Thread: Southern Girl [ Ariamella & Reydan ]

RE Southern Girl Ariamella Reydan At Eliza's suggestion and insistence that Lucy sit next to her, the southern belle found herself situated with Harold, Sinead, and Camilla on her left and Eliza, Adrian, and Lillian on her right. And across from her sat Virgil, making it difficult to ignore him as she had previously planned. He had already thrown her off balance with the use of her nickname, and in that moment she had made the mistake of meeting his eyes. The reaction couldn't be helped it was Virgil, after all, who had started calling her that back when they were children - he six years-old and she only five - when he teased her with shortening the name that she thought was elegant and womanly. Over the years, all of his family and hers had adopted use of the name, and she had grown to like being called Lucy rather than Lucille. But as she'd stared at the pair of male eyes that seemed to penetrate her soul, she realized that it hadn't been the nickname itself she had liked, but the fact that it came from a person who had the ability to make her stomach fill with butterflies at the mere murmur of the name. And after five years of not hearing the name 'Lucy' come from Virgil's lips, the sound had only made her want to cry, and she had hurriedly torn her eyes away from him. Dinner proved to be no better for her than the introductions. Sinead and Harold shared the story of how they met, felt an almost instant connection, and at Virgil's gentle encouragement had finally married. The talk then turned to Harold recounting tales of his time spent within service of the Union Army, and on more than one occasion, Lucy tuned herself out of the conversation, instead letting her mind wander on safer topics such as questioning why Camilla had brought out her best silverware despite the dinner being an informal affair. And why did she say she and Virgil were cursed...? Distantly she wondered how it must've felt to yearn for a child and yet receive none, knowing it must have devastated Camilla. Then, a sly voice entered her mind, a poisonous thought that asked, And how many times would they have had to make love to ensure that they were incapable of conceiving a child? Lost in anger at the horrid thought, Lucy stabbed the piece of roast she had recently cut with much too force, clanking the silver against the porcelain china set loudly, which startled her out of the daze. She looked up suddenly, afraid to have disrupted the meal, but quickly realized everyone was equally lost in some amusing tale woven by Harold, laughing and giggling away at whatever it was. No one had noticed... except Virgil, who was staring intently at her beyond the flickering candles. She stilled, lowering the hand that held the fork as a memory came unbidden to the forefront of her mind... Stars softly lit the October night of 1860, and a gentle breeze rustled the trees and surrounding long grass stalks, but Lucy felt no chill. She lay in Virgil's arms, a blanket underneath them so as to not dirty her dress, taking care not to leave traces that they had both snuck out to see each other. He had an arm draped about her shoulders as he leaned, seated back against the willow tree, and his fingers idly rubbed along the smooth flesh of her arm before traveling to the nape of her neck to gently turn her head toward his. Yes, Mr. Abernathy? Lucy asked, smiling up at him when he stayed silent, his eyes sparkling with emotion as they searched her face. It's rude to catch a lady's attention and then refuse to speak to her! He said nothing still, but then gently pushed her neck to support it as he leaned down to kiss her. Instinctively, her arms reached to wrap around his neck and tangle in his hair, and she let out a small gasp as he deepened the kiss, his tongue meeting hers and making her head spin. She knew she should have stopped it, but it was so sweet, so tender, and it was Virgil... Then in a moment of sudden decisiveness, Lucy pulled him off only to pull him back down, laying him down with her on the blankets. Virgil... she whispered wide-eyed, the rare use of just his first name hanging between them for a moment before the needy, loving gaze in her blue eyes indicated to him what it was that she wanted. Conflicted emotions ran visibly through his features before he reached up to stroke her cheek. No, Lucy, he said to her crestfallen face. No, not that. Not yet. But I can show you other things... His hand move down from her cheek, replaced by his mouth, as he kissed her cheek down to her neck, nipping the sensitive skin near her collarbone, then kissing down further to the swell of her breasts. And Lucy, lost in the onslaught of sensation, had closed her eyes and let Virgil Abernathy show her the firsts tastes of pleasure. Lucy swallowed dryly at the memory, eyes catching Virgil's once more. The longing sadness in her gaze was irrepressible, but she said nothing, and towards the end she was almost sure she saw him eyeing the ring on her right hand.... Miss Rayne, uh, was your family on the right side of the war or the wrong side? Adrian had interrupted her silent moment with Virgil, and she was unsure of whether to thank or reprimand the boy for what he had done. But she also knew that a child's curiosity was something that would never be put at rest until the need to know had been sated. After all, she had been the same way, always asking questions and wanting to meet everyone who came to visit the plantation. Hm? she smiled politely at him, pretending to not have heard the first time. Adrian looked giddy with excitement at having his question answered, and he hurriedly repeated, If you're from the South, was your family on the Union or Confederate side? Well, Lucy began to answer carefully, I'll tell you that my family was Unionist both before and after the war. Of course, she tactfully left out that they had been of Confederate alliance during the war, and hopefully the boy would let things drop. But to her surprise, it was Camilla who continued the uncomfortable topic. Come now, it's a plain question. Lucy began to open her mouth, discomfort written plainly on her face, when she heard a familiar voice come to her defense. Enough, Camilla. Her eyes snapped to Virgil, who was looking at his wife with displeasure. Enough, Camil-- The table rattled under the force of Virgil's weight as he suddenly stumbled, eyes closed and features contorted in pain, and without turning toward the large man who's chair had scraped the floor as he stood, she heard Harold ask, Wound again? Wound? What wound? Lucy jumped in her seat, about to stand and rush to his side, when she remembered that she wasn't supposed to be so familiar with him. No one save for their families knew about their intended arrangement, and she doubted he had told Camilla about their shared history. No, with their marriage already strained from the lack of children, she knew Virgil would avoid additional stress if he could. Instead, she watched pale-faced as Camilla and Harold stood to steady the sandy-haired male her fingers locked tightly together as she inspected his pained face. A pang of sympathy, guilt, and regret washed through her at the sight of him, and she couldn't help but think that maybe if she hadn't pushed him away, he wouldn't have had to sustain such a heavy toll from the war.... Hoskins, she motioned quietly for the butler, If Mr. Abernathy has any medication for his wound, please bring it. If he hasn't any... liquor with a small amount of opium will help ease the pain. The butler nodded and shuffled away, most likely used to being asked for such things when it came to the Abernathy household. Lucy nervously fidgeted her hands in her lap, clenching and unclenching fists that, at times, were so held so tightly that her nails had left indentation marks from where they had dug into the flesh of her palms. Then finally, Mr. Benson and Camilla had been able to seat Virgil, leaving the dinner table awkward and stiff with the recent conversation paired with the unfortunate accident. Ahem, Lucy cleared her throat, feeling all eyes turn toward her, and she smiled at Adrian, though she hoped both Camilla and Virgil were paying attention to what she had to say. Truthfully, my family, like many Southerners, never fought with 'right' and 'wrong' in mind. We fought to preserve our culture and way of life, how we maintained economic standing. We don't have all the fancy factories that you New Englanders do. Farming, agriculture... these are the things we know. It may be difficult to imagine, but when you're told suddenly that you have to change your entire lifestyle, it can be... difficult. She paused then, pensive for a moment as she contemplated her next words. And then more than that, we fought to preserve our families. Many were torn apart when the Southern states began seceding into the Confederacy, and more than anything, we wanted things back to the way they had been, if it meant returning family members back home. I... I haven't seen my eldest brother since he left, and there are others still, not necessarily family, but those that I had cared very deeply for. She refused to look at Virgil as she said the words, instead opting to look away and out on of the windows before returning to look at Adrian once more. In short, yes, my family fought for the South. But I also have a brother that fought for the North, and he's family too, isn't he? A sad smile touched her lips, knowing that the tone of her own tales held none of the heroism of Harold's Unionist war stories, but the depressing realities that had hit many Southern families and even some of the Northern ones as well. In truth, she had no idea where her brother was or if he was even still alive. The last she had heard of him was when he had sent a farewell letter to the only other male child of the family, the second eldest who was now happily married somewhere in Richmond. Well, Camilla was the first to comment, donning a sour look on her face, What a... touching story. It was obvious there were more than a few words she wanted to say, but she tactfully held her tongue on the matter. Desert? I'll have Hoskins fetch it from downstairs. She briefly motioned to the butler, who had been back for a while and left the medicinal supplies on top of a small table off to the side. Virgil, are you alright, darling?