London, England – February 14, 1851
~ Revised and Edited ~
Ella Pearson – a young maiden at nineteen years of age – never understood why mothers had to be so difficult.
"Do not misbehave with me young lady. You are going to the ball and that is final."
Ahhh, the ball. The Grand Ball. An awe-inspiring occasion involving music, dancing, idle chatter upon society and the intention of finding a prospective husband or wife.
In Ella's case, it was a mere waste of time that she had no interest in. Besides the food of course in which she had heard all about from her dear mother and sister's elaborate descriptions of what consisted and took place at a ball.
Ella only took interest in the food parts of their tiring explanations of a ball.
"Is it really a matter of necessity that I must attend this grand ball tonight, mother?" Ella's attempts at persuading her mother for her to stay at home still came to no avail.
Still worth a try. Ella thought internally.
"Ella, my dear," a hint of annoyance in her mother's tone. "Must I remind you endlessly about the significance of tonight's occasion?"
A silent but vicious grunting and grinding of teeth enveloped Ella with big brown eyes that could pop out any time soon as if daring for her to say one more word about not going to the ball and they would surely pop. But only pop open the gates of hell.
"No..mother," came the reluctant sound of Ella's vocal chords.
Retreating her deathly stare, Jennifer gave a proud smile towards her daughter.
"Excellent. Now, see to it that you will be ready for when we leave no later than quarter to the hour of nine," said Jennifer before retreating from Ella's bedroom disappearing from her sight.
Bugger the blood bugger of buggers. Ella internally fought.
"It is only one ball. Surely it would be bearable."
No. It would not. Nobility of high class, status and power would be there. Ella's inner voice retorted.
Dear Ella pondered, sighed and fumed with frustration all in one. She was in luck that no one was around to witness her state of emotions. Otherwise they would have thought she had an illness of some sorts mainly affecting the musculature features of her face.
"Ahhh to hell with gentry and grand balls!" With fists slamming up into the sky and then sharply landing to her sides, Ella began the painstaking and inevitable process of dressing up...for the ball.
*~*~*~*~*
Ella was the third eldest and the second youngest child of George and Jennifer Pearson's four children.
The first-born and eldest son was Jacob, second in line Naomi, then Ella and the fourth and last seed of the bunch was Michael.
Jacob Pearson – her elder brother by two years year – was a spitting image of his father; fine blonde hair smoothly combed down parting midway of his solid head, a sculpted jawline with hawkish brown eyes, and a height average to that of men his age. A fair amount of hair intruded his upper lip and chin posing him as a gentleman. But Ella knew he was far from that.
The intruding hairs about his mouth and his complexion were the only distinct differences from that of his father's, where George had faint aging lines upon his forehead and a strong-bold army of faded blonde hairs marching from one ear across to the other of his face dipping at the cheeks.
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