"Abigail Bayard! What on Earth are you still in bed for!?" Her eyes flicked open for but a moment, before narrowing into a pained squint from the blaring sunlight shining from the open window of her bedroom.

"I believe that I was still sleeping, Mother," Abigail whispered, and she attempted to pull the bedsheets over her face, only to have them violently ripped away from her hands.

"Well no daughter-in-law of mine will have such unruly behavior."

I beg to differ, she thought to herself as she laid on the mattress, her satin nightgown providing no warmth against the morning breeze that billowed in from the window, the birds singing their morning melodies outside with gentle blue skies overhead.

"Now get up, child." Abigail took one last breath on the comfortable bed before getting up, just in time for the morning group of maids to arrive with a basket of fresh sheets, and they quietly made her bed, excusing themselves out of the room once they were finished.

"Mother, I did choose some things to wear last night-"

"And they were atrocious, sweetheart, you know you have no sense of taste." She gestured towards the bed. "Now sit down." 

Sitting at the foot of her bed, she watched her mother-in-law skitter around the room with her own small group of maids, all of them fussing about her wardrobe and cabinets with whispers, occasionally glancing at Abigail whilst holding articles of clothing in their hands, eyes narrowed as if an attempt to imagine her in whatever they were holding was being made.

"I am certain that anything will do," Abigail finally said after watching them go on for several minutes. Her mother-in-law promptly gave her a small smile, dimples dotting the sides of her weathered cheeks as she motioned for the maids to come forth with their options.

"What you wear matters a great deal sweetheart, and you know that. It's like I always tell you, you must-"

"Wear the proper clothing for the proper day, I understand."

"If you understood, then you wouldn't have interrupted me," the woman quickly replied as the maids moved towards her in a flurry of fabrics. Abigail sighed and, getting off the bed to stand before her mother-in-law and the servant maids, let them get on with it.

~~~

Tapping her heel against the ground for assurance, Abigail straightened her posture before walking out into the hall that spanned the width of the home's living quarters, well-lit with the large sconces that lined the wall. Despite being forced to put on one of her more "lighter" dresses that she had in her wardrobe, she felt her back already begin to ache from the heaving load that was an unnecessarily layered skirt and a bodice that made it quite difficult to breathe. 53 steps, she counted to herself, looking down the long hallway.

A red carpet, made of the richest red satin, ran between the marble columns and obscenely large portraits that donned its walls like a personal aristocratic runway, worthy of the Queen herself. 53 steps. Abigail started to walk down the hall, doing her best to ignore the pain in her chest and the uniformed men that loomed over her from within their golden frames as she passed by: some boldly posed, some even on horses, but all blond haired and blue eyed, their figures on the wall so large that she looked minuscule in comparison. She shuddered as she passed under their gaze.

Approximately fifty-three steps later, Abigail finally walked into the dining room. Other than being equally obscenely large in terms of space, it was as pretentiously elegant as the hallway, an entire wall of clear-glass windows fully letting in the morning sunlight, and large crystal chandeliers clung delicately to the ceiling, scattering colors across the long dining table and the glassware displayed in cabinets around the room.

“Ah, there’s the late sleeper!” she heard someone shout. There were only a few people seated at the large dining table, and one of them, a tall, broad-shouldered replica of the men in the paintings, promptly stood up at her entering.

“Good morning, William,” Abigail said as he rushed to her side, sweeping her up ever so gently, and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Good morning darling,” he replied with a smile, “I apologize for not waking you earlier.”

“Oh, it’s alright.” William put her down, and gestured at one of the servants standing against the wall, who in response nodded and promptly left the room. "That said, I heard that today is a special day for you, Abigail dear.” She heard the crinkle of paper, and upon turning towards the door, saw the servant who had left bring in an incredibly large bouquet of vibrantly red roses. "Happy Birthday sweetheart," he said as the bouquet was brought to Abigail, “I know that roses are always bound to be a woman’s favourite.”

"Indeed they are," she replied, donning what one would consider as a poor attempt of a smile on her face, William hardly noticing this as he eyed the large set of flowers. Abigail took hold of the bouquet, the pink paper which wrapped the roses crumpling loudly in her hands. All of the red flowers were quite big, and a small number of them were in bloom, their soft petals opened up just wide enough to see the small, frilly yellow centers that usually lay hidden within them. “Thank you, really,” Abigail said to him, William practically beaming with pride, and she handed it back to the servant maid.

“Would you like me to put them in a vase, my lady?”

“I would, thank you.” With a silent nod, the servant left the room. Abigail sighed as William proudly walked back to the dining table, where the small group of people were sitting.

“Are you coming, Abigail?”

“Of course, dear.” The dining hall, as extensive as it was, only had six plates set up, each one for the home’s current occupants, breakfast covering up a mere sliver of the long, cloth-covered table with a small array of consumables. The thin slices of cold, roast beef were practically drowning in a greyish-brown sea of sauces. The buttered rolls, golden and shimmering with butter, were still giving off steam in the cold morning air despite breakfast being well underway. A classic, hard boiled eggs, lay within a nest of thickly-sliced bacon, small rivers of fat dripping out from beneath it. And finally, standing on its own pedestal above the foods was a Victoria Sponge cake, it's soft, sweet bread filled with a thin spread of jelly and cream. Abigail felt her stomach grumble with anticipation as the two walked up. An older woman, her gray hair tied back in a lazy bun and a white shawl draped across her shoulders, looked up at Abigail with a wide smile.

“Hello Gran,” whispered William, kissing her weathered, wrinkled cheeks.

“Hello, dearie.”

“And finally, Madame Abigail arrives,” said one of the younger fellows sitting across from them, his face merely a younger complexion of William’s, hair slicked back with a wet sheen.

“What? Can’t arrange flowers yourself, milady?” quipped another young man, his face and hair exactly the same as the man he was sitting next to.

“Braxton! Harris! Stop it, you two,” William replied with a stern look, and the pair settled down, but only after sticking their tongues out at him.

“You’d think a country girl would be able to wake up at a decent hour,” muttered her mother-in-law, giving Abigail a steely look as she and William sat down next to Gran. The twins, amused by their mother’s statement, snickered from their seats.

“Mother, are there not days that you sleep in as well?” William said, his eyes narrowed. The woman grumbled in reply before returning to her meal before her, and William squeezed Abigail's hand. Don't worry about it, he mouthed to her. I wish I could, Abigail thought to herself, as she squeezed his hand back with a smile that was as equally weak as the one she had given him earlier.

“Tea?” Asked Gran, her hand hovering over the porcelain tea kettle.

“Of course,” William said before Abigail could give her own answer, “but no sugar for us please,” and she watched the small bowl stacked with sugar cubes get pushed away from reach with a sinking heart.

“Alright then, dearie,” Gran said, and with surprisingly stable hands poured the dark liquid into their small cups, and after placing the kettle back down, pushed their drinks towards them.

“Thank you Gran,” said William, as he proceeded to drink his share. Abigail prepared to give her own thank yous, when she noticed what looked like the remnants of two pristinely white cubes dissolving in her cup. She looked up at Gran, who merely winked in response.

"So, Abigail," she heard William say, "How did you sleep?"

"Like an idiot, that's for sure!" One of the twins immediately replied, high-fiving each other as Abigail did her best not to grimace.

"I slept fine, thank you for asking." She reached her hand out towards the sponge cake, which her mother-in-law promptly slapped away.

"You know you're overweight, child. Eat some eggs, it's better for you."

"... Of course." The servant maid finally returned, the roses now in a large glass vase, which was placed on the table near them.

"Ah, a lovely assortment," her mother-in-law said, waving the servant away.

"Thank you, Mother, it was your suggestion after all, since you have such good taste."

"Funny how a lady couldn't put flowers in a vase, huh?"

"Please don't talk about my spouse like that."

"Boys, calm yourselves, she'll have plenty of opportunities to prove herself at the gala next week."

"That's right, I forgot about that, it's after William leaves for Paris, yes?"

"Quite right, I'm quite excited to go!" The rest of the family continued talking, leaving Abigail alone with what one would consider as the most depressing breakfast a human being can have, eggs. At least it would have been, had dear old Gran not discreetly placed a thick slice of Victoria Sponge onto her plate, the sweet smell of raspberries wafting beneath her nose. Abigail took in a deep breath, her mouth practically watering from simply staring at the plush cake that sat on the table before her.

“You can eat it, you know,” Gran whispers to her with a chuckle, and Abigail promptly nodded before digging in. Needless to say, it was delicious. 

“So Abigail,” the old woman finally asked after their plates were cleaned off and the cups of tea had been emptied, “How did you sleep?”

“Quite well actually, at least until I was rudely woken up.” The old woman gave out a quiet and yet hearty laugh, the shawl on her shoulders shaking with her as she did so. “You?”

“I slept as well as an old woman like myself can these days,” she answered, and she poured herself another cup of tea for herself and Abigail.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t get to tell you good morning earlier.”

“It’s alright dear, I know how it is. If I remember correctly, you have something planned for today, don’t you?” Abigail’s brow furrowed in thought for a moment.

“I do have plans to visit him today, don’t I? I actually forgot.”

“Oh dearie, I’m the one who should be forgetting things, not you!” Abigail let loose a small chuckle, and drank some more of her tea.

“On that note, I was hoping you might fancy a walk today, Gran.”

“Into town? That is quite far,” Gran said with a contemplative look, taking a sip of her own tea.

“It would be, if I wasn’t taking a carriage.”

“Well, in that case, I would be delighted.”

“Would you really? I won’t be able to hold your arm, since I’m bringing some things with me.”

“Ah, I can hold my own just fine, don’t you worry about that.” Abigail downed the rest of her tea, and got up from the table, arm outstretched for the older woman to grab hold to. Gran nodded in thanks and eased her way up, using Abigail's arm as support.

“Are you already going, my darling?” William asked, his mother and the twins still deep in conversation, not noticing that Abigail and Gran had even stood up from the table.

“Yes, I wouldn’t want to be late,” she replied with a whisper, kissing him on the cheek. He gave her a smile, and the pair left the dining room without another word.

“Madame, here are your things, packaged and prepared for travel,” a servant maid stated when the pair entered the hallway, doing to her best to hold Abigail’s miniscule purse and several packages, all wide and yet very thin on their sides, wrapped in the same brown paper as the bouquet had been.

“Thank you.” The old woman let go of Abigail’s arm, reaching for a simple wooden cane that hung on the wall, and Abigail herself grabbed the packages, lifting them up with ease. “Will… will you not require assistance carrying those and Lady Bayard?” asked the maid. Gran laughed, and held up her cane for the young lady to see.

“I will be quite alright, dear.” The maid, her face a slight shade of red, promptly nodded and walked away down the hall, leaving them with only the butler, who was on stand-by next to the main doors, the glass window within it’s dark oak frame reflecting the warm light across the walls and carpet around them.

“The carriage is waiting for you outside, Madame and my Lady,” the butler said with a quiet voice as he opened the door to the outside, “enjoy your trip.” With a nod in thanks, Abigail and Gran stepped out, a slight breeze ruffling their skirts, the sun well overhead all the trees and shrubbery that were just starting to sprout leaves, the sound of birds chirping their morning tunes echoing around them. Abigail took in a deep breath of the fresh air, glimpsing at the city that lay on the edge of the horizon of the green fields for only a moment before looking down the gravel road that led away from the house. The carriage was parked just at the corner, two large white horses attached to an equally large black coach, fitted with a dark hood and ornate metal awnings, two lanterns attached on the sides of the coachman’s seat, and the coachman himself standing next to it.

“Mornin’ ladies!” the coachman said as the pair walked up to the carriage, “A nice day for a ride, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is!” Gran replied, quietly thanking him as he popped the small door open and ushered her into the coach.

“What’s the destination?” Abigail reached into deep her tiny purse, digging around it until eventually she pulled a small, crumpled sheet of paper. Flattening it out the best she could against her knee, she held it out towards the coachmen.

“Here’s the address.” He took a good squint at the address that, although written quite neatly, was incredibly small, for a decent minute, and then nodded with confidence.

“Right on, Madame! If you’ll get in, we can be on our way,” the coachman replied, gesturing towards the open door of the carriage. She promptly stepped in, and he closed the door, locking it securely with a loud click. Only a second later, the ladies felt the shaking of him jumping into the driver’s seat and grabbing hold of the reins. “Off we are!” And the carriage lurched forward, carrying them towards the city beyond.