Thread: Southern Girl [ Ariamella & Reydan ]

New York City, New York November 2, 1865 Lucille wrapped the ends of her shawl more tightly about herself, then brought her gloved hands up to breathe hot air into them as the chill of the November air bit deep into her bones. If she were a man she would have cursed the cold weather with words fit to come from a sailor's mouth, but as it was, she was a well-behaved young lady who wouldn't dream of being portrayed as a scandalous little thing who didn't know the meaning of proper civility or manners. At least, she wouldn't dream of it in public or the presence of company, and seeing as the coach was empty save for her belongings and herself, she muttered, To hell with the cold. It would be her first winter here, and she was quickly discovering that New England definitely was not kind to misplaced Southerners. New York - and all other parts of the North she had already traveled through - was like a foreign land that was too difficult to navigate despite having larger cities and denser population than her home state of Virginia. The young woman looked out the window to the streets of the city, and she couldn't help but feeling that everything was just so different . The plantations and farmhouses of the rural countryside seemed much more welcoming than the cold brick and compact buildings of the urban areas, and she held close to the same opinion about the people that lived there. At home people greeted each other brightly no matter who they were, but above the Mason-Dixon Line it was as if greeting a stranger was a completely absurd concept that was unheard of. She had wondered on more than one occasion why the people seemed so cold, and wondered why there seemed to be no plausible reason they were so stiff and serious. Maybe the weather had done it to them. The differences between her and them didn't stop there it was in the way she moved, carried herself, and even in the way she looked. Northern girls looked impossibly prim and proper, all slimmed up in their too-tight corsets that were obviously the popular London fashions. They were bred to be tall and elegant as dictated by society's standard of beauty, all pale skin, light hair, and pastel gowns. Lucille, or Lucy as she was known back home, had appearances that gained much appreciation in Virginia but had garnered attraction up north for all the wrong reasons. She stood on the petite end of the height spectrum at 5'4, and her skin glowed with a light tan that had captured the Southern sun's rays over the years. Her own wavy, long blonde hair that had soaked up much of the same sun shined with a mix of natural highlights and lowlights, framing a delicate face that held bright blue eyes and a naturally pink, full lips. Her manner of dress was acceptable enough she, too, came from money and was able to afford the expensive taste of the upper class, but she found the prospect of being unable to breathe rather distasteful and avoided wearing overly tight corsets when she could. The women here eyed her oddly, but she guessed it was just another difference between the North and South. If the choice had been hers, she wouldn't have stepped any closer to Northern territory than ten feet from the Mason-Dixon, but at her mother's insistence she had gone. The Civil War had left much of the Southern economy and way of life in ruins, and with her father's and fiance's death, her mother was not fit to run the plantation herself. She had enough trouble during the war, and the grief of losing her beloved had taken a great toll and left her weak. There was no one to care for the land, so it was sold, most of the inheritance left with Lucy for security reasons, and her mother made plans to live elsewhere. Lucy, being the youngest and only unmarried daughter, was to make arrangements to live with one of her own sisters until she was able to secure another engagement. Luckily - or maybe not so lucky from the way the New England had received her - relatives from New York had agreed to take her in. The families hadn't been particularly close in the past, and any reason they might have wanted to maintain current close relations escaped her, but she was grateful all the same for a place to stay. The carriage came to an abrupt halt, jolting the girl out of her thoughts, and she looked out the window once more to inspect her surroundings. No longer was she in the congested inner city, but in the more open suburbs. The large houses with carefully pruned lawns and gardens made it obvious she was now in the territory of the wealthy upper class, and right in front of her stood a Victorian-style home that was bordering on being a mansion. It was slightly smaller than her plantation home back in Virginia, but it was still of impressive size with equally impressive embellishing on the front columns, and quality trim that framed the roof and windows. Her new home screamed luxury and status, but then, what else did she expect from a Holland? The Holland family, relatives through her father, were a wealthy bunch who had attained their fortune through business and banking, and had set her to stay with Camilla Holland, an elder cousin of hers she hadn't spoken to or seen in years. From her understanding, Camilla and her family detested the use of slave labor on the plantation and ceased vacationing South for that sole reason, and Lucy had stopped communicating with her ever since. Even as children Camilla had been too prim for whatever silly games the other children wanted to play, and Lucy suspected that her attitude and demeanor hadn't changed one bit. If she was 22 now, Camilla had to be... 25? 26? She must have been married as well as she remembered the older girl to be quite pretty in her own way, and judging by how she lived in a home apart from her family, there was no doubt in Lucy's mind that her cousin was likely married for a year or two now. And still, as she was about to live with her, Camilla remained as distant as ever. Rather then collect Lucy herself, she had sent over one of her private coaches to make the long journey. Ms. Rayne? The coachman opened the door, stepping aside and offering an arm to help her out. You'd best get inside. I will take care of your belongings. The young woman only nodded, unable to answer as a breeze of cold air flew in the carriage and chilled her face. After straightening herself out, she walked to the door and knocked, unable to help feeling that this would likely be the best or worst decision of her life.