Dreams of Marigolds and a Marquess

It's Always the Ones We Least Expect

After all of that, we were at the one place we'd tried so desperately to avoid. Mrs. Harrison's Finishing School for Young Ladies. She'd forced us to change into these plain black and white uniform dresses the moment we got there. She then had two other girls twist our hair up and back into a tight bun. I grimaced as one of the pins jabbed my head.

"Sorry," the girl whispered.

"It's alright," I whispered back.

Once they'd finished, Mrs. Harrison dismissed them. She then turned to Enola and I with a dry smile.

"Now, girls, your brother has asked that I do everything in my power to turn you into proper ladies of English society," she said, "You will both be in classes about manners and basic essential skills such as darning and sewing and needle point. You will learn dinner mannerisms at each meal. There is no running, yelling, singing, or talking out of turn. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Enola breathed.

"Yes, ma'am," she corrected with a frown, "Enola, you are dismissed to your room."

I glanced worriedly to my sister as she did the same to me. She then stood and left the room. I turned back to Mrs. Harrison, fear creeping up in me instantly.

"March, you will begin speaking lessons immediately. We will fix this horrendous little accent of yours in no time, I can assure you," she stated, "Now, Ms. Dorothy, will be your teacher."

A severe older woman walked in. Her beady black eyes scanned me with a look of contempt as her thin lips twisted into a scowl. She was dressed in all black and her white hair had been pulled back into the most pristine bun I'd ever seen in my life.

"You will begin working today," Mrs. Harrison repeated, "Follow Ms. Dorothy to her classroom."

I stood and bowed my head a bit in a form of a slight curtsy. "Yes, ma'am."

She smiled at that and waved her hand dismissively. I then followed Ms. Dorothy out. As soon as we entered the room, she pointed to a chair in the front without a word. I sat down silently as she went to the board and wrote a single letter.

"We will begin with your individual letter sounds," she said simply stepping to one side, "Aye."

"Aye," I repeated.

She nodded and drew another letter.

"Bee."

"Bee."

And so on it went. Every morning and every evening I sat in that classroom repeating letters and sounds after her. I was making good progress at first. But then we got to longer words and it fell apart.

"All-right," Ms. Dorothy vocalized slowly.

We'd been on this word for nearly an hour and I was near tears.

"Oll-right," I tried again.

Her ruler smacked on the edge of the desk sharply making me jolt. My eyes stung.

"O-oll-right," I stammered out.

"Incorrect! Again!"

My only solace from the endless torture was my friend Olivia, the girl who had helped do my bun on my very first day. We shared a room and she was incredibly nice. She helped me practice speaking, but was never rude or judgmental. She was very understanding and sweet because she had also had to take these horrid lessons.

A soft sigh slipped out as I gazed out the window at the gardens. They were overrun with weeds and the poor flowers had little room to grow. The ones that did managed to break though seemed like single stars, alone in a sea of darkness. Those few flowers were Enola and I. We stood out in the sea of trained womanhood around us, but I fear we might become like the others and be swept away in the overwhelming tide of tradition and society.