“Catherine! Lydia! Anne! Do hurry up,” Lady Edmonson called to her daughters. “We’ll be late for dinner and you do know how cook hates that.”

    The girls obliged, rushing through the grey cobbled streets of Ingleston. It was a rare lovely day in the country town–the first hope of Spring–and the family had decided to take advantage of that fact.

    Already Lydia had bought two new ribbons, a decision of which Sir William Edmonson had not approved.

    “Oh, Anne! Catherine!” wailed Lady Edmonson. “Don’t run. It’s unbecoming of young ladies. Honestly, one might think the pair of you were Lydia’s age.”

    Catherine bit back a retort. It was unbecoming of her mother to carry on so loudly in public. But still, she took on a slower pace, finally reaching Lady Edmonson, her younger sisters not far behind her.

    “Lady Edmonson,” said Sir William. “Need I remind you that cook only serves dinner when you say it should be served? Let the girls live a little, whilst they’re still young.”

    “Not so young,” replied Lady Edmonson, pointedly glancing at Anne and Catherine.

Catherine feigned ignorance, gleefully stopping to peer into a shop window.

“Do look at these ribbons, Lydia!” she said. “Are not they quite what you were looking for earlier?”

Lydia peeked in the storefront, delighted for any excuse to dally in town.

“Oh, yes,” agreed Anne. “And I do think that button might be just the match for the missing one from my left glove. Come girls, let’s go in.”

Catherine and Lydia happily followed their older sister inside, glorying in Lady Edmonson’s exasperated sighs.

“Really, Lady Edmonson,” said Sir William, following his daughters into the store. “We have yet many hours of light today. Don’t let’s spoil the fun.”

Lady Edmonson only sighed anew and did not reply.

The shop was a fine establishment, and one that the Edmonson sisters had frequented for most of their lives. Brightly colored ribbons festooned the walls, imparting a festive feel upon the premises.

Lydia picked up a ribbon of the softest celadon green, holding it out to Catherine.

“This would look so lovely in Catherine’s hair, do not you think, Anne?”

“The green certainly accents the color of her hair,” Anne agreed, playing with a lock of Catherine’s fiery mane.

“Then it is settled,” Lydia said. “Catherine shall have this ribbon and no other.”

Catherine giggled, snatching the ribbon from Lydia’s grasp. For so long, she had hated her red hair, which made her stand apart in ways she did not desire. Even now, she often wished she was not quite so conspicuous in a crowd. When she had been small, the boys in the village would tease her for it, pulling at the russet curls in an attempt to goad her into anger.

More than once she had returned triumphantly home from town with bruised knuckles and a bloodied lip. Lady Edmonson had not approved, and even sweet Anne had trouble defending her sister’s boyish actions. But then Anne was blonde like the rest of the family, and could never be made to understand.

“Yes,” said Catherine, breaking from her reverie. “This is certainly a fine ribbon, Lydia.” She turned to Sir William, who was standing not too far off, admiring a silver boot buckle.

“Papa? Do not you think this ribbon suits me nicely?” Catherine asked coyly.

Sir William chuckled, walking over to his middle daughter.

“Indeed I think it does,” he said.

“And do you not think it would be quite the thing for me to wear to the ball this coming weekend?”

At the mention of the ball, Lady Edmonson’s ears perked up.

“The ball?” she queried. “At the assembly room? Catherine, do let me see this ribbon, too, if you insist it becomes you so.”

Catherine held it up to her face, posing for her mother. Lady Edmonson nodded approvingly.

“That ribbon is just the thing to bring a little color to her cheeks,” she said. “She must look her best at the ball, Sir William. You know how important that is.”

“Then Catherine shall have the ribbon,” he said, feeling his pockets for coins.

He frowned, patting himself again for good measure.

“It seems we have already spent our allowance for the day on Lydia’s ribbons,” he said too coolly, placing the green ribbon back on the shelf. “Perhaps this should be left for the next ball.”

Catherine’s cheeks burned. She had so dearly wanted the ribbon, but she was not unaware of her family’s circumstances. Though Sir William had inherited a baronetcy, he had inherited little else.

“I should never have had three girls,” Lady Edmonson whispered, as if it were up to her to decide her children’s sex.

“Never say that,” said Sir William, color rising in his face. “We are not destitute. We have money enough, a good name, and good connections. We have each other.”

“When you die, Sir William,” replied Lady Edmonson. “All the little money we have will go to cousin William! The girls and I will be destitute. We will have to rely upon the hospitality and good nature of acquaintances to stay fed and sheltered. I pray that cousin William agrees to take us in, but he will likely have a family of his own by then.”

“Mama,” Anne butted in. “That all assumes that neither my sisters nor I will have married. Certainly we would take you into the homes we hold with our husbands. It is only expected.”

“All the more reason that Catherine must look her best at the ball,” said Lady Edmonson. “You are nearly three-and-twenty and Catherine is not but two years behind! Time is a luxury that you do not have.”

“Come, my dears,” Sir William said, beckoning the girls out of the shop and back into the bright daylight. “I’m afraid the ribbon will have to be left for another day, but we have a good meal waiting for us at home. Try not to worry them so, Lady Edmonson. All will come right in the end.”

But Catherine did worry. Inflammatory or no, Lady Edmonson’s statements were not incorrect. Anne was so quickly approaching an unmarriageable age that any match she would make might not be good enough to support the Edmonson women and Lydia was so young that she wouldn’t make her debut for at least three years yet.

Catherine felt a heavy weight on her heart as she stepped into the sun after her family. She realized with surprise that they were somehow far ahead of her, still quarreling. Without looking, Catherine made to dash across the road towards them.

A large black carriage swerved across her path, the horses whinnying in fear. Catherine stopped up short.

“Woah, lass!” the driver called, slowing the horses. “Learn tae watch the road, eh?”

Catherine wanted to tell the driver to watch the road, but was taken aback by a dark face of the passenger staring at her from the carriage window. She felt a heat spread through her body that had nothing to do with the unseasonable weather.

Catherine looked back at the man in the carriage, unsure how to behave. He had a fine face, to be sure. His black eyes complimented his even blacker hair, and Catherine could not help wondering how that might contrast with her own auburn strands.

But then the man did not smile as Catherine had expected, nor bid her any common kindness. Still he stared at her, his brow furrowing. She shook her head. No mannered man would treat a lady thus.

Without another glance at him, Catherine sidestepped the carriage and made her way to her worried family.

“Do you know to whom that carriage belongs?” she asked Lady Edmonson.

“No, darling. But by the looks of it, I expect that he is a quite a fine man. Did you glimpse his face? Was he handsome?”

“No,” Catherine lied. “I didn’t see anyone. It might have been empty.”

“Well, then,” said Lady Edmonson, taking her daughter’s arm. “No matter. Come along and we’ll decide how to best style your hair for the ball.”

Catherine followed her mother, but couldn’t help turning to get one last look at the carriage as it made its way out of the village.