ELEANOR.

Hawkshead was Eleanor's favourite place in the world. This opinion was a little farfetched seeing as it was the only place she had ever known save for Bibury, the bustling trade town where her mother's family lived up North. In fact, she hated Bibury. It was far too noisy and crowded even in winter. Hawkshead was cosy and quiet. It was one of those small towns where everybody knew everybody. Its tiny cottages with neatly trimmed edges were simply delightful. In autumn, the cobbled streets would be filled with fallen leaves which had turned the reddish-brown shade she loved. Her own home, which forever smelt faintly of her mother's baking even when she wasn't doing so would always hold fond memories for her. It was a large house and she often wondered how her mother always managed to keep it so clean. She remembered playing with her two sisters, Charlotte and Olivia in the garden while they were much younger. But very soon, she might have to leave and the very thought made her heart ache.

Eleanor sighed. In a few minutes, she would hear her mother's footsteps cascading down the corridor to her room to rouse her. She was turning eighteen in a few weeks. The flowers would start coming. Countless men would vie for a chance to court her. While they had never said it to her hearing, she knew her parents thought she was the most beautiful of all her sisters, with her honey-blonde hair, creamy, pale skin, blue eyes and surprisingly full lips. She was sure to make a few noblemen come calling.

Other girls would find these prospects exciting, but not Eleanor. Dread coursed through her at these thoughts. For so many nights, sleep had eluded her as she tossed and turned while contemplating the mundaneness of the life that lay ahead of her if she actually married a nobleman. Ordering servants around, attending balls and hosting other noble wives was certainly not her thing. If anything, she found the noble wives rather annoying with their cheeks that were always stained with too much rouge. Their pouty lips and upturned noses, ears that twitched at the slightest opportunity for gossip their feigned dignities were much more than she could bear.

"Oh Lord", she thought. It was only getting worse. To think she might become one of those snotty women.

"Eleanor Beckett, I do hope you are up," Her mother's loud voice called out. Eleanor crawled out of the sheets very reluctantly.

"If I wasn't before, surely I am now," she replied.

" Don't you dare use that tone with me, young woman! It's way past the hour of eight and you are still drooling in the sheets. Such behaviour is extremely unacceptable for a soon-to-be mistress if you ask me."

Eleanor knew her mother could go on all morning. She wished for her childhood days when her mother was more pleasant. But surely, trying to match her with a worthy suitor out of the myriad of male folk that would come visiting was sure to put any mother in a fix. Not to mention that she had absolutely no experience in these matters. Eleanor was the first of three daughters and the most disagreeable one at that.

Perhaps her disagreeability stemmed from the fact that she had dreams that her mother often said were unbecoming for a woman in this era. Dreams of exploits and adventure and love. Love was possible, but even that was rare. You were lucky to find a good man who would care for you. As for adventure, only whores dreamt of that. No proper lady wanted to spend her time trotting around the world doing god knows what. "I might just be a whore then" Eleanor had replied. "A reply that had earned her a slap.

Since then, she had learnt to be more subtle about her thoughts. Though it was hard sometimes. Even more so now that she would start receiving suitors...