Her long, dark blonde hair fell loosely over her shoulders as she began her nighttime ritual of brushing it, at least 50 strokes, every night. It was a ritual taught to her by her nurses as they were the only family she had for as long as she could remember. Thankfully, Charlotte Davies-Brown's family had engaged a staff that had lovingly cared for her even before their untimely passing. She would soon be forced to move to London to take her place in society and hopefully find herself a husband but she was trying to take things one step at a time. First, she would have to visit a modiste in London, all of the poshest were French or at least pretended to be. Her former governess had insisted on staying on and being her chaperone and companion for the upcoming season in London.
At 18, it was time to make her bow and establish herself as one of the delicate flowers on the marriage mart. It wasn't really something she'd been looking forward to. She tended to enjoy the country and had been content reading and riding about the country as a teenage girl, but it was time. If she didn't find a husband in the next couple of years, she might never. Once a woman reached about 23 in her set, she was nearly a spinster and she could not have that happen. She did not want to spend any more years lonely, with only those who were paid to accompany her no matter how kind and loving they'd been, they would always be obligated to be with her, and not her family by choice or blood, simply by requirement or duty.
Charlotte did not possess much confidence in her odds, despite being told she was quite lovely by those around her, she never knew whether this was their actual opinion or simply out of obligation. She checked her reflection in the looking glass and saw a girl, still an uncertain girl. She possessed hair that was average, she felt her features were average, about the only thing that wasn't completely average was her seemingly violet-colored eyes. She was told they were the exact same as those of the mother she'd never known.
It was hard, having lost both of her parents before she had actually formed any true memories of them. They were shadowy figures of the past for her and not necessarily all that real to her.
Charlotte sighed, "Time for bed," as she made her way to her wonderfully comfortable and familiar bed, covered herself in her wonderfully comfortable and familiar quilt, and blew out the lamp she had next to her bed since she was a small girl. This was her last night in her comfortable, secure childhood home in the countryside. Tomorrow, the carriage would be readied, and she, her governess, former nurse, ladies maid, footmen, and the other staff would take up residence in the home her family hadn't inhabited since the untimely demise of her parents.
There had been no male relatives to pass the property on to, so, she had been the unusual female to inherit everything an older brother usually would. She'd never felt the need to visit their ostentatious home in London and thus it had sat empty for about 15 years. Tomorrow, she hoped it would be brought back to life although she wasn't entirely certain how lively it would be.