Not my Wedding

 

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Introduction

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1. Laura

Chapter 1

 

 

Near Louisville, KY

 

1893

 

Laura Gregors-Collinsworth

 

 

 

It had all been arranged: the decorations, the deserts, the buffet, the guests and even her gown. The room was large, with plenty of space to place chairs and tables for the one hundred and fifty guests that had sent their RSVP’s a month ago. The tables were in two rows that lined the inner walls of the room, leaving appropriate space for the staff to deliver food and guests to amble about after the meal.  Three days earlier, the servants had begun the great frenzy of decorating and it had finally been finished early that morning.

 

 

The room itself had been transformed from a lovely, though somewhat stuffy, old dining room. The decor now showcased a sparkling, silvery blue and brilliant white masterpiece. The two monstrously large fireplaces on either side of the room, usually dark and imposing, even with a fire burning, had been cleaned brick by brick.  Soot was scrubbed from the grout and every speck of old ash was swept away without a trace. Replacing the soot and ash were now gleaming cast iron grates, crystal clear glass doors and bricks so clean that you could rest your hands upon them to take off the winter’s chill without fear of soiling your gown. A great fire was now lit in each fireplace which sent a warm, welcoming glow throughout the room.

Rows of  massive silver candelabras adorned the mantles, accented by smaller versions on each of the guest tables.  Every table had carefully placed silvery, blue cards with guest names embossed across the front cover and linens in the same shades of blue.

Lady Laura walked into the room.  The servants had retired for the evening and the house was quiet. Everyone was resting up for the big event tomorrow.  This was to be a grand gathering, a ball of sorts, but only among the few that Grandfather found worthy of his time.

Grandfather was an extremely gruff sort of man. A pipe, which seemed to be permanently attached to his mouth, was only slightly covered by an overly long, graying mustache that ended much too far below his lips.  He demanded unyielding respect from his family. He was a man that had grown up during times of war and having served briefly during the civil war, until such time that he had his arm wounded and was no longer able to hold a rifle, and so, he had the mentality of a soldier.  

When Lady Laura was just an infant, her father; Lord Lawrence Gregors, had been killed in an unfortunate riding accident. Laura did not remember him, but often found herself making up things she would like to think were true about her father.  She would imagine how kind he was, how he would have swung her around in his strong arms and how he would bring home fancy gowns for her and her mother.  He would have loved Mother so much, laughter would have filled the mansion and there would have been siblings to share memories with now.

Quite honestly, Laura could rarely be bothered with her mother anymore.  If truth must be told, it was hardly as if her mother existed outside of her own sad, dark world.  Laura did not know her to be any other way and did not understand how to help her so she left her be most of the time.  There had been moments of affection between the two of them, it wasn’t as if Laura felt unloved by her mother, she really just did not feel much at all.

With a long, deep sigh, Laura picked up one of the guest cards and opened it. She stared at the name for a moment, “Collinsworth” she whispered softly.  A name that should not have been the name of this home, however, when Grandfather moved in after her father’s death, he took over as head of household.  Her mother vowed to never remarry, she couldn’t bear the thought of giving up the grief of her lost husband. Most of their family and friends assumed she would eventually get over this, a natural part of the grieving process they said. She never did. Laura set the card back down in its spot on the table and walked the perimeter of the room, looking at all of the decorations and wondering if there was any way to get out of this silly gathering.

The ball was being thrown in Laura’s honor, or so she was supposed to believe. In reality, although it was for Laura, it was simply her grandfather’s way of getting her out of the house.  He had informed her that she was to accept suitors with the intention of marriage by the end of the year. She had just turned seventeen and was quite ready to be the responsibility of another, in her grandfather’s eyes.

 

Laura felt a sudden chill and turned her head to see where the draft might be coming from. Her mother was standing in the entryway to the dining room, still wrapped in a snow covered cloak. “Where on Earth did you go this time of night!” Laura ran over to her mother and began removing her outerwear and brushing the snow from her hair.

“I went for a walk, there’s nothing wrong with a walk. I am a grown woman without the need of a chaperone, my dear child.” She waved Laura’s attention away and snatched her cloak from her daughter’s hand. “Such odd weather for this time of year, when did it last snow like this do you think?”

“My word, Mother. I honestly couldn’t say that I recollect snow so late in February but I suppose it is not unheard to have such a thing. It is still winter, after all. ” She took a step backwards as her mother shook her cloak, covering the entryway with melting snow. Laura looked at her mother from head to toe and realized that she was in nothing more than a dressing gown. “Mother! What in God’s good name are you wearing!”

Margie Gregors-Collinsworth looked down at herself then and began to cry, her hands covering her face as she wailed unintelligible words. She dropped her hands and ran from the entryway, leaving Laura standing next to the door holding her wet cloak.

Laura shook her head and released a long, slow sigh. She made a mental note to contact Doctor Carver at the next available opportunity as she hung the cloak from an outer hook so that it could dry without soaking the other garments.

 

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2. Triston

Triston James Birdwell

 

    Triston slammed his fist soundly against his father’s desk. “What in God’s good name would make you think that I would agree to such a deplorable old man’s invitation?”

    He stepped back and paced the perimeter of the study.  His large hands balled up in irritation. He stopped suddenly and turned to face his father.  “You do realize that his granddaughter is likely nothing but a sour old bitty like him!”

    “Triston, what I realize is that this is not the ideal situation for you, but I think that you’ll find the granddaughter much less ill-tempered than he.”

    Jonathan Birdwell rose from his large, red mahogany desk.  He was an imposing man, both in physical stature and boisterous presence. “ You are my only son.  Your sisters will start families soon but you are the only one to carry on our family name and I wish to be alive to see it happen!”  

    Jonathan pressed his fisted hands against the top of the desk as he empathized his words, leaving no doubt to the strong feelings he had to go along with his statements.

    Triston turned away from his father and toward the study door.  “When is this blasted ball being held?” He asked without looking at his father, only pausing at the study door to wait for an answer to his question, resigning himself to attending.

    “Tomorrow evening, Eight O’clock. You may bring Conrad if it makes a difference to have another gent along.”

    Triston nodded and walked out of the room without another word, closing the door behind him.

    As Triston walked the long hall leading from his father’s study, he heard a loud crashing sound outside. He snapped his head in the direction of the sound and quickly headed down to the front entry.  He reached the door at the same time as the house butler.  They quickly glanced at each other before Martin, the butler, opened the tall front door.  

    Outside it was clear what had caused the crashing sound.  A large oak tree had dropped several long branches and one of them had gone through the window in the side breezeway.

“Shall I fetch Master Jonathan from his study then, sir?”

    Triston nodded as he started rolling his sleeves in preparation of removing the branch from the broken window.  

    “My good Lord, this is a fine mess” Jonathan pushed away leafy branches as he made his way over to his son.  

    “Right, we’re going to need something more than force to finish this, it looks as though we have half a tree inside the hall there.” Triston motioned towards the broken window at the leaves and branches that appeared to now be inside of the manor.

    Simultaneously, Jonathan and Martin speak in regards to the handsaws in the back shed.

    “I’ll find the gardener and we will bring the tools right away, sirs” Martin rushes off just as another large gust of wind picks up a small potted daisy and crashes it against the side of the house.

~~~~

 

    The clean-up process took another ninety minutes and the hands of several other manor servants including the cook, a large, burly man who was of great assistance in pulling the large limb away from the house and out to the wooded land behind the gardens.

    After the limb and larger branches were removed and the window boarded up, Jonathan patted his son on the back, “Nice work, Son.  You’ll make a fine master of your own home and husband.”  He chuckled and walked back up to the front door.


 

    An hour later, Triston was banging on the door of his long time friend, Conrad.  Their friendship was a product of being thrown together in a room with two other children, neither of which either young man could remember the names. This would happen when their mothers got together each Saturday afternoon to play Bridge or other card games and talk about their husbands.

    Conrad himself opened the door, startling Triston due to the fact that he had been expecting one of the servants to do so.

    “Triston,  What brings you here unannounced and looking like you’ve been beaten?” Conrad gave him a raised eyebrow look.

    “Have you not been outdoors today?” Triston stepped inside the doorway, lightly pushing Conrad to the side.

    “A bit windy, looks like a good storm is coming in huh?” he stuck his head out further, looking around at the large dark clouds rolling above them, not yet spilling their contents on the area.

    Triston gave Conrad the rundown of everything that happened over the last few hours, including the conversation he had with his father concerning the gathering aimed at finding a suitor for the grouchy old man’s granddaughter coming up.

    “Why should I mind a ball in which a hoard of beautiful women are looking for available men?” Conrad chuckled at his friend as he listened to the young man complain about the necessity of going to such social conventions.

    “Great then, maybe you can be married off to the granddaughter of that horrible man.  I’m sure she’s just like him.” Triston growled.

    

 
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