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My name is Alexandra Cross and this is my story. You may say that this is some fictional tale I created for your amusement but this did happen a very long time ago. I believe 1804, I was fifteen he looked to be in his early thirties but age didn't matter I suppose...
The cool autumn wind blew across my face making my pale cheeks flush. The sun had just set leaving a trail of it's rays. I heard a branch snap, I turned quickly only to find no one there. I shock my head and picked up my skirt as I headed back toward the manor.
Yet I had this odd feeling that someone was watching me. It sent a shiver down my spine. I started to walk briskly toward the manor. It was the best I could do with a tight corset and several layers of petticoats weighing me down. Still the eyes seemed to follow me.
"Ms. Cross no need to rush. Beg my parden for scaring you so. What are you doing out here alone? It is dark my dear." asked a man.
I turned to face him. It was Damek, he was new to town but was the son of a very rich plantation owner. While I was still young I knew my mother fancied him as a suitor for me. He took my arm and linked it with his.
"I just wanted a breath of fresh air and the sunset was just to beautiful to miss," I half lied.
"Well now dear, the sun has set shall we go in?"
I nodded yes and he lead me into the manor. I made my way around greeting and mingling. Dreadfully boring I assure you. George kept his eye on me the rest of the night. No sooner had desert been served I excused myself daying I had a headache.
As soon as I was out of sight I ran toward the safty of my room. I closed the door and began lossening my corset. My hair was already coming undone, but what did it matter? Curly hair never stayed as nicely in a bun as straight hair does.
I heard a knock and sighed, "Who is it?"
George popped his head in. "Just me. Your father said you had a headache. I brought you something for it."
I looked up at him my mouth gapped open. I quickly closed it and begged my flushed cheeks to become pale again. It wasn't proper for a man to be in my room, unchaperoned none the less. He walked in leaving the door slightly open. He held a glass half full of a clear liquid.
He gestured it towards me and said here. It smelt awful.
"George I don't really have a headache." I said with a child like innocence.
"I know," he reasured me and set he cup on my bedside table. He looked down at me with almost a pity.
I looked up into his firey green eyes so dark they were almost black. His shoulders were broad and his dark hair was neatly held in a small pony tail.
"Then why are you here?" I felt myself shrinking back into myself, my voice a faint quiver barely heard above the breeze.
"Well, my dear I think we should talk."
"About what?" I asked almost boldly.