Writing (fiction)
Chapter 1
London June 1, 1816.
Could my heart beat faster?
That seemed impossible, literally impossible, and not because my physiology prevented it, but because so much activity would take my breath away... and everything else before seeing him.
It was extremely embarrassing to admit that my life had become a whirlwind of emotions; especially, from the moment in which the press announced his return; Honestly, I had practically gone mad.
So here I was. Alone and sitting in the carriage of my family, in front of the port of London, my heart pounding and my pulse racing, waiting for the arrival of the man who broke my heart 5 years ago.
Unable to keep my hands still, I started crumpling my elegant suit.
- Calm down, Emma- I whispered to myself.
This was painful, I was behaving like an insecure, little girl.
I straightened my back and laid my hands quietly on my lap, keeping a position worthy of a lady. Fortunately, I had received an education from the daughter of an earl, he trained me to be an elegant and confident woman. However, when it came to him, I forgot all the rules of decorum. It was as if his mere presence in my life was out of control with that wild part that I should always have under surveillance.
"Milady?" Spoke a familiar voice, moving me away from my thoughts.
The curtain of the carriage had moved a little, to discover the figure of one of my servants.
"Yes, Thomas?" I answered even more nervously.
-Milady, the S.S. Victoria will arrive to the Port in a few minutes," he replied.
I fixed my sight on the majestic ship that was every time closer to us.
-Thanks. -I answered weakly, trying to calm my heart
I remained in my place undaunted for a few minutes. The coachman cleared his throat.
- I do not want to be inconvenient but ... Will you get off the carriage, Milady?
I looked at old Thomas for long seconds.
“Yes, I will,” was my answer with the little calm and security remaining inside me.
I adjusted my hat, smoothed my dress, and got out of the carriage.
I breathed sharply. For a second I thought I was in front of a sea of people. It was very likely that most of London was there: men, children and women, people of all social classes. Absolutely everyone had taken the time to receive our heroes.
I hurried to walk nimbly, taking care not to hit the people I encountered on my way, until a touch on my dress caught my attention.
"Milady, could you buy portrait of your Excellency, the Duke of Wellington?" Asked a girl with golden curls, whose height reached to my waist.
"Wellington, no, you fool!" Added the sullen voice of a child dressed in modest clothes and a dirty face. "Milady is young ... and the Duke of Wellington is old and fat!"
"Then who is the person I’m selling?" The girl asked innocently.
"The Duke of Devonshire!" My body shuddered at his name. It had been a long time.