The day concluded on a satisfactory note for Lady Esmeralda. She stepped out of her shop with her small knitted bag hung over her shoulder, locking the door and slipping the key respectfully inside her bag as she turned to leave.
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It had struck the hour of ten in the evening, yet the market still buzzed as though it were midday. She walked forth until she came to a stop, having noticed Mrs. Redwyne, a lady from whom she sought hair-quality materials.
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“Lady Redwyne,” Esmeralda called out as she stepped towards her. “You haven’t finished for the day?”
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“Oh dear, no. How are you doing, though? I haven’t seen you in a while,” Mrs. Redwyne, the shorter of the two women, said as she placed her arm upon Esmeralda’s shoulder.
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“A while is just three days, Lady Redwyne,” she chuckled. “I am faring well, and I trust you are doing so yourself?”
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“Most definitely, sweetheart. You should take your leave, I shan’t delay you any further,” Mrs. Redwyne said, removing her hand from the other lady’s shoulder. “Have a wonderful night, Esme dear.”
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“Yourself too, Lady Redwyne.” Esmeralda gave a curt bow before she stepped past her.
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Mrs. Redwyne was known for her quality materials. Her shop was a place frequented by the Nobility when in want of a fine dress. It was a place Esmeralda herself oft visited. There was everything in that store—from silk to cotton—and each of the finest make.
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It took less time for Esmeralda to reach her father’s humble household. She stepped to the door and, as was usual, it was locked; fortunately, she was with her own key. She always was.
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She slipped the key into its place, the clicking sound bearing evidence of the unlocked door. She stepped inside, meeting the sitting room first, and her father upon a couch, reading one of his books.
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“Wonderful evening to you, Papa. You are still awake?” Esmeralda greeted, stepping inside and clicking the door shut.
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“I suppose I am, dear,” he looked up from his book, a line of worry etched on his brow. “You return far too late—far later than a lady such as yourself ought. The world outside is not safe, my dear.”
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Esmeralda sighed, the weight behind the words whispering, here we go again. It was neither the first nor second—nor even the third—time her father had reprimanded her for her habitual hour of closure.
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Esmeralda sat beside her Papa and picked up the book he had left upon his lap. “What are you reading tonight, Papa?”
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“Dear, you are not changing the subject.” Esmeralda looked up at him and noticed a brow raised. She sighed and sat back.
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“Papa, you know how very busy I can get. This is certainly not the first time I have returned by the hour of ten, Papa…” Esme asserted, thinning her lips.
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“It is not the first, but it may surely be the last. Yes, you are a lovely seamstress and I have no wish to dim your light. I only desire the best for my only daughter,” Papa lamented, raising his hand to rub his face.
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Esmeralda sighed and adjusted, taking her Papa’s free hand into hers. “I understand your concern, Papa, and I assure you that you shall receive nothing but the best from me.” She squeezed his hand tighter. “I am doing what I love, Papa, and I do it for you and Grandpa. I want you both to have the best life there is to give.”
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“We already have the best life there is to receive, Esmeralda.” Papa took his hand away and cupped her face. “You are a woman. A young maiden who ought not to work her hands to the bone. You have reached the age of marriage, yet you have not so much as looked upon a man—”
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“Everything is not about marriage, Papa,” Esmeralda muttered, looking down.
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“For a woman, everything is about marriage,” he whispered softly and raised her chin so she might meet his gaze. “I want you to find a noble husband and settle down, dear. I wish only the best for you.”
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“And the best is what you shall receive from me, Papa. Listen—I do not need a wealthy man to live. I do not need a wealthy man to make a name for myself. I already have a name. I do not want a wealthy man—I want a man I am in love with.” Her voice wavered at the end, and Papa finally eased.
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He too had married his beloved out of love, and though he would never force Esmeralda into a loveless union, he wished to make known that time was not her ally.
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“You do not understand, Esmeralda,” he said, but ventured no further. “Have you heard the news?”
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“The one about the Duke’s son’s birthday celebration? Indeed, I have…”
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“You are going to be in attendance, are you not?” he asked, a glimmer in his eyes.
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“I most certainly will be in attendance, Papa. What of you?” She threw the question back at him.
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Papa chuckled and waved it away, retrieving his book from her lap. “Oh, I am far too old for such things, dear—and I wouldn’t wish to burden you with my presence.”
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Esmeralda laughed. “Oh, don’t be silly, Papa. You surely would not burden me if you chose to attend,” she said fondly. “How is Grandpa? He must be asleep.”
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“He is asleep,” Papa nodded, eyes still on his book. “He took his medications for the night, out the next second.”
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Esmeralda laughed and ended with a sigh. “I must retire for the day, Papa. I have an early one come morning.”
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Papa looked up from his book and said, “You always have an early one, dear. You always leave by seven, yet come back so late…” The last line was murmured, but Esmeralda still heard him.
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“You should get some sleep too, Papa. Have a lovely rest.” Esmeralda leaned down and kissed his forehead before turning on her heels and departing into one of the rooms.
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They lived in a modest house, one filled with nothing but love and laughter. Though Esmeralda may have seemed happy on the surface, her Papa knew she was anything but—and he, and he alone, knew the reason why.
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and then Add to home screen.