1. The Lost Hopes of Little Girls #2
“You should trust your father’s judgment, Wendy. Peter Pangbourne is a handsome young man. Many girls your age would be thrilled to have his attention.”
“And many girls do.”
Her mother’s glare sliced into her from where it reflected in the mirror. “Don’t be smart.”
Wendy pursed her lips so as not to earn more disapproving looks like that.
What kind of statement was that anyway? Don’t be smart…
Wendy was smart. Smart enough to know Peter was not the kind of man to honor his promises or settle down with one woman.
She wouldn’t deny Peter was attractive with his athletic build, sun-kissed tan, and unruly golden curls, but he knew he was handsome, and his arrogance left something to be desired.
He’d been texting her on and off since they’d been introduced, but Wendy wasn’t gullible enough to believe she was the only one in his call log.
Peter made the impression of a well-mannered, high-society gentleman, but Wendy saw through his facade when he started asking her personal questions.
The real Peter Pangbourne had no issue crossing the line of propriety, and it was quite duplicitous of him to have his elders so seamlessly convinced he was a well-mannered man.
His texts not only made Wendy blush but often left her fidgety to the point that her body clenched in strange places.
He teased her in a way that made her squirm like bait on a hook.
He spoke of mysterious things that left her painfully intrigued, but giving in felt too much like surrendering her choice.
She didn’t want her parents to decide her future.
She wanted the right to be selective and experience a magnitude of things before making her final choice.
“Father only favors Peter because his family is one of the wealthiest in London.”
“Wealth is a deserving quality of favor, Wendy.” Her mother brushed the wrinkles from her gown.
“A wise woman must be financially literate. It’s a role we all must play.
Without a decent fortune, there would be no property, security, or help within the home.
Passion can leave you destitute if you're not careful. Money buys you freedom, so I suggest you marry for wealth. After all, how else would you afford the books you so love? Can’t you be content with the adventures in your library? ”
Wendy scoffed in her wasted gown. “I’ve never even waltzed with anyone besides Father. Some experiences need more than paper and ink to be felt, Mother.”
“You’ll feel all of those things in due time—when you meet the right man and get to know each other.”
Would that happen before or after the vows? Wendy rolled her eyes. “That’s easy for you to say. You married someone you love.”
“True, I love your father very much, but that’s not why I married him.”
“Then why?”
She dabbed away the gloss at the corner of her mouth as she once more stared in the mirror. “He seemed…sensible.”
“Sensible?” Wendy curled her lip. “Was he at least handsome?”
Her mother chuckled in that dulcet bell-like way she so often did. “Your father is still handsome.”
A soft knock rapped on the door, and John, her eldest brother, stepped in. “Father’s ready to leave.”
Wendy’s vision blurred as she rushed to her brother. “Oh, John, you must give me your ticket. Please! I’ll trade you anything!”
“Sorry, sis. I can’t. Jenna’s already expecting me.”
She pursed her lips. Jenna was only seventeen. Why should she attend the gala if Wendy couldn’t? She turned back to her mother. “Are you sure Father didn’t get Michael a ticket?”
“I’m sure. You know Michael. He’s not interested in such things.”
“What’s taking everyone so long?” Her father appeared behind John. “The limousine is waiting.”
Wendy looked away, infuriated by his stubbornness and her tears.
“In a moment, darling.” Her mother moved to the dresser. “Wendy, where’s your diamond tennis bracelet? I want to borrow it.”
Her request was salt in the wound. “Seriously, Mother?”
“Don’t be a sourpuss,” John said, righting his tie in the mirror as he winked at her.
“All of you, get out of my room!” Wendy snapped.
How dare they mock her feelings?
Outside, Nana barked wildly.
“What in God’s name is that dog barking at now?” her father griped, marching to the window to stare through the marbled glass.
“It’s too late for deliveries. Something must be out there, George. It’s likely just a squirrel or a raccoon.”
“It’s the driver. He’s waiting for us by the gate.”
“I’ll be ready in a minute.” Her mother clipped the diamond bracelet around her ivory-gloved wrist and moved to the window seat. “Where did these leaves come from, Wendy? Did you have the windows open?”
“Why would I have the windows open, Mother?”
Her mother checked the latch, and jealousy twisted in Wendy’s stomach as they approached the door. She refused to wish any of them a good night, so she turned her back to the lot of them.
“I just need my stole, George darling, and then I’m ready.”
Her father sighed. “John, tell the driver we’ll be right there.”
They left the nursery without another glance back, and Wendy blinked through the pain of abandonment. Once more, she was forgotten and overlooked.
Deep down, she believed her father did not secure her ticket because he feared she’d embarrass him.
He knew she had an unruly side, and he urged her to be more like the refined daughters of his friends.
But the longer he held her back, the further she desired to run from his expectations.
She wanted to shatter them so he would see, once and for all, that she was her own person.
The click of the front door punctuated their descending footsteps and fading chatter. The house fell into empty silence.
Wendy growled and fell back on her bed. “ Ouch .” Plucking a hairpin from her hair, she scowled and then threw it to the nightstand.
Nana continued to bark even after the limo drove away. She went to the window to see what was out there, but the surrounding mansions were dark, the inhabitants most likely on their way to the ball.
With a sigh, she stepped into the shadows and unzipped her gown, letting it fall into a puddle of wilted chiffon. Slipping out of her undergarments, she pulled on a plain white nightgown and unpinned her hair.
Her eyes narrowed on her reflection as childlike ringlets coiled about her cheeks. Her mind and body were not that of a little girl anymore, yet here she was, dressed the same and ready for bed by eight.
Grinding her molars, she shook out her curls until dark waves fell wildly down her shoulders and back.
The dark coal around her eyes had smudged from tears, leaving her blue eyes more prominent than usual.
She looked dangerous and slightly unhinged.
She liked seeing herself that way and wished others could see this side of her, too.
Her mind once again drifted to Peter Pangbourne. “Let’s see what you think of me now, Peter.” She reached for her phone, angling the lens upward as she formed a pout with her lips. She snapped a picture and sent it to him.
Her father misjudged him and she should show him just how much. There was something different about Peter. He might dress in designer clothes like the other men of society, but something untamable lingered beneath his surface.
When she first met him, he smelled of grass and wilderness, not the typical scent of a refined gentleman. And once he started texting her in that forward, flirty way, he confirmed that he had a darker side. That was the only side that interested her.
A loud crash broke the silence, and she jolted upright, bolting to her feet. Nana went berserk on the back lawn, barking wildly as Wendy rushed to the door. Cool air teased her ankles, the draft rushing up the stairs from the foyer.
She snatched her robe from the bedpost and rushed downstairs. A chill raced up her spine as she crept along the banister.
“Liza?”
The maid didn’t answer.
Perhaps she forgot to latch the door. That would explain such a draft, but what was that crash? Wendy tightened the belt of her robe as another chill raced over her skin.
“Michael?” Perhaps her brother had come by. “Is someone there?”
The fine hairs at the nape of her neck tickled as she crossed the foyer and found the front door gaping open. A sense of unease passed through her as her nightgown fluttered at her ankles with the creeping fog.
“Hello?” She shut the door and jumped when the grandfather clock gonged. The droning clang marked the late hour with a repetitive toll. “Stupid clock.”
Nana’s bark grew louder. The foolish dog was likely barking at branches rustling in the wind.
“Liza, you left the door unlocked.” Silly maid. Or perhaps it was her father who forgot to lock the door. “Liza?”
“Gotcha!”
“Ah—Mmph!” A masculine hand clamped over her mouth as the urn in the foyer wobbled and shattered into pieces.
She swung her arms and tried to scream, but the intruder immobilized her. Her eyes widened in utter panic as a thickly muscled arm banded about her waist, lifting her back to his chest.
“I’ve got you now, Wendy Darling,” the masculine voice growled in her ear, and she shrieked, biting into the hand hard enough to provoke a curse from her assailant.
He swept her off her feet before she could break free. Kicking her legs, she clawed at whoever held her. “Let go of me!”
His grip only tightened as his dark chuckle tickled her ear, and the scent of wild grass teased her nose. “Hush, little darling, it will all be over soon.”