s hand and shook her head. 

Every time she unintentionally looked in his direction his eyes met hers.  She could barley eat, only picked at her food, her stomach was so clenched from nerves.

“Are beets good?” Sir Leonard asked, cutting into her confused tangle of thoughts.  He sat across from her holding a bowl full of the red vegetable in his hand, ready to serve himself some. 

“Uh, well, I believe it is an acquired taste.” She managed to reply.

“Ah, well damn that then, that means they are disgusting, I am sure.”  He swore.

“You can not know till you try.” She replied in annoyance. 

“Yeah well,” he paused, giving her a dark look across the table, “I do not want to.  Are you going to make me?”  Reina just shook her head and dared to ask him:

“What ever happen to chivalry and civility?”

“Now you hear me Miss Reina Egremont.  I have had enough of your mouth.  What ever happened to the meek and gentle maiden?” He retorted, bristling at being stood up to.

“Please.” Her reply dripping in sarcasm, “Surely you mean, what happened to the damsel in distress waiting to be saved by some dashing knight?”

“Yes, that! Exactly… exactly.” He answered, vehemently nodding his arrogant head.  Reina just sighed and looked back down at her food, even less hungry then before. 

When the meal was over the music of a lute, flute and viol, began playing a new composer’s music.  The guests gradually shuffled back into the ballroom for more dancing and mingling. 

Avia had lost sight of the mysterious golden haired man until she spied him again after supper.  In fact, he had appeared right beside her and had asked her quietly if she would like to dance.  She of course was thrilled and upon glancing around her and missing Reina she turned back to him and said yes.  He grinned at her and dimples appeared in his cheeks, which she found to be overwhelmingly charming. 

When the first notes of the dance started he guided her hands up to rest on his sculpted shoulders and then circled her waist with his own arms, delicate fingers gripping the back of her dress.  She closed her eyes in absolute bliss, enjoying what ever good fortune had brought her this man.  She only wished again that her friend could have the same.

Reina watched Father John for a short while; he danced with the beautiful Miss Davey.  She concede that Miss Davey was pretty but knew also that John and his friends only really like her for her status and pleasant monetary rewards she gave to the church… if she was pleased by their company.  The Father seemed to be at his best this night, in Reina’s eyes; he seemed so perfect and glowing in happiness. There was a pleasant smile on his face, eyes full of something she could not identify.  His body was lanky and lithe, moving around in a glorious circle of music and dancers.

When she could not bear to observe him any longer she moved to the outskirts of the company once more.  Standing there she looked around her and noticed a brilliant painting to her right.  Walking over to it she realized it was an almost undistinguishable copy of a painting that her old teacher had had.  She, having reached the age of eighteen, was no longer required to take classes, especially not in history.  In fact her parents would not allow her to continue, believing it would scare off any potential suitors.  Reina scoffed at this idea, judging the situation herself she thought it was a hopeless case at any rate. 

But as she gazed up at the painting, a flood of memories came back to her.  Father John had been in the study group with her, before his parents sent him to the Church.  He had been so sweet back then, just young, friendly.  Of course he still joked around but something had changed since he had become Father.  She was so confused and sad that her pleasant memories were of a past she could not repeat. 

          The painting itself, however, made her smile, so indeed it was a bittersweet feeling.  Titled “the Duke or Urbino and His Wife,” there was something about the two, their profiles facing each other. Their faces were full of something, something full of life and emotion.  She laughed and remembered again John’s kindness in the past and how her foolish fickle heart was so overjoyed.  She become so occupied with the painting and her memories that she did not notice the last song end and a new one begin, or that John was standing behind her. 

          “May I have the pleasure of your hand for the next dance?” He asked her suddenly.  She turned around and stared at him for an inexplicable moment of time, mouth slack, not quite comprehending what he had just asked.

          “Did you hear me?” He demanded.  Something about his tone nagged her, suddenly her pain and torment came rushing back.  Her mouth snapped shut and she squared her shoulders.

          “Excuse me?” She bitterly accused him.    

          “I want to dance with you!” He smiled, as if he thought it was a great honor she should or would give anything to have. 

          “Oh, do you now?” She smirked; anger and hurt came bubbling up in her chest, “well I don’t.”  Now it was his turn to be astonished:

          “You don’t?”

“No.” She retorted, her voice attracting the attention of those around.  He laughed and glanced around him and then grabbed her arm as if to try to coerce her into the dance.  She wrenched her arm back. Stepping closer to him she said in a hoarse whisper:

“I… I loathe you John.”  He looked down at her with surprise in his face, but he did not move.  Reina’s head throbbed and her chest heaved.

“Really?” He asked so close to her.  No, no was all she could think.  She did not hate him but she wanted to, for all the pain and wasting of time he had caused her.  Oh to be free of him!

“No,” she replied honestly, “but I wish I did.”  Without waiting for his answer she, for the second time that day, turned and rushed away from him, unable to bear looking at his face, seeing him standing there, or even hearing his voice –

“Reina!” He called after her, but she did not stop, down the stairs and out through the front entrance she ran, the slippers on her feet tapped the floor in a gentle staccato.  She ran out past the carriages and away from the light where she collapsed under a tree and sat there shivering in the calm darkness. 

Reina ran till she reached her family’s home, a small but cozy manor in Cambridgeshire within the diocese of Ely.  She flew past the peasant farmers on the outskirts of the small town, the sheep bleated in confusion as she whirled past but she only stopped once she had rushed in the back door and to her second-story bedroom. 

The house was only two-stories, Tudor style of half-wood paneling on the outside, red tiled roof complete with two brick chimneys.  Various trees and bushes circled the house, and a vibrant green lawn stretching out around those.  Inside was sparse but comforting: the floor and furniture were a deep mahogany. Color came from the cushions, pillows and wall draping.  

There was a dining room that was rarely used except on special occasions, which had become progressively less frequent.  The Egremont’s typically dined in the kitchen nook, where a friendly fireplace cast its warmth and cheer over the meal.  The kitchen had the same mahogany floors as the rest of the house but bare brick walls accompanied by glowing candle light.  The smells of baking bread and warming cocoa regularly diffused delicious scents throughout the house. 

Reina’s room had a sharply angled roof on the right side of the house from the front, it was basically the attic.  She usually kept the window (specific window that sticks out!) open for fresh breezes to blow in.  Her four poster bed was a lighter golden wood with bluish-minty green drapes and bedding.  The wallpaper on above the high wood trim was a swirly design of the same mint color, gold and darker green.  A desk and bookcase inhabited one corner with a nearby window and an armoire stood opposite, near the door.  The bed was centered parallel to the desk with the armoire on the other side.   

Reina liked her room, and felt comfortable there, often spending her time in the window seat reading, or dreaming and watching the willow tree outside.  If she was not occupied with either of these activities she was painting or playing the viol, neither of which she felt she did well, being a slight perfectionist.  Besides these she spent time outside walking or conversing with her friends.  And then there was of course, the time spent in the Cathedral of Ely, of which she in part detested and prized, for obvious reasons.

She was not necessarily a radical, but she was intelligent, born from her time spent reading, thinking and conversing.  Unfortunately the tendency of others to label her as a blue-stocking seemed to destroy any possible suitors there may have been.  It was not that she was so disinterested in marriage, although it was almost mandatory and certainly expected, but that she simply abhorred the idea of joining a convent, believing ever stronger that her relationship with God was a personal one, not one involving the vain rituals of the church. 

It was this that began to cause her much frustration, since her family and community frowned upon her being eighteen years and still, long last, unmarried.  Yet the much esteemed Father John was the same in age, and had risen to the ranks of his position from what Reina assumed to be bribes by his wealthy family.  And to her disgust, he was not alone, but had a great many friends who had achieved the same status.  She was attracted to him, to her maddening torment, but was increasing ashamed of his collection of riches, out of the hands of the poor and needy.

And while he sweetened his kindness and praise of his parish, gently and eloquently correcting them in their supposed wrong-doings, she was pessimistic, and waited to see the other side of him, hidden behind the façade of his prefect priestly robes. 

Was that not a conceited tone she heard so often?  What right did he have to preach of humility with such a proud posture? It was not her place to judge him, but she could not help the bitterness that so frequently beset her.