Open | Great Expectations

[Ember]

The toast was burnt. Damn. And the morning had been so promising.

Charles, knife poised in hand, entertained the thought of simply buttering the overcooked bread and cutting a bite with a bit of egg on top. But then, no. He couldn't. He paid good money for the cook and kitchen maids to purchase the best ingredients in order to deliver a proper breakfast. In fact, he paid them to be able to cook it correctly, which had not been done this morning and thusly he could not partake. Charles set the knife down delicately, and touched his lithe fingers together at the tips as he surveyed the table. Edward was chewing the corner off a piece of burned bread. Of course he was. The boy had no spine in him whatsoever to make the calls that needed to be made as viscount and 9th Earl of Kingsgate. If the boy could accept a piece of burnt toast, what sub-standards would he accept in the future? This had become a matter of propriety. An example needed to be set.

Charles twisted in his seat and cleared his throat. "Hopkins," He articulated to the butler and lifted the toast tray from the table, "Could you please replace this catastrophe with something befitting the table of my family?" Charles delivered a meaningful expression to further make his dissatisfaction evident, watched the man scurry away from the dining room, then turned back to face his plate, lips pursed in pious justification. If he could not ask for proper toast on his table, he was no master of this house.

Decidedly, he would wait for the new toast to arrive. Charles reached instead for one of the two envelopes on his right, the letter-opener, and sliced a quick line across the top. Extracting the thin paper within, he unfolded the document and held it at an arm's length to better discern the tight script with his worsening eyesight. Having read the document, his expression changed for the better. "Good news, Elizabeth," he stated, feeling pleased indeed. The letter was a welcome one, though he did not expect his daughter to accept it as such. As a matter of fact, she had been quite vocal about disliking the very subject. And so he smiled across the table at her to better deliver his next line. "The Duke of Somerset will be attending your party. He asks that I give you his highest regards until then."

New toast arrived, which he accepted with a curt thanks and winked across the table at Annabel as he lifted a thick, golden brown slice. Perhaps things were turning around. Perhaps there was hope for the day, nay, for the future yet.

[Morrigan]

The morning had dawned finely enough, bright sunshine streaming through the window and the gaps in the curtains and waking Elizabeth before Lucy had had to do so. She had risen in good spirits and dressed in a cheerful cream dress before she descended to the dining room where her father, brother and sister Annie were already seated, and she greeted both of them warmly enough. Her father was looking stern already, his correspondence spread before him an the letter knife ready nearby to open them, but his attention focused on the admittedly rather dismal state of the morning's toast.

Elizabeth picked up a slice warily, and glanced across the table at Edward, who was valiantly trying to eat the least blackened parts of his slice. She smiled sympathetically, knowing he would never make a fuss about such things, but her smile faltered when she looked at her father, whose expression made his displeasure obvious. Elizabeth winced slightly at the biting tone of his words to poor Hopkins, who was looking rather mortified at the clear rebuke from the Earl, and Elizabeth tried to send a reassuring smile his way, though he vanished quickly to send for replacement foodstuffs.

Drinking a cup of sweet tea in the meantime, Elizabeth looked across the table to her brother and opened her mouth to initiate conversation, but before she could her father's gravelly voice cut in, and her eyes flicked cautiously to him. He did not seem in the best of spirits already this morning, and Elizabeth knew all too well how unpleasant it could be to get on his bad side. Admittedly she spent most of her time there, but it wasn't like she wanted to fight with him. She just wouldn't bow down to him and meekly accept his fate for her, and God knew he never liked to be disobeyed.

Good news? she thought, her heart sinking somewhat. That could only mean one thing, considering the nearness of her eighteenth birthday and the ridiculous opulence that would surround it. An eligible suitor must have written to him. She almost groaned aloud when Lord Carmarthen smiled and told her the Duke of Somerset had confirmed his attendance. The Duke. A notoriously pompous bachelor who could barely manage to go a minute without talking about his prodigious fox-hunting abilities. Elizabeth said nothing for a long moment, before she forced a smile onto her face.

"Wonderful, Papa," she said mechanically, not a trace of emotion in her voice which was kept at a carefully flat tone, but under the table her fingers curled and tightened in her lap. The Duke would, on paper, be the ideal match for her. His rank and wealth made him probably more than she should actually hope for, but she knew her father would be pulling out all the stops to get the best selection of unmarried young men in his house within the next week, lining them up like prize stallions before her in the hope of pushing her to the altar. A bubbling annoyance built up inside her. "Might I ask who else we're expecting? Anyone I might have a chance of a decent conversation with, or are they all dunderheads like him?" the sarcastic remark was blurted out before she could stop it, and she immediately knew she should not have said it. Edward had put down his knife and was chewing his lip, looking anxiously between his elder sister and his father. Elizabeth's cheeks flushed and she dropped her gaze, knowing she would have antagonised her father immensely.

And it's not even noon, she thought bitterly, as she hurriedly took a mouthful of toast. Might even be a new record.

[Ember]

The apologetic smile cast by Elizabeth to Hopkins was not missed by her father. From the corner of his ever-observant cerulean eyes, Charles had witnessed the gesture and subtly went about his business without pause. Elizabeth's compulsion to empathize was something that Charles both admired and misunderstood. Of course, when her empathy was used as an apology in proxy for her father, he did not appreciate it whatsoever. The man didn't need to be excused, and he surely did not need to sugarcoat every word that left his lips. Good Lord, that was the problem with the world today. He believed strongly that there was virtue in being completely candid. Still, it was merely breakfast and Charles was attempting to exercise his patience, at least until Elizabeth's birthday party, after which, he was certain he would have the upper hand.

Having announced the good news, Charles seemed pleased with himself as he spread last summer's blackberry preserves onto his toast and readied a polite bite. As far as he could tell, the Duke seemed an excellent match for his daughter. He was a highly presentable fellow, young and handsome enough, Charles was sure, to provoke something besides disdain from his persnickety, headstrong daughter. Then again, he countered with skepticism, one could never be sure with Elizabeth. As her father, Charles had come to expect the unexpected, as well as a battle at every turn. Each debate mimicked the battle of Hercules and the Hydra, in the which, Elizabeth had the spectacular and discouraging ability to sprout two new, quite valid arguments each time Charles attacked one of them. There was simply no winning, and that fact was maddening.

Charles parted his lips, a moment from explaining to Elizabeth which of the other guests had responded, but stopped short when he realized that her question had been both rhetorical and the means to yet another altercation. Charles gave her the courtesy of a listening ear and placed his knife on the side of his plate, jaw tensing and nostrils flaring as a steadying breath filled his lungs. "I assume you can do better on your own? After all, what do I know? I am only your father." Charles lifted his fork and took a polite, albeit irritable, bite of egg before setting the fork down as well. His appetite had waned. He blotted his lips, "Elizabeth, you are my daughter, and I value you as such, but you are gravely mistaken by thinking so highly of yourself."

It was more harsh than he meant it to sound, but accurate. Any normal young woman would be thrilled at such a prospect, and Charles would be damned if Elizabeth disrespected him for trying to do his duty as a father. She was too young, without a solid understanding of the real world, without an appreciate for duty and posturing for the benefit of one's child. He only hoped that once she became older she would outgrow her ridiculous stubbornness.

[Morrigan]

[[guess there's not much point in replying now, but eh, night as well round it off if nothing else.]]

Elizabeth flinched slightly, stung by her father's harsh words. Her toast halted abruptly on its way to her mouth and she laid it down slowly, wiping her fingers on her napkin and looking icily at the earl. The corners her of her mouth were distinctly downward-pointing and she looked a cross between very angry and very hurt.

"Charming, Papa! I am glad indeed to know how much my father loves me. But if I don't value myself, then I think we can all be quite sure no one else will, since all you care about is getting me married to someone who looks good on paper!" Her voice was a little more shrill than usual, but while she would like to be able to say that she argued her case with dignified calmness and clear-headedness, she realised dimly that her temper was once again getting the better of her. She found she could not stop herself from blurting out the angry words now she had started, despite Edward's pleading expression across the table. Elizabeth tried to take a steadying breath but found her scattered emotions were now wildly out of control, and she could not prevent herself from furthering her tirade.

"You just want me to be a name to announce in the newspapers, attached to the Duke of High and Mighty so everyone knows what a wonderful father you are, finding his daughter a walking bank account to marry. Do you care at all about my happiness? What if it were Kate? Or Annie? Would you make Annie marry a man she didn't love, or do you just reserve that punishment for me?" To her annoyance, she felt tears pricking at her eyes and she scrunched her napkin up in her lap, twisting it and clenching it to focus her agitation elsewhere.

"But what do I know. I'm only your daughter."

She pushed the chair back with a rather alarming screech, and, shaking her skirts with as much dignity as she could muster, she made as if to leave the room, her soft slipper-style shoes scuffling slightly as she headed to the door.