In the pride of England, the clouds were dark, and it was about to rain. But a little boy ran through the streets, his eyes fixed on the grand home of the Sinclair family. His feet pounded the cobblestone road as he rushed towards the door, a letter clutched tightly in his hand. It was addressed to Lady Elizabeth, the daughter of a wealthy merchant.
As the boy arrived, he was greeted by the butler who led him to the drawing room where Elizabeth was sitting. Her strawberry blonde hair was pinned back, her dress immaculate, and her posture regal. She was everything the boy had imagined a lady to be.
"Excuse me, milady," the boy said, panting. "I have a letter for you."
