Black Roses and Blue Thorns

[Dusk]

Black Roses and Blue Thorns
Dusk & Lyysa​

It was a uniquely delightful day, full of sunshine and warmth, even as the evening crept closer. However, the charming weather did not affect the gloom that lingered over the Brighton household. There was an irony to that not lost on the head of the family, Cecil Brighton. Cecil was a young man, both for his position and the tragedy which followed him. He had lost his father before his first decade and only a few years into his second, he was already thrice widowed. His tragedies combined with his reclusive behaviour earned him a mysterious reputation, while the deaths of his wives earned him a dark one. Ill rumours followed whispers of his name, and the young lord did little to stifle them.

Cecil checked the numbers on his gold watch before tucking it back into the pocket of his waistcoat. His guests were due to arrive any minute. The Rosensteins were a wealthy family, and that was where their social value ended. They were newly rich and able to bask in the glamour that afforded them, but unable to dabble in the prestige of the old houses. Many doors remained closed to them. However, among the family was Bianca Rosenstein. And she had caught Cecil's interest, which meant the Rosensteins had his attention, too.

Bianca Rosenstein was a woman of obscurity. Cecil had first spotted Miss Rosenstein while attending a friend's dinner party, two months prior. She stood out as she fumbled in places where others moved with grace, and there was an air of awkwardness about the fair-haired woman in a pale dress. His curiosity piqued, Cecil had begun an informal investigation that night. The young Brighton learned of her family, of whom plenty of rumours swirled about, but even the gossip of their only daughter remained vague.

Cecil stood in the parlour of his London house, dark green eyes with long lashes languishing on the dark wood of the old fireplace. The house was of an older design, commissioned some fifty years prior by Cecil's grandfather. Although not unfashionable, the interior showed its age in its styles and furniture. Had he truly wished to awe the Rosensteins, Cecil would've insisted on dinner at his country estate. However, Mister Rosenstein had been suitably impressed with Cecil's mere interest in him and his daughter that Cecil was certain the ancient mansion was not required. Furthermore, it was not as if his townhouse was anything to scoff at.

Across the room was an ornate arch which led to the foyer and beyond that another to the dining room. While Cecil enjoyed the quietude of his country manor, ancient in design, he preferred the aesthetic of his city house. He could barely see the corner of the stairs which wrapped up to an unseen second floor. The juniper green walls with their intricate pale flowers appealed to his eye. He preferred the large bay window with crepe curtains and the thick Persian carpets beneath his feet. The décor was dark and fashionably busy, and Cecil liked it that way.

The dark-haired man straightened at the sound of hooves on the stone road. He turned toward the door and clasped his pallid hands delicately in front of him. His butler would soon escort the Rosensteins into the parlour, where Cecil would formally meet his future bride for the first time. It would be an intriguing evening, he was sure.

 

[Lyysa]

The sound of the hooves of the horses as they dragged the extravagant carriage behind them was muffled by the ramblings of a madman. Siegfried had spent astronomical amounts of money to buy the carriage as they moved from their small country town to the big city. He threw away money on a lavish house and a wagon so that they could look like they were part of the nobility and despite his efforts, no one paid attention to his family or more importantly - him. Her brothers had protested as their father ordered this ludicrous carriage, ornamented with gold flakes and intricate wooden sculptures. Bianca didn't say anything about it, but she even felt a bit embarrassed when traveling in it since she always felt out of place in it.

Her father was going on and on about how his investments finally were paying off, that it was his efforts that had landed them this opportunity to make connections and give them the respect they were owed. Bianca didn't protest, she just sat there and nodded her head occasionally as he kept going.

Slowly their pace decreased until the carriage stopped entirely, her father seemed almost gleeful at that moment. It was a strange sight to see, the grown man was seemingly so anxious that he could barely stay seated. He tried to hide that grin by acting nonchalantly but over and over the facade cracked and a wide grin spread across his face. In the end, he seemingly remembered that Bianca was still present and reminded her to look her best before exiting their vehicle.

As her father exited Bianca anxiously tried to straighten out wrinkles on the skirt of her sky-blue dress that didn't exist. She swept away a few strands of hair that had come loose from the bun on the back of her head. As she grew up, she was accustomed to her family members giving her the pet name Angel because of her blond locks of hair which she has had since she was a baby. The only thing she lacked was the bright blue eyes often displayed in paintings. But as her father tried to make his mark in society that nickname suddenly got twisted and turned into something else. Siegfried decided to throw away all her dresses that didn't fit the aesthetic he wanted her to curate. And suddenly her wardrobe only consisted of dresses that were either white or light in color. Just so she would draw attention to herself and hopefully allure someone to notice the Rosenstein's.

Bianca and her brothers found the whole idea ludicrous. So, no one except her father was ecstatic when someone asked for her hand, the siblings were shocked. Her brothers began to protest and tried to make their father refuse the offer, but it didn't matter what anyone else felt - her father had gotten what he sought and that was the only thing he cared about. So, that was how she had ended up here. After a quick attempt to take a deep breath, Bianca took her father's hand and made her way out of the carriage as she nervously looked up at what felt like the most intimidating townhouse she had ever experienced. Not because of how it looked but rather because of the situation and the implications.

Once more she tried to calm her down with a deep breath but failed to do so, as she made her way up the stairs getting more light-headed with each step. Her father failed to notice how her complexion seemed to get drained of all colors the closer they got to the front door instead he was busy buttering up to the butler, obviously relishing in the occasion.

As the butler continued to guide them towards the master of the house, Bianca felt like a deer trapped on the ice. She wasn't sure where to rest her gaze and ended up flickering from one place to another. While her father praised the decorations and furniture Bianca felt like she had ended up in the wrong house. This was not a place where she belonged, her brother's voice reminded her of the back of her mind.

That statement never felt truer than it did as Bianca finally arrived at the parlor where the young lord waited for them. Bianca felt like she was looking at a painting at first, wondering how someone could look so effortlessly refined in real life. Just looking at him made Bianca wonder what she was doing there since he seemed to radiate grace and elegance. Even if she didn't stumble as she curtsied to greet him, she still felt clumsy and awkward since she didn't manage to make it look effortless.

 

[Dusk]

Bianca looked as Cecil remembered her, she even wore a similarly coloured pale dress, which complimented her colouring nicely. He wondered how much her father had spent on that dress. Cecil would've wagered it was a new one, purchased solely for this exchange. The young Brighton was calm and still as the woman and her father entered the parlour, escorted by his butler, Abraham, who wordlessly excused himself from the room as soon as the two had joined Cecil. Cecil was an observant man, but even if he hadn't been, he was certain he could've picked up the nervousness the woman emanated. She courtesied, and it was not the most elegant, but Cecil found himself rather charmed by it nonetheless. He stepped forward and gave a low bow as he took one of her hands in his own gloved one and pressed his lips against the back of it. He slowly relinquished it as he stood and stepped back.

"Lady Rosenstein," he said, greeting her first. Perhaps he should've given her father the attention first, but it was her who interested him. And it was not inaccurate to say Cecil enjoyed poking at the man, as he was too much of a sycophant. Cecil offered Bianca the faintest of smiles, with just a hint of something mischievous there, before his eyes flickered to her father. "And you, Lord Rosenstein," he said.

"Welcome to my home. Please allow it to be yours for the evening. Can I offer you anything?" He asked.

"Please, have a seat," Cecil said, gesturing to one of the seats. It was a short couch of dark wood with jade and gold upholstery. It was a stylish combination, but it happened that green was the young lord's favoured colour. Cecil waited a moment before he took his own seat in the armchair nearest the fire. It was a fancy little piece which near matched the other furniture in colour, although if the window had been open the sunlight would've revealed the green as slightly off from the couch It made up for its slight discrepancy in the far more intricate carve of the wooden armrests and legs.

"I trust your journey was well?" Cecil asked, his gaze trailing from Siegfried Rosenstein to his daughter. However improper it might've been, Cecil wished he could've engaged with Bianca unchaperoned. But not even Mister Rosenstein seemed that charmed.