Pride and Percabeth

Chapter One.

England, 1793.

Chase Mansion stood on a tree-shaded, man-made island in the middle of a pond. A small bridge lead from the main road to the island. In high spring, the bridge and the wall which surrounded the island were overgrown with wisteria vines. The house itself was made from rosy, rust-colored stone.

"Who is there, my dear?" Mr. Chase asked, having spied his wife getting up and walking over to the drawing room window from over the newspaper he was reading.
"Why Mr. Chase," Mrs. Chase replied, "It's the McLean carriage. Lady McLean and her daughters have come for a visit."
"What could she want?" Mr. Chase huffed.
He thought Lady McLean was a silly and obnoxious woman and did not much like her company.
"Now Mr. Chase, please try to be polite. Her daughters are dear friends of our Annabeth."
"Very well."
Mr. Chase folded up his newspaper and placed it on one of the tea tables. Mrs. Chase smoothed her apron and the white petticoat she wore under her blue round gown. In a looking glass, she tidied up her starched linen cap.

Lady McLean scarcely looked older than five and twenty, though she was nearly twice that age. She had a petite, slim, girlish figure and pale, flawless skin. That morning, she wore a green redingote over a pink petticoat with a large blue hat. Her dark hair was worn in the hedgehog style and powdered.