Reddest Rose

Chapter One

She woke to the sound of an explosion. It jarred her from a beautiful, golden dream of a magnificent garden and sent her stumbling toward the window. She was still rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she pushed the yellowed curtains aside and wrenched open the window. Another explosion rocked the cottage, and for the briefest of moments she considered what being an orphan would be like. Then her father stumbled up from the cellar, baptized in the smoke of his latest flawed invention. "Papa!" She cried, relief flooding her tone with joy. "Papa, what on earth are you doing?"

Her door opened with a slam. "You know he's making something to ruin us even more," Said her elder sister Laura, tossing her heavy blonde hair over one shoulder. While somewhat jealous of her sister's fine looks, it wasn't a hassle to go without what it took to get them. She draped herself in the finest fabrics, which was a pretty penny in itself, but of course she right out demanded it to be dyed in the most ridiculous of colors. Blood reds and ruby, even a few in deep purple and lapis.

Pauline swept in behind her, Laura's twin in everything but age. Thankfully she was a tad more resigned, and while she took whatever styles Laura insisted she wear, she clung to earthier greens and yellows. With skillful fingers she began an elaborate twist and finished it off with Laura's typical red ribbon, all the while her eldest sister stepped closer to the window to peer down at their father. "He is making a fool of this family. I don't know why you encourage him, little sister. You're almost as bad as he is," Pauline nodded in agreement.

"Laura, you promised to introduce me to that handsome man you met last week! I even got up early. Aren't we going?" She crossed her arms and pouted, her full lips pursing in the prettiest of ways. "Or must we invite Belle? Look at her, she's still in her shift!"

"Thank you, but no. I have a few things to do around the farm first. Papa looks like he needs a bit of help," Her sisters left quickly, leaving her to wash and tie up her own long hair. She preferred being alone with their father. When he worked as a merchant seeing him was a rare occurrence. As a child the stories he brought were more valuable than the treats. The small women with the voices as sharp as bells, who gifted him with tea and skeins of silk were as fascinating as the lizards he returned with from the deserts. Then someone in London had gone on to tell him all about inventions and how wonderfully creative he could be and, well, he hadn't set foot on a ship since.

She ran her hands over her few dresses, her fingers catching on almost half a dozen holes. A few of his toys had taken off, but hadn't earned more than would feed them and their horses. Belle pulled her favorite dress, one of the softest wool in the lightest of blues, and frowned at several large holes on the front. She pulled it over her shift and found a clean apron to hide the damage, then slipped on a pair of stiff black shoes. Belle made it out to the barn just as her sisters did, their faces made up almost beyond recognition.

"Papa, you cannot sell the blue carriage! How else are we to get into town? It's nearly five miles! Do you mean us to take the black?" Laura pressed a hand to her heaving chest and Belle hid a smile. Admitting it had been her idea was the last thing on her -

"Darling, Belle suggested it," The look her sister cast her way would have frozen the fire in the hearth. "It would keep us from having to sell all the horses. I know the blue carriage was your mother's but it shall fetch a higher price!" Her father was not a strong or willful man. His back was bent with the demands of his daughters, and when their mother had been around it had bent beneath hers as well. His grey hair and liver spotted hands made him look much older than his fifty years, and the cough he was developing wasn't eased by his experiments. Belle gave her father a kiss on the cheek and slipped around him to Philippe's stall. The large horse stomped one foot and nudged her shoulder, seeking out a treat. She stroked his mane as her family argued.