Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The instant Bradley met the Petersons, destiny was set in motion.

Rain misted the air, mingling with the scent of mud and the intoxicating aroma of freesias and English pears. Her walk in the rain brought out the odour of fresh grass to the chamber. But the scent of the flowers that furiously filled up the room was really the overwhelming fragrance she remembered most vividly. A courtesy that Mrs. Peterson always liked to extent to their guests. Everywhere Bradley went near the Petersons, Mrs. Peterson felt like an unseen shadow, a ghost to their every move (only a ghost would have been less threatening). Had Mrs. Peterson been present the day Bradley met the Peterson heirs, she'd probably have been appalled by Bradley's drenched attire and hair unravelled by the wind, questioning why she hadn’t arrived in a carriage. But Bradley wouldn't have had a satisfying answer; even the thought of another long journey in a confined carriage was distasteful.

Perhaps Bradley would have given Mrs. Peterson an excuse, pointed out the fact she had been traveling for hours on end from London just the day before. Mrs. Peterson would have thought Bradley to be a ghastly visitor.

Leaving behind London’s gray expanse, she should've felt relief. The prospect of living a much better life, in a considerably noble estate, with influential neighbours and a free range of time to dedicate to one’s skills ought to bring any young lady or lad joy. Most would consider the rural life she was about to start a dream. But Bradley's heart longed for the city's endless possibilities, she hated the country.

She was enamoured with the city and its billions of possibilities. She was not built for long walks, large mountains, the meadow, insects. The town buzz, theatre performances, social events, the libraries, that brought a much more of an enchanting temptation—which was precisely what her mother was attempting to avoid when bringing the family to the countryside. Sandy Jackson was a woman of faith and it had shown her the right path for her family was not in London no more. Her mother, was set on finding Bradley a respectable match, as Bradley was on the age to be presented to society. But the idea of marrying someone she'd barely met was absurd to Bradley.

Her circle of people had all stayed behind in London, all the people she grew up with, any possible candidates stood behind with the rainy city (not that Bradley ever saw herself wedding any of her friends, but she would rather do it than spend the rest of her days with a stranger). She believed in love, the way it was written in books. She had faith that she'd simply know when the right one came along.

The reality, of course, was far more complicated.

It was no new notion that people made marital ties solely for interest and it had been the case with Sandy and Mr. Jackson, Bradley's father, but she had no wish for repeating her parents’ mistakes. Bradley had not ever loved, she could not really grasp the sentiment in herself, not from what she had read of it. But she firmly believed she would know.

Bradley highly doubted any suitable men would come along her way in the countryside. They had different mindsets there from the people living in London, ones that did not really fit hers. She would not settle for being put down like she had seen her father do so many times to her mother, it was not quite her vision of true love. Bradley, as any young girl would, wished for passion and endless happiness. But most of the time, if felt much to ask for. She wondered about it on so many occasions, but especially inside the carriage that brought them to Hampstead and their new estate.

Spinney Abbey had been inherited with the death of her father’s uncle, who had had no heirs to pass along the property. To Sandy's happiness, it landed on their lap. The property was a large farm, smaller compared to surrounding properties, but that had an inviting warmth. The main building was nothing but a three story home, quaint and well decorated. The stone front with pointy roofs stood proud since 1775, built by their ancestors, the Jacksons. Its façade, punctuated by bluebells and draped with ivy, hinted at the family’s once-thriving wool business.

They were local wool producers before they established some position in the English society, that later led some of them—including grandpa Jackson, to move to London. The front entrance had an arch of violet-coloured flowers that bloomed and wrapped over the ground, like a stunning welcoming carpet surrounding the pathway. But the walls of the front had been taken by ivies that Mrs. Jackson was already pouncing about the removal of it all. The two windows on each side of the main door though, had the most beautiful bluebells blooming below it. Bradley admired the estate’s rugged charm when they arrived, taken by the strength that wildflowers had, to bloom in between poor care and stone cracks. 

The front garden also had a pond, which her mother had promptly informed Bradley how lucky it was for them, for their status. She did not really grasp the need Sandy had for showing so much presence in a society that was already so well established, she doubted outsiders from the city like themselves would be allowed to fit in. But she had made a point to her daughter that they had to make good first impressions.

They would have to go to the city (Bradley thought the term to be laughable when one had lived in London) to get ribbons and order dresses to be made for them. Mr. Jackson was not as excited with the prospect of more expenses. First the garden, then dresses and ribbons when there was also the tending to their estate and its staff, not to mention the amount of animals that had come with it. Pigs, sheep, two cows, chickens and horses. It was a lot to manage, but Bradley could see how her father was much happier in the country. Even the complaints about money excited him. She never really knew what business her father was in, nor was it in a lady’s place to ask a man that, especially her own father (as her mother had repeated so many times when Bradley had tried to find out). But it was good enough to maintain them with some luxury—and that kept her mother happy.

“May I explore the estate?” Although Bradley was not really fond of the environment, the need to stretch her legs and the curiosity took the best of her.

“I would imagine you were to bury in your books once again,” Sandy told with a bemused tone that Bradley took as a taunt. The two were close, on some level, but mother and daughter often leaped on opportunities to criticise one another. “Go on, go explore.”

Bradley did not wait or linger to give her mother the response to the tease, but she did pause in her way to smile briefly to the staff greeting her along the way.

"You must be Miss Jackson,” a voice interrupted her reverie. Bradley turned to face a young woman, about her age, grappling with a large trunk. Her wet attire must have looked a comical mess, for the girl’s eyes were a mix of concern and amusement.

“Oh, please, be careful not to hurt yourself,” she warned, hurrying up to aid the girl, whom she believed to be right about her age. “It is awfully heavy, that one.” They lifted and immediately planted it down on the floor. “You may require some assistance with it.”

“I ought to leave it to the boys,” the girl said instead, bowing briefly to Bradley. “Miss.”

“No need for that, I am no royalty.” Bradley laughed at the poor girl’s lost face. “And you are?”

“Alison, Miss.” It was a little annoying how she insisted on the formality, but Bradley supposed it was the custom in the area for the estate staff to treat their patrons that way. She already loathed it there, everything so much more relaxed in dear old London.

“May I ask what is in it, Miss?” She broke Bradley's thoughts and the two gazed at the trunk.

“Books,” Bradley clarified and silence settled in again. “Well, I am off to explore the farm. Would you care to tell me where the stables are?”

“You fancy horses, Miss?” The sudden spark in Alison's eyes made Bradley nod, a grimace in her lips.

“Very much so. I have not ridden in a while, though. Not really the main activity in London. So I am not certain I still have the proper abilities for it.” Back in the day, when Bradley had been a child, she would visit her grandparents on her mother’s side in the countryside and they would spend the summers riding. Her papa had been the one to teach her how to do it. You ride like a real lady, Brad, he would tell her from across the field.

She still remembered the time the horse had gone loose and she had swung a leg over it, straddling the animal like the man did instead of sideways like the ladies were supposed to, jumping over the fence in full gallop like she had seen her grandfather do so many times. It had impressed all the family, her apparent skill. Except her mother, who had been extremely appalled. She already hated that Bradley had a passion for riding, let alone seeing her ride like a man and in such dangerous affairs. Her grandpapa understood her though, he saw all her talent as a gift and fully encouraged it.

They had not visited her grandparents in five years now, they would come to the city instead. Bradley enjoyed it, showing them her favourite places in London, taking her grandma to the shops. But she suspected it had simply been her mother’s way of keeping Bradley from developing further into riding.

It was a lost fight now. If she was to live on a farm, she ought to ride her days away.

“Oh, Miss, all you ought to do is get back on it! These things you do not forget.” Alison's new excitement and personality shone through when she spoke of the subject.

“Do you ride, Alison?” She wondered with curiosity. Alison looked away almost immediately, her cheeks turning a shade redder. “What is it? Are you not allowed?”

“I will do it no more, Miss.” Alison said in a promising tone.

“Please, why would I be mad?” Bradley was aghast with anyone even considering she would be mad with it.

“It is not really allowed for the house staff. But the stable boy, he has a big fool heart for me, and he lets me ride the horses without the patrons knowing.” She sighed, defeated in her confession. Bradley broke into laughter, which left Alison in sheer confusion. “Are you not upset, Miss?”

“Not at all,” Bradley said brightly. “I will ask, in fact, that you join me so we are certain I am not to get lost and be forgotten in the meadows.” Bradley hated being on her own, she enjoyed company, and Alison was already proving to be a good one. “Now tell me, does this stable boy have your heart too?”

Alison shook her head so firmly Bradley thought her neck might detach from her body. “Yanko is a darling, but I have no eyes for him.”

Bradley could not deny a little disappointment, she would love to hear some gossip from their estate, or perhaps play matchmaker for their staff. Not today, it seemed. Instead, she hooked an arm around the girl’s, tugging her along with her.

“Show me where the stables are,” Bradley clarified when Alison eyed her at a loss. “All right, so not Yanko, but there must be someone!” It had been dull weeks from London to Hampstead, Bradley was not bound to give up so easily on learning more of what happened around the quaint little city.

Her eyes darted to Alison as they walked toward the back of Spinney Abbey and the girl bursted with crimson cheeks, even more so than before when being caught red handed on her horse schemes.

“There is someone!” Bradley cheered with excitement and looked away, giving Alison the privacy of recovering herself.

“He is not really for me…” Alison confessed after a while, sadly. Bradley looked at her again and she knew what that gaze in the girl’s eyes meant—they were from different social status. The possibility of a commoner ever marrying a man of higher class was nearly null, most of the time none ever really caught their attention because they did not go to the same events, so Bradley wondered how Alison had come upon the charmer of her heart.

“How did you meet him?”

“I help them with the horses sometimes, he lives in Peterson Manor. The family has owned the estate for over a century.” It was big and old money, it meant Alison knew her place not to get involved or to even dream of having hopes that her knight in shiny armour would see her through. “They breed horses of the highest standards. So when they needed help with new foals, the old patrons never really bothered sending me over. Of course I will not if your parents will mind.”

Bradley chuckled, she was certain her mother would not mind that their staff would be a link to possibly the richest and most influential family in town. “I am firm that mother will not mind.”

“They are very reserved people, but Cory is very charming.” Alison had that blush again on her freckled face and it made Bradley smile.

“Is that his name?” She wondered as Alison nodded.

“Yes. He has a younger sister. Laura is our age.” Quickly, Alison corrected herself, “I am assuming.”

“I am seventeen,” Bradley clarified, remembering how her mother kept on repeating how that was a year too close to never being wed.

“So am I. Laura turns eighteen at the summer, Cory is a few years older.” The family, being such a highlight in the town, was sure to go noticed with the locals. Bradley imagined they ought to be the inspiration for every young lad and lady.

She could almost picture the two children. Him, a tall, strong, blonde blue-eyed young man. Well educated, the one most women would like to wed. Her, the perfect bride. Soft skin, gentle bright curls, petite features, who knew music, drawing, knitting. A perfect picture of a family.

“Do you know them well?” Bradley wondered aloud.

“We grew up together, Laura has been a good friend. But I know my place.”

“They seem like good people.” Of course she could not really place whether or not yet if they were the type of people she would love to meet and know for the rest of her life, or the stuck up type she loathed. But time would tell.

“In fact, Mr. Peterson has gifted a horse to your family, to welcome you in Hampstead. I am to bring it over tomorrow, perhaps you would like to come along to meet them?” Alison was no longer the shy and quiet server, so it seemed, and Bradley enjoyed that spontaneous look much more.

“I would love that, yes.”

It was hard for Laura to communicate what went on in her mind. It wasn’t always so much the amount of things inside it, but externalising instead. For that reason she was always more silent, observant, rather than the extravagant ladies her age. To her mother, the main reason she hadn’t yet found a suitable partner.

Laura thought otherwise. She thought her silence had nothing to do with the fact men didn’t fancy her. Instead her looks were to blame, truly not seeing herself as a prized beauty like most women. She was awfully tall, sometimes taller than most boys their age—and often the older ones too. Her hair wasn’t slick and soft, but a huge wild and long mass of coal locks. Her eyes were too green also. Her hands too strong, her hips too broad, her brows too thick, her jaw too squared. She doubted any suitable man could ever fall for her.

But what was really the suitable partner? Her brother often told Laura it was to be a man who cared for her, one who could maintain their status, someone who would make sure she was to have everything a lady needed. In other words, someone in their social standards. It should be an easy task if it wasn’t for the fact the Peterson's were the richest family in the entire county. For centuries it had been that way. Men weren’t lining up for her beauty and charm, but for her money instead, which immediately made Laura disgusted by them.

It would be easy for Cory to find himself a perfect young bride, but not so much for Laura to find herself a husband. It would always come with a weight of seeking influence or fortune. Perhaps why she couldn’t ever trust anyone that came along their way.

With Cory there was his charm, a true gentleman who any woman would wish to marry. He was tall brown eyed with dark sleek hair and squared jaw, whilst that worked for a man, Laura with her stronger and serious features stood behind in her mind. Their mother would tell her she was unique, her own remarkable self, but Laura didn’t own that confidence in front of a mirror—though she hid the insecurity pretty well in front of people.

She wasn’t a foolish young girl, naive and lost, Laura had things she knew a lot about—horses being the greatest of them all. Laura had grown up surrounded by it, with her family in the business of breeding the most spectacular and prized horses dating back five generations. She was an excellent rider, but it wasn’t her biggest passion, no. If it was up to her, the girl would spend her days and hours in the large library Peterson Manor had. But there was much more pressure around her, a vast array of preparations and lessons for becoming a perfect wife. Etiquette, drawing, knitting, piano, any lesson her mother could squeeze in between her riding and reading. It wasn’t easy to carry such burden.

Sometimes Laura would envy Alison, the commoner girl from Spinney Abbey, their neighbouring estate, who was free to become who she wished to be. She was jealous of the control the girl had of her own destiny. Even if she had no money or no title, she was still happier than Laura though she could ever become. Perhaps the main reason why the two became such good and close friends throughout the year, kindred spirits really.

It was always a moment she looked forward to, when she knew Alison was coming to pay a visit. She had the opportunity to be herself and not the prepped up doll her mother meant for her to be, even if just for a while.

Alison was due for a visit to pick up a horse. With the news of a new family taking over Spinney Abbey, her papa had chosen to gift them an animal in welcome, a tradition among their family. Laura thought it to be foolish, and indeed tried to argue. They knew not of the new patrons being horse lovers or even riders, and they were to give a prized animal of their collection. It was, to her, the most idiotic notion. But her father had made the point it wasn’t about the animal, but the gesture.

Mr. Peterson had always been a loving man, with a heart bigger than his own self—who was in fact very large around the edges. He’d give with no regret and admire the world most fiercely. Laura had learned from him to love and tend for horses, to read and to admire nature as it was, the complex majestic beauty that surrounded them. Laura loved her father dearly, and she loved how dreamy the man had always been, but they didn’t always agree.

Nonetheless, the gift was to be given and there was no point in her arguing. At least she got to see Alison for the afternoon.

What she hadn’t expected was for Alison to come towing the shiny new thing in town. Especially not when it was raining so heavily.

“Who’s that with Alison?” Cory, standing behind Laura as she looked out the window, wondered.

“I know as much as you do,” she said a little bitterly. She had been hoping to spend some time with Alison, but the other girl coming along showed Laura she’d have to entertain as her mother would have expected her to. 

“She’s lovely,” Cory commented, quite surprisedly.

Laura hadn’t stopped to analyse the girl all that much. She guessed her to be around their age, but she was quite the standard beauty.

Next to Alison, who was tall herself, the girl looked particularly short. Her blonde hair was tied in braids that contoured her scalp, but not very neatly (perhaps due to the wind and the rain). They were loose around the edges. Her face was delicate, a pointy nose and small lips, but her chin was uniquely pointy.

She couldn’t quite see her fully over the glass and with the distance, but Laura supposed she was quite like the rest of the blonde lot around town.

The two girls were lost in sight and Laura knew it was only a matter of time until they were taken to meet them up in the sitting. She turned to meet her brother’s gaze.

“I’m guessing she’s the daughter of the new owners of Spinney Abbey. Alison was coming to fetch the horse papa is gifting them.” She couldn’t really understand why the girl would make a point in coming when Alison was more than capable of getting the horse herself. But Laura had her guesses.

It was no question how her family was influential in town, how their possessions were envied. She loathed the thought that the girl was using Alison to make a connection with them. Even though it was merely a judgement on her part, what else could she want with them? Why would she so impolitely come uninvited?

“Fresh from London, I heard,” Cory commented, sitting back on a chair.

“A city snob. Lovely.” Laura rolled her eyes dramatically, taking her place in the sofa, book in hand as if to have an easy distraction once they arrived.

“Be nice to our guests, Laura,” Cory mocked, high pitched and sincerely laughing.

“All right, mother.” She joined him in laughter, but that quickly faded once the door opened by their staff.

“Miss Bradley Jackson and Miss Alison Namazi, your graces.” Following behind the announcer came Bradley and Alison, side by side, drenched from the pouring rain outside.

Laura could see her better now. Bright blue and dreamy eyes, the gentle smile on her lips and how the wet curls that had gotten loose framed her face. Her brother wasn’t wrong, she was lovely, unlike herself who was absurd and extraordinarily odd.

Cory was promptly standing with the guests’ arrival, smiling all his charm toward them.

“Alison!” He cheered on, coming to greet the ladies. He took her hand first, planting a kiss to the top, and then when his eyes fell on Bradley, he was taken aback.

Laura saw it from across the room, his enchantment made him almost glow, goof grins and foolish eyes. She eyed the girl, expecting her to be, like every other had, fallen for the faintest sight of his affection. Much to her surprise, Bradley was eyeing her instead.

She had greeted Cory almost dismissively, compared to what Laura had seen other women do for his attention, the move was quite surprising. Her blue pearls had darted toward Laura and there they had stood. It was almost defying, the way she held her gaze, had she not carried the softest and kindest look in her eyes.

Took them a long moment to break their gaze, longer than any socially acceptable situation. It felt to them both, and the outsiders too, almost as if they had known each other for centuries. Laura was the one to break the gaze, not because she was shy, but the sudden encounter made her especially uncomfortable. She couldn’t really place why, but Bradley made her stomach twitch.

“Miss Jackson, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Cory's voice sounded in the back of her mind, Laura's eyes then getting lost in the painting that stood the farthest away from the door. She was standing, but she hadn’t moved since the arrival, stiff and uneasy.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Peterson,” Bradley's voice brought Laura's eyes back to her, a sweet tone, almost like a calming lullaby. It was her turn to stare at her now. “I apologise for our appearance, we weren’t expecting the rain to catch up with us.” 

“Mr. Peterson would be my father, please call me Cory,” he corrected, but ever so politely. Bradley smiled, eyeing Alison instead.

“Oh, the famous!” Bradley chuckled and Laura had to shift her position, even her laughter sounded disturbing. “Alison has told me much about you.”

Trying to distract herself, Laura eyed her dear friend whose face had turned crimson. She’d known, for long now, how Alison had the deepest and truest feelings for Cory, but she was also fully aware it could never become anything. Not with their mother so keen on marrying them into well-bred families.

There was also the fact Cory didn’t feel the same way toward Alison, not truly. He thought of her as breathtaking, but he didn’t love her, nor care for her as she did him. Laura didn’t think Cory loved anyone but himself.

It was a shame for Alison. The marriage would have brought her family some well deserved status and stability. They had worked their whole lives at Spinney Abbey and without a suitable marriage, that would only continue to drag into further generations.

“This must be your sister Laura.” The sound of her name coming from Bradley's lips broke her trance and she looked up alarmed, like a child caught red handed.

“Yes, that’s my dear sister Laura.” Cory, like the great gentleman he was, escorted the two women toward Laura.

“It’s lovely to make your acquaintance. Alison tells me you’re an avid rider.” Bradley bowed gently and Laura repeated the gesture. She wasn’t smiling like Bradley whose teeth showed so brightly and welcoming. She was her usual serious, almost judgmental. She wasn’t really judging Bradley, she was just admiring her—in her own way.

“I am,” she said briefly. “I try to be.”

“Oh, she’s just being modest, Bradley. Laura is splendid.” Alison and her exchanged a look, but she still didn’t smile. “Bradley just got back on the horse this morning, but she’s a natural.”

“Are you not accustomed to riding horses?” It was Cory who asked and only then Laura realised how long they had been holding their gaze again because when Bradley looked away, she felt like she could breathe again.

“The last time I was on a horse, it was five years ago. I used to ride often at my grandfather’s. London doesn’t leave much room for horse rides.” Bradley explained, her eyes moving back and forth between the siblings. “It felt good to ride again today.”

“It is as if you never really stopped.” Alison was always kind, but Laura couldn’t deny she saw the proximity and connection of her and Bradley felt so strong in such short time. And she envied it, because Alison had been her friend first.

“Well, now you ought to have a lot more time and chances to practice,” Cory told them, Bradley nodding next.

“I tend to busy more with books,” she confessed, almost as if it was a sin.

“Oh?” For the first time Laura seemed interested in the conversation.

“You should have seen the amount of books she has brought from the city,” Alison grinned.

“Laura and yourself will get along really well.”

Laura doubted that would be the case, though, as Bradley didn’t sit well with her. Something she couldn’t place yet, but that brought an unease twist to her gut.

Laura was unlike anyone Bradley had ever seen, her beauty so striking it made Bradley's heart bolt. She couldn’t understand how no man had fallen at her feet yet. Were they all fools? Why wouldn’t they duel one another for the honour to be with such a prized beauty as her? She was incredibly tall, taller than most boys their age—and Bradley suspected, than the older ones too. Her hair was a stunning array of ebony waves. Her eyes were so deep and green, with just the most beautiful spark of relentlessness in them. Her hands were firm, her hips a breathtaking curve, her brows imposing her unique beauty, her jaw a charming and strong line. She wished she could have been born this beautiful and wondered again how no man had fallen for her yet.

She broke contact again with the young woman for what seemed the longest time, when Cory asked her about London.

“It’s the most stunning city.” Bradley knew well how dreamy her voice sounded, but it was hard to deny herself of the passion she had for the capital.

“I hear it’s very grey,” Laura intervened and, for the first time, Bradley eyed her distraught.

“Well, it rains some days—“

“I hear many days.” Laura said pointedly, some amusement in her tone, one that Bradley took as mockery. She blindly loved London and took it as a personal offence that someone that had never been there would criticise it so firmly.

“Well, you've never been, so you couldn’t quite grasp how incredible it is.” Bradley defended her point of view, breathing out slightly heavier.

“I hear the city is surrounded by carriages and nights run late and wild,” Laura added with what was clear disapproval. She wasn’t quite wrong about it, but Bradley still felt inclined to pursue her defence.

“That’s why it’s a very charming city! There’s so much art everywhere, so much life!”

“Doesn’t sound quite so bad,” it was Cory who said, when the air felt thicker in the room, clearing his throat in the process.

“Dreadful is the word,” Laura chuckled again.

“Do you not appreciate art and life?” Bradley said defyingly.

“There’s much life and much art in the country,” she told her, blankly. “With clearer skies.”

“Well, isn’t it raining now?” Bradley pointed out, appalled and frantic that their argument relied on the sole fact the other woman thought London, a city she had never stepped foot on, was too grey.

Laura motioned to speak again, but Cory cut in between them, feeling the need to be more welcoming. “I’m sure you will grow to love the country, nonetheless, Miss Jackson.” Bradley caught up when he gave his sister a pointed look and she made her way back to the couch, with her book in hand.

The afternoon was quiet but more awkward than any of them could have expected, with Cory trying to amuse them and Alison swooning over the boy, whilst Laura and Bradley kept to themselves for the most part. The sun was nearing setting when Laura excused herself and Cory gave up trying to be a good host on his own, offering the ladies a carriage to take them home, along with the gifted horse, which they accepted both gladly.

It was silent inside the carriage as well, for the most part. But Bradley burst out a sigh when Spinney Abbey was at sight.

“What a loathsome lady that one,” she said out of the blue, unable to keep it to herself any longer. She knew Alison had mentioned the two of them being friends for years now, but she hadn’t been able to stop thinking how dreadful Laura had been to her and it was extremely unnerving to keep it in.

Alison eyed her with alarm. Surely she had caught the unexpected tension between Bradley and Laura throughout the afternoon, but perhaps she had been far too focused on Cory and his charms to truly notice that Bradley had in fact loathed the other woman.

“What made you feel that way?” She was careful in her words, knowingly her place in the Jackson's household was of a servant, as well as she was getting along with Bradley. It would be far too reckless of her to go on defending Laura when she knew so little of Bradley and how she could truly react.

“The way she so firmly held to her opinion, even against the facts!” Bradley huffed, distraught still. The woman hadn’t left her mind throughout the journey back home.

Sure it was no question Laura was a one of a kind beauty, a spectacular rider according to Alison, and very well read woman according to her brother. But if Bradley was to pinpoint her opinion on her, she would describe her as arrogant and snobbish. She had shaped all people in the countryside to be exactly like Laura (Alison and Cory being exceptions to the case, with their welcoming charms).

Laura was presumptuous and Bradley had made up her mind that they would never get along.

Alison laughed and Bradley turned away from the window to face her. “What’s so funny?”

“Well, Laura is known to be quite stubborn in her opinions, indeed.” Alison herself could list a handful of times they had argued growing up, but she’d opted on to giving up on her argument. Not only because Laura was well more knowledgeable than herself but also because Alison knew how to see when a battle was lost.

“Why, but she was wrong!” Bradley argued and Alison just shrugged.

“She may or may not have been, but once an opinion is settled in her mind, it’s really hard to change it. Believe me, I know it well.”

Bradley did not press any further, afraid it would only get herself more unnerved by it all. She had hoped to make acquaintances with her neighbours and perhaps enjoy a pleasant afternoon, but she could not have been more wrong.

As much as she hated to admit it, Bradley had hoped she would find people with a mindset similar to hers, that she would be able to make friends in the country. People who would be ahead of their time and not small minded fools. It was harsh of her to make judgement on one meeting in a single afternoon, but she had always been excellent at reading people.

She would not really admit of her hopes that Hampstead would be better for her, that perhaps she could move on from her life in London and her dozens of forward thinking friends. It was not something she ever externalised, but she had indeed hoped for. But as the days turned into weeks, her point was further proved.

Bradley was struggling to fit in, to accept all the looks around town laying on her when they went to shop for dresses, on how some of the matrons at the shops would make up their minds about their family being too used to the city and not give them a place in town. (But then again, she could not blame them when she had been doing a quite similar judging of her own about all the country rats that they all were).

It was pleasant to have Alison's company, on the other hand.

With days dedicated to getting herself back on the horse, Alison had proven to be a tremendous aid. Along with the stable boy, Yanko, who truly had been head over heels for the lady in company of the house. Alison could not care for his pursuits though, as Bradley had noticed consistently.

He would bring her flowers he collected from the meadows, and slip small poems in her apron when they were standing a bit too close to one another.

Bradley, in her daydreams, would silently watch and root for them. For Alison to see it was absolutely pointless to be enamoured with Cory when there was a perfectly fine man at her level right there, and so absolutely in love with her. She would think, so many times a day, how she wished someone would be this enchanted by her presence as Yanko was with Alison's.

She had sneaked up on Alison once and managed to grab one of the poems he’d given her, reading it out loud in the mountains when the two girls had stopped their ride to give the steeds a rest.

“‘I like to sleep with the windows open,’” Bradley recited aloud, running from Alison's grasp in the midst of laughter.

“Give this back to me, Miss Bradley!” Alison shouted out, her face several shades of crimson.

“‘The liberty of it,

Of calling it mine.

Oh Alison,

To be with thee,

To call you my wife,

To give you all my loyalty,

There would be no better life.’”

“Miss, will you stop that, please!” Alison had managed to snatch the poem back, stuffing it in her apron where so many other slipped papers stood.

“You are blushing, Alison dear,” Bradley told her with unmoved amusement. “Oh, come on, Alison. You must admit he’s rather sweet.”

“He is foolish.”

She had wondered for so long why Alison had avoided the stable boy’s investments, and she was not any closer to understanding it. With the present situation, any girl their age would be eager for the prospect of a husband and yet Alison seemed to avoid it at all costs. Bradley herself knew the notion of being alone forever was ludicrous for any lady, even her who wished to marry for love (she was simply very hopeful her loved one was out there in a search for her heart and ought to show up at any minute). But to have a man pursue her with such fierceness and avoid it, as Alison did, Bradley had never experienced and she could not imagine what it was like.

Fiercely, she believed it would be wonderful to have someone pay such attention to her, to want and to need her so passionately. Bradley believed that ought to be true love, Alison was simply too blind to see it.

And she had hoped it would happen to her too. Bradley hoped a man would fall to her feet and declare his love for her, because she knew in her heart that it would be the moment she would know to be the one.

And she had hoped and longed for it.

Until the day it happened.

Chapter Text

The letter from the Peterson's was sent during Autumn of that year, an invitation to a ball that had reached every noble home in the entire county.

It was meant to be the event of the season, perfectly planned in accordance with Mrs. Peterson's desires. All the ladies and the gentlemen of highest status in the county were to be invited—the ladies so they would envy and aspire on the beauty and status of Laura and the men so they would yearn and fight to take her hand in marriage.

Laura was dreading every minute of it. To be exposed in front of so many people, some whom she considered close companions and others that she had grown up with and absolutely loathed. It would be one thing to only have only her friends there, in the celebrations of another year in life (something she was not so found of already, for what had she accomplished this year that was so different than the previous one). But to have herself towed around and exposed as a brand new art piece included in her mother’s collection? Sounded absurd and nonsensical.

First there was the dress, which was a whole affair to Martha Peterson. Laura had little say in it, excusing herself by claiming ignorance of the latest fashion. Which was not entirely a lie. The prospect of serving as her mother’s doll again, as she had so many times in her childhood, was a grievous nightmare. At least the fabrics were pretty, they had come all the way from France and were the finest anyone could acquire. Laura had gotten a glimpse of it in between fittings, the beautiful silk and lace—all of them white and pearl in accordance to etiquette for a lady being presented to society.

Then there was the matter of being presented to a society where she knew all the people. Laura had been born and raised in Hampstead, never truly leaving the county except for the occasional trip to the family’s summer home near the shore or their winter home in the mountains. But Laura had always loved the country life much more fiercely than the months she would spend at the beach or in the snow with their family.

Obviously she was not a regular in societal parties, as it would not be proper for a lady below her current age to be attending (something some lower class parents would allow for better chances for marital ties, but her mother would never agree with such appalling ideals). It still felt ghastly to be flaunted to the people she had known her entire life.

But the worst of all was the realisation that she was bound to be courted.

These balls happened for one reason and one reason only, so that women could be displayed as quintessential beauties of purity at eighteen years old (seventeen or less for the lower classes) and be, in their foolish naiveness, swooned over by much older men into loveless marriages.

But Laura was not foolish neither naive.

Her problem was not about falling into a loveless marriage for she did not believe in love at all. She had lived through the worst type of darkness in her life, she had endured sorrow and pain, and love was never there to be her saviour. Her books were. And even though they had always shown different possibilities, even hope at times, she was not green like the other girls her age. Her fear was much worse than any broken reality.

She did not discuss it, though. She did not speak of her fears. They were better well hidden within, behind the masks she wore every day to the world.

A fear Laura knew to be impossible to run from, especially with the ball fast approaching. But it could be pushed aside, left in a forgotten drawer, whilst the preparations happened. And she was an expert at making herself forget the worst and focusing on the current problems surrounding her gala—which at the moment was the guest list (and a very specific guest).

“Must she be invited?” Laura wondered aloud to her mother, once they finally sat together to discuss the matter of the attendees. Martha had recently returned from a long vacation in the South of France, where she had brought the most remarkable presents to her children (even though Laura had noticed how Cory's trunk was much more filled than her own. She knew her mother to shamelessly played favourites with her children).

But Laura would have plenty time to rummage through the gifts, the list was a much more pressing matter.

“What is the problem with the Jackson's daughter?” Martha, who had not been there for the welcoming of the new family of neighbours, wondered with sheer curiosity, eyeing her daughter. “Is she not a proper lady?”

Laura shrugged, her face twisted in a bothered frown.

“I thought she was a fine lady,” Cory intervened with interest in the conversation. Laura eyed him with strangeness, he never really cared for the balls, unless there was something to gain from it (and she groaned with disgust at the realisation of just what he could be hoping to gain from the new girl in their county).

“A city snob,” Laura corrected without much nuance to her tone. Having to explain why the presence of the girl bothered her would be a lot more complicate, for Bradley had given her no reason to dislike her except for the brief banter over the weather and an afternoon of silent stares. But Bradley did bother her, she just could not place why and she would prefer not having to explain when she did not understand it herself.

“Well, a city snob or a nice lady, we must invite her, Laura.” Martha focused her attention back on the papers in front of her, disappointed on the lack of new gossip during her absence. “It would be extremely impolite not to invite our new neighbours when they hold a social status close to ours.”

“We do not know them,” she pointed out mid sigh. She wanted to say that she did not know them and it was her birthday, but Laura knew a lost battle when she saw one.

“A lovely opportunity to change that,” Martha said closing the matter, raising from her chair. She moved with such grace, her skirts ruffling lightly when she swayed around the desk and made her way to Laura. “You shall to give her the invitation in hand.” It was not a request and Laura knew it well, but she did not flinch.

“You may send the delivery boy,” she argued immediately, looking appalled at her mother.

“We have to be welcoming, Laura.” Martha handed her the letter and with a free hand smoothed her daughter’s loose strands of hair. “You will go to their home and invite them.” There was a slight hint of threat in her tone but it was so well hidden behind a smile and sweet gesture that this time Laura felt herself and her confidence shortening.

“I do not see the need of going all the way there,” she said, but not without stuttering.

“I will take it, mother,” Cory rose from the sofa, making his way to the display of false affection to break apart the two with the charms of being the older male sibling who all adored. Laura could read right through his real intentions, though.

“It is not necessary, dear—”

“I insist, mother. I shall take Laura with me if you wish so. But as the future man of the house, it is my duty to be welcoming to our neighbours,” he insisted further, taking his mother’s hand and the letter in the process.

Laura stood in front of them unmoved, but Cory could also read right through her blank stares to be aware she was murdering him in a slow death inside her mind (which was absolutely true). Not only had he managed to obligate her to go give the invite but he had now added himself to the party. She would kill him, painfully.

“Very well,” Martha agreed in a smile, that faded as quick as her head turning to Laura. “You should learn you mannerisms from your brother.” She snaked away from her children, slipping out of the sitting room in silence.

“If I were to learn anything from Cory, how to get under a woman’s dresses would be the last of it,” Laura mumbled to herself just as Martha shut the door behind herself.

“What was that, sissy?” He smiled over at Laura, who rolled her eyes. She knew Cory had heard her, he was standing close enough.

“I know that is what you intent on doing,” Laura huffed. “She is not for you, Cory.”

“Are you defending her now?” He laughed soundly and the sarcasm in his tone made Laura grunt even further. “Thought you loathed her.”

She punched his shoulder in her distress.

“I loathed all of you.”

And just like that, Cory Peterson was infatuated by Bradley Jackson.

Bradley had not been expecting him to come bring her an invite to the most awaited event of the season, with a distressed Laura in tow, let alone for him to court her in the process.

Bradley, who had always wished for a man to court her, who had awaited for the day it would happen, felt absolutely out of place. It was the most awkward sensation in the world. She felt terrible for feeling bad (especially because he was everything every woman their age wanted) and blamed on Alison. On knowing how much her now closest friend felt about him.

Laura was right there too, watching it all, and all Bradley wanted was to hide from the surprise look in his sister’s eyes. Had no one known he would court her? Was in his plans to surprise every single person in the room with his pursuit?

She wanted to get away from all of it, from all of them, and so she did. Apologising and excusing herself with the argument that she was feeling ill. Cory stood entertained by Sandy Jackson (who was appalled by her daughter’s absolutely unacceptable behaviour) while Bradley sneaked to the gardens instead of her room.

As much as she hated the country, the breeze and the smell of the flowers helped her feel less overwhelmed every time.

Further back in the property there was an ancient oak tree, tall and majestic. The previous patrons had installed a swing which Bradley found solace in the afternoons when she sat to read or draw. It had a stunning landscape around it. But at times, it just felt good to unwind.

Why had Cory's affection bothered her so much, leaving her distraught to the point she had to not be in the same room as they all were? A man like Cory, handsome and wealthy, was all Bradley had wished for herself when reading her novels. Coming to her house in a pompous carriage, dragged by white horses, to woo and court her. Yet, she felt wrong. Something felt wrong.

She could revisit every book, every page she had ever read, it would exhibit scenarios exactly like those, show her to be foolish and insecure. But something inside told Bradley that it was indeed unfitting. The books were mistaken, Cory was unsuitable to her, and again she attributed it to Alison and the friendship she now shared with her.

Bradley could not betray her friend that way and let Cory court her so audaciously. How much of a friend would she be if she allowed such behaviour?

A crack of leaves behind her made Bradley jump off the swing, turning around in alarm. She thought Cory could have followed her there and now she would have no excuse, she was doomed to turn him down. That’s what she ought to do, turn him down flat. Tell him there would be no chance of these pursuits ever turning into something, because she respected and cared for Alison far too much already. But to her surprise Laura was standing in front of her, looking alarmed too.

“I did not mean to startle you,” she explained quickly. “My apologies.”

Bradley did not utter a word, caught off guard, unsure how she was to explain being outside and not in her room.

“I was looking for Alison when I saw you here,” Laura decided to elaborate over Bradley's silence. There was a brief nod, in which Laura tried to push further. “Do you know where she is?”

Afraid to stumble in her words, Bradley shook her head.

“Very well.” There was some hesitation on Laura's steps when she turned around, and before Bradley could breath properly again, the woman turned back. “Are you feeling all right?”

She had gone too long without uttering anything and she knew quite well that it was extremely impolite on her part, so she nodded.

“I just needed some air,” Bradley explained simply.

“I see you are getting accustomed to the country.” Laura's lips curved up in smile and Bradley thought to herself how wicked of her to taught her that way. Bradley's stomach turned and she sighed in distress, annoyed the woman insisted in the matter that had gotten them on bad terms before.

“It is too early to tell,” Bradley said simply, looking away at the house in the distance. As dreadful as Laura's presence was, it was still more inviting than returning to the others that awaited for her there. Because if Laura was there, then Cory was most definitely still in the property.

“Thank you for the invitation to your ball,” Bradley added casually. “I do wonder how different they are from the presentations to society in London.”

That seemed to spark something in Laura, who looked at her with furrowed brows.

“How is it that it’s celebrated there?” She wondered aloud.

Bradley thought back to the balls in London. It was not proper for a lady that had not been presented to attend other events, but the presentation balls were the main events among the ladies and lads their age specifically because all of them were allowed and encouraged to attend.

They were always huge, the most spectacular gala’s she had ever been to. Hosted in beautiful homes and at times even in theatre’s foyers. There would be music, dancing, performing, and most excitingly—liquor. Free and in loads for all.

She would always have a good time at these, with her friends in tow, laughing the nights away. Bradley doubted Laura's ball would be as fun as any she had attended in the capital.

“It’s quite the spectacle. Performances and music and dancing,” she said in a slightly dreamy tone, chuckling at the end, doubting that Laura would be able to grasp any of it. She was certain hers would have no real entertainment. None that could entice Bradley the slightest bit.

“Mother tells me there ought to be lots of dancing,” she said but her face looked like the idea was abominable. And so Bradley noticed.

“Have you never been to one?” she asked in surprise.

“Mother never allowed me. Not before I had my own.”

Bradley gasped in surprise. “In London it is allowed for all ladies to attend.”

“I suppose things are arranged differently in the countryside.” Laura concluded, the brief turn of her lips fading away as quick as it had formed. Bradley nodded in return.

“I suppose so.”

After a moment, Laura shifted her gaze back to Bradley, speaking in a slightly defensive tone, “we have even hired the best musicians from a neighbouring county."

Bradley raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Oh? Well, that's impressive."

Laura hesitated for a moment, her pride slightly bruised. While she wanted to showcase the grandeur of her family's ball, there was also a part of her that genuinely wanted to make the event memorable for the attendees, including Bradley.

"We might not have the grandeur of London, but we have our own charms here," Laura stated. "The night will be filled with laughter, joy, and perhaps a surprise or two."

Curiosity got the better of Bradley. "A surprise?"

Laura smirked, clearly pleased to have caught Bradley's attention. "You'll have to attend to find out."

“I suppose so,” Bradley said once more, but she was now secretly more keen on attending.

“Perhaps they might not be as grand as the ones you’ve attended in London. Nonetheless, I hope it is enjoyable enough for you. Our balls do possess a charm. It’s less about the show and more about the people.”

Bradley looked a bit skeptical, arching an eyebrow. “And less liquor, I presume?”

Laura laughed, a genuine laugh that caught Bradley off guard. “You would be surprised, Miss Jackson. Even the most genteel gatherings can sometimes have an undercurrent of wild revelry. But that’s something you'll have to discover for yourself.”

The two shared a silent moment, the tension from their previous encounters slowly shifting. The gentle rustle of the trees and the distant sounds of a pianoforte playing from the house filled the silence.

Bradley looked at Laura, concluding her own thoughts out loud, “It doesn’t matter how grand or lavish the event is. Sometimes, the most cherished moments are those that are intimate, surrounded by those we can enjoy the company of.”

Laura quirked an eyebrow, mockingly, “You sound like you’ve read too many novels.”

Bradley chuckled, flustering to be caught off guard. “Maybe I have. But that doesn’t make it any less true. I am sure your presentation will be wonderful in its own unique way.”

Laura's eyes softened, and for a brief moment, Bradley saw a glimmer of the younger girl that still existed beneath the poised exterior. “Thank you. Your words are kind…” She paused to consider something. “Cory sure seems to be enjoying of your company.”

“I must admit,” Bradley began, hesitantly, flustered by the realization the courtship had been bluntly known. “I was taken aback by your brother’s sudden interest.”

Laura looked down, kicking at a pebble on the ground. “Cory can be… unpredictable. And perhaps a bit impulsive. I did not anticipate his actions either, and I apologize if it caused any discomfort.”

“It’s not that…” Bradley sighed, trying to find the right words. “It’s just that I don’t want to be a pawn in some game or agenda. I moved here to…” She struggled to admit that her mother’s plan was exactly that—to get her courted and wed soon, which seemed to be moving smoothly for her. “Well, I moved here because father and mother wanted to reconnect with our roots, not to be thrust into a whirlwind of expectations.”

Laura nodded understandingly, but her superiority tone had returned all of the suddenly. “The game of courtship and societal expectations can be stifling, and it is all part of life, Miss Jackson. But do remember, not every gesture is laced with ulterior motives. Sometimes, it's just a gesture.”

“But why me?” Bradley whispered, more to herself than to Laura.

The older girl looked away into the house and shrugged. “Perhaps he sees something in you that you don’t yet see in yourself. Or perhaps, like many young men, he is simply captivated by the allure of the unknown.”

“Well Alison, she told me…” Bradley trailed off, thinking of her newfound friend’s affections for Cory. She didn’t want to reveal anything that could put Alison into an odd position, but as she thought of something else to say, Laura sighed and cut in between.

“Alison is a dear friend, and her affections for my brother are well known within the family. But Cory's heart is his own, as is yours,” she said as her eyes fell back on Bradley.

The two ladies shared a brief smile, Bradley nodded subtly. The silence was interrupted by the distant laughter and voices from the house. Both turned their gaze back to the mansion, realizing it was time to rejoin the others.

“Shall we?” Bradley asked as she stood from the swing.

“Lead the way,” Laura responded with a small nod.

As they made their way back, walking side by side, both kept their distance. The animosity wasn’t fully gone, they were grown up enough to know there were norms that had to be followed and behaving properly and politely to a neighbor would be expected.

The clattering of hooves against the cobblestone pathway resonated rhythmically as Cory and Laura sat opposite each other in the carriage. The dim, ambient light of the late evening barely illuminated their faces, but the tension was palpable. The rhythmic rocking of the coach juxtaposed the heavy atmosphere that lay between them.

Laura, usually one for direct confrontation, hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “I spoke to her,” she began, referring to Bradley. “In the gardens.”

Cory's eyebrows knitted in surprise, and he looked up. “Did she say anything about... our sudden visit there?”

Laura shook her head. “Not directly. But I could tell she was troubled. You took her quite by surprise with your displays of affections, Cory.”

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “Was it wrong of me?”

“It's not about right or wrong. But unexpected, most definitely,” she responded, her eyes narrowing as she tried to gauge her brother’s thoughts.

Cory leaned back, his gaze unfocused, lost in thought. “There’s just something about her, Laura. Something that captivates me.”

Laura chuckled softly, “You always were one for dramatics. But I’ll admit, she is… unique. Different from the other women we know. Perhaps it's that she's from London,” or perhaps it's simply who she is, she finished silently to herself.

A smirk appeared on Cory's face. “You sound almost envious.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes at him. “Hardly. Just trying to understand my brother's sudden infatuation.”

Cory sighed deeply, his playful demeanor fading. “I can't deny what I feel. Should I have suppressed my feelings?”

“You and your feelings lost me a whole afternoon of reading and riding…” Laura looked out of the window for a moment, watching as the trees passed them by, trying to deviate from the fact it had been an enjoyable afternoon. “Feelings are complicated, Cory. We can't control when or how they emerge. But we can control our actions.”

He smiled, contemplating her words. “If I didn’t know you better, I would say you wish for my happiness.”

“Don’t get too hooked on that,” she smirked quietly, looking outside. “Besides, life rarely offers such perfect outcomes,” she replied with a hint of melancholy. “But honesty and transparency, can often lead to the best possible result.”

The two continued their journey in contemplative silence, each immersed in their thoughts about the evening and the unfolding situation.

Laura's mind whirled with a mix of emotions. While her conversation with Bradley had been, at best, cautiously cordial, she had glimpsed a side of the young lady that wasn’t immediately evident. Beneath the metropolitan sophistication and self-assured facade was a vulnerability, an innate desire to fit in and find happiness.

The evening had cast a new light on Cory too. She had always seen her brother as someone predictable, a man of routine and habit. But his actions tonight had surprised her, leaving her pondering if perhaps she didn’t know him as well as she thought. Was it merely youthful impulsiveness, or had the newcomer awakened something more profound in him?

She also couldn’t help but think of Alison. The girl’s affections for Cory were clear to anyone who looked closely, and Laura felt a pang of sympathy for her. Would she be heartbroken if Cory's affections for Bradley solidified? And how would it affect their social circle?

The landscape outside, bathed in silvery moonlight, rolled on, but Laura felt as if they were traversing uncertain terrain. While the quiet of the carriage enveloped them, she wished for clarity. It was a puzzle, an intricate dance of emotions, loyalties, and desires—and she hated the lack of control over things. For now, all she could do was wait.

The sun began its descent, casting the town of Hampstead in a golden glow. Banners of vibrant colors adorned the streets, flapping merrily in the wind and signaling the much-awaited annual Autumn Fair of the ton.

A grand archway, intricately designed with ribbons and flowers, marked the entrance to the fairgrounds. Stalls lined the pathway, each one a marvel of its own: silks from the East, porcelain figurines with intricate designs, mouth-watering pastries that filled the air with their tantalizing aroma, and an assortment of baubles that glittered enticingly under the setting sun. There was even a carousel, with expertly carved animals, painted in shimmering golds and reds, that whirled around to the tune of a hauntingly beautiful melody played by a live orchestra nearby.

As the clock struck four, the elite began to trickle in, their fine carriages drawing up to the entrance. Women in exquisite gowns, their hair adorned with fresh flowers and ribbons, stepped out, carefully holding their dresses above the dirt paths. Men in their finest waistcoats and polished boots offered their arms, leading the ladies through the meandering pathways of the fair.

A separate section was marked off for the common folk, where they too celebrated with their own form of merriment. They had their stalls with handcrafted goods, their music, dances, and games. While their festivities were humble in comparison, the joy and laughter emanating from that section was no less genuine.

Hampstead wasn’t only known for its vast farms and horse breeding estates, the ton’s events were also fantastic and spoken about in several of the nearby counties. Although it brought public of all types, rich and poor never mixed in the events.

The divide between the rich and the poor was evident, but for this day, the boundaries blurred just a little. From a distance, one could see Lord Micklen, known for his strict adherence to societal norms, sneaking a taste of a pie from a commoner’s stall, much to the delight of the onlooking crowd. Lady Jordan, always the rebel, was seen dancing with a charming young man from town, their laughter echoing above the din.

The Autumn Fair of Hampstead was not just an event; it was an experience, a fleeting moment when the rigidity of societal structures melted away, and joy became the universal language. As the night approached and the lanterns began to light up, the unspoken boundaries would again come into play. For those few hours, Hampstead would shimmer with a magic that would be remembered and spoken of for months to come.

As the evening progressed, a particularly grand carriage drew up to the entrance. The doors opened, and out stepped Bradley Jackson, radiant in a gown of dark lavender silk that made her stand out amongst the sea of pastels and whites. Her blonde hair was coiled elegantly atop her head, with a few tendrils playfully escaping, framing her face. Beside her, her mother, Mrs. Jackson, donned a graceful gown of deep blue, a nod to her more mature status, yet every bit as stylish. Mr. Jackson, a tall and distinguished gentleman with silver streaks in his hair, offered his arm to his wife as they made their entrance.

Whispers traveled fast, and it wasn’t long before Cory, who had been engaged in light conversation with some acquaintances, caught sight of the Jackson family. With an excusable nod to his current company, he made his way toward them. His confident stride, combined with his impeccable dressing, made many heads turn.

"Ah, the Jacksons," Cory greeted warmly, his eyes momentarily locking with Bradley's. "What a pleasure to see you this evening. Hampstead's Autumn fair has never looked brighter."

Mrs. Jackson beamed, clearly taken by the young man's charm. "Mr. Peterson, you flatter us. But seeing the grandeur of this event, I must admit, we are just stars in a vast galaxy tonight."

Cory chuckled softly, the sound too melodic to Bradley's ears. "Perhaps, but some stars," he glanced at Bradley, "shine brighter than others."

A delicate blush colored Bradley's cheeks, but she held his gaze, her own twinkling with mirth. "Well, then, we should ensure all the stars get their chance to shine, shouldn’t we?"

"Indeed," Cory agreed, turning his attention back to her parents. "Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, if you permit, I would be honored to introduce Miss Bradley to some of the ton's notable figures. I believe they are most eager to make her acquaintance."

Mr. Jackson exchanged a glance with his wife. Mrs. Jackson, clearly charmed by Cory's polite demeanor and undeniable charisma, nodded. "It would be a pleasure, Mr. Peterson. We trust you'll take good care of our daughter,” Mr. Jackson replied.

"With utmost respect, I assure you," Cory replied, offering a slight bow before extending his arm to Bradley.

As they began to walk away, Mrs. Jackson whispered to her husband, "Such a charming young man. It’s no wonder he's the talk of the ton."

Bradley and Cory delved deeper into the heart of the fair, the magic of the evening and the allure of new acquaintances promising a night of memorable encounters.

The lanterns above shone brightly, reflecting off the cobblestone pathways of the fair. As Cory and Bradley continued their stroll, they came upon a small gathering, animatedly chatting and laughing.

Cory’s tone turned playful, "Miss Bradley Jackson, allow me to introduce you to the intricate web of Hampstead's elite."

First was Maggie Brener. Bradley could immediately sense a free-spirited energy about her, reminiscent of a bird that refused to be caged. Her attire was unconventionally bold for the ton, and the glint in her eyes bespoke of a woman who played by her own rules. Maggie’s hand was warm as they shook hands, but Bradley noticed a slight withdrawal, perhaps a reluctance to blend entirely with society.

Maggie gave a nod, her acknowledgment clear but brief. "Enjoying the fair?” she said with a hint of mischief.

“I’ve just arrived and Cory was kind enough to escort me here, but all looks wonderful,” Bradley explained quickly, a fluster taking over her cheeks, she didn’t want to others to know he was courting her, but he made it awfully difficult.

“Isn’t that sweet of you, Cory,” said the woman standing beside Maggie, Claire Conway. The contrast between them was stark. Claire's gentle aura was calming. Her blue eyes held stories of kindness and understanding, making Bradley think of a patient teacher or a wise elder in a village. The slight wheeze in her breath and the worn edges of her dress spoke of a woman who put others before herself. Bradley remembered hearing about Claire's work at the local church, teaching children. Her admiration for Claire grew, thinking of the hurdles she must have overcome in a society that valued status over selflessness.

"Miss Jackson," Claire greeted, her voice soft and melodic. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"The pleasure is mine," Bradley replied, smiling warmly. She felt a genuine connection with Claire, sensing the kindness and depth in her.

“I’ve heard much about you, Miss Jackson. It's delightful to finally meet you.” Hannah Shoenfeld said, in all her striking presence. Despite her association with the Conways, she carried an air of adventure and curiosity, as if she was perpetually on the cusp of a new discovery. Her skin, a rich shade of brown, gleamed under the lantern light. The bond between her and Claire was evident – two souls bound by shared experiences and genuine affection. Occasionally, Bradley noticed Alex Levy, her presence certainly of great importance among the group.

Alex radiated an aura that was rare in the circles of high society, that drew people in. Her large smiles and intense eyes made people feel loved and heard, but Bradley sensed an eagerness to fit in that was almost desperate.

Charlie Black was a pillar among them, constantly looking out for the others. Whenever the conversation veered towards anything controversial or potentially upsetting, Charlie, or Chip as his friends called him, was quick to divert, ensuring everyone felt comfortable and valued.

And then there was Paul Marks. Tall and charismatic, he undoubtedly caught the attention of many. But there was an unease about him that Bradley couldn't shake off. His smiles were too rehearsed, his laughs a tad too loud. There was a predatory aura about him, lurking just beneath the surface of his charming exterior, as if one was sitting in the presence of a wolf. She could sense that others felt it too, but none dared to speak of it.

Laura leaned against a decorated pillar, feeling somewhat trapped as she listened to her parents discussing the newest trade developments with a neighboring duke. The conversations at these events were almost always the same, and she was growing restless, itching for something or someone to pique her interest.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her brother Cory and Bradley Jackson engaged in what seemed to be an animated conversation. The lavender silk dress caught her eye. The whisperings of her beauty did no justice to the real thing. Her blonde locks, the elegant twist of her neck, and the graceful sweep of her gown as she moved were mesmerizing.

For a moment, the air around Laura thickened, and her heart raced. She was… entrancing. Laura thought, swallowing hard. She never anticipated being this affected by Bradley. Her mind raced back to the whispers, the rumors of Cory's interest. He has impeccable taste, she mentally conceded. The exchange she’d have with Bradley had been filled with sharp wit and hidden depths, a dance of words that had intrigued Laura, proving that beauty wasn’t her only charm.

Now, watching her from a distance, Laura couldn't help but feel a tug of curiosity. Bradley's vivacious spirit, evident even from afar, was what drew Laura in.

Wanting a reprieve from her parents' conversation, Laura gracefully excused herself and moved towards the gathering. “Good evening,” she greeted, her voice melodious.

Cory turned, a smile breaking across his face. “Ah, Lady Laura. Fashionably late as always,” he greeted with a smile, "I was wondering if we'd have the pleasure of your company this evening."

Paul's eyes, previously scanning the vicinity with a slightly predatory glint, paused on Laura. There was a brief acknowledgment, a smirk, before his attention shifted elsewhere, almost dismissively.

Laura shivered under her skin, in acknowledgment of his watchful eyes, but her focus stood on Cory. "The evening has been... boring,” she replied, casting a playful glance back at her parents, "but I believe the best is yet to come.” Her gaze shifted to Bradley, her eyes reflecting genuine interest. "Miss Jackson, we meet again."

Bradley's lips curved into a smile. "Lady Laura. It appears our paths are destined to keep crossing."

Laura raised an eyebrow, remembering their previous encounter. "Indeed.” The pause made it evident she was taking in Bradley's appearance. The slight uptick of Bradley's lips showed she caught Laura's surprise, and the mirth in her eyes reciprocated the sentiment. “We are neighbors, after all.” The atmosphere was charged with a palpable tension, but not an uncomfortable one. It was the kind of tension that arises from two formidable forces recognizing each other, filled with promise and possibility.

Bradley, having sensed Laura's unspoken admiration, remarked in a lower voice, "Countryside events always seem to leave an impression, don’t they?"

Laura's eyes twinkled. “Indeed. They have a way of being both memorable and intimate." She then looked pointedly at Maggie, who was currently engrossed in an animated conversation with Charlie. "Just like some memorable incidents from the past, wouldn’t you agree, Maggie?”

Maggie's eyes narrowed slightly but then she laughed, her face lighting up with mischief. “Oh, you never let me live that down, do you?”

“It’s not every day one sees a lady of the ton chase after a runaway chicken in the middle of a grand ball,” Charlie added with a chuckle.

Maggie feigned a gasp. “Betrayed by my own kin!”

As the laughter bubbled around them, the momentary tension dissolved. Laura and Bradley shared another look. In that fleeting exchange, words weren't needed. The mutual acknowledgment of their shared experience, and perhaps, the hint of a budding rivalry, was evident.

From a distance, the scene looked like any other gathering at the Autumn Fair of Hampstead - a group of the ton, laughing and enjoying the evening's festivities. But under the surface, a myriad of emotions swirled: the hopes and aspirations of young hearts, the secrets and rivalries that only a keen observer would discern.

Cory’s eyes glanced over to a stall not too far away, where various delicacies of the fair were being showcased. The aroma wafted over, making his mouth water. “Miss Jackson,” he began, drawing Bradley's attention, “have you had the chance to try some of Hampstead’s famed fair delights?”

Bradley's eyes gleamed with interest. "Not yet."

Cory offered her his arm. "Allow me to introduce you to some of the culinary wonders of our fair town."

Bradley nodded, slipping her arm into his. "Lead the way, Mr. Peterson.”

“Please call me Cory, Mr. Peterson is my father,” he corrected politely with a large smile.

“Very well, Cory.”

Laura watched as they walked away, their interaction smooth and seemingly effortless. A hint of envy tugged at her heart, not directed at Bradley but at the ease with which her brother Cory engaged with her. Their rapport was evident, and as they laughed at some shared joke, the distance between them seemed to shrink.

Laura's fingers twitched at her side, a longing to be part of their joy filling her. She had always been close to her brother, their bond unshakable amidst the highs and lows of the ton’s drama. But seeing him now, so at ease with Bradley, made her feel oddly left out.

Brushing away those feelings, she tried to divert her attention back to the group, but her gaze kept drifting back to the pair, now engrossed in tasting various delicacies. There was a lightness in Cory's step, a genuine smile on Bradley's face. It was clear they were enjoying each other's company immensely.

Resignedly, Laura sighed, attempting to refocus on the conversation around her. However, the images of her brother and the newcomer lingered in her mind, kindling a touch of envy she hadn't expected to feel.

Bradley had been brought up in a society where certain gestures could not be declined without causing a scandal. So, when Cory, a man of his stature and significance, had offered his arm to guide her to the culinary delights of the fair, she felt compelled to accept. But deep inside, a knot tightened in her stomach; she had genuinely enjoyed the camaraderie of the group, where conversations flowed freely and where she felt a part of something larger.

As they walked, Cory regaled her with tales of past fairs, of legendary foods and the people who made them. His enthusiasm was infectious, and every so often he'd crack a joke or make a humorous observation.

She found herself laughing, more out of politeness than true amusement. His words flowed like a river, effortlessly weaving through tales and jests, making it hard for her to interject. She realized she was more of a spectator to his performance than an active participant in their conversation.

"A gentleman once tried to juggle five of the apple pastries, thinking them light as air. Instead, he ended up with a face full of cream and pastry!" Cory chuckled at his own anecdote.

Bradley let out a gentle laugh, picturing the scene, "How unfortunate for him, but surely entertaining for the onlookers."

"Oh, it was a sight to remember," Cory replied, with a twinkle in his eye. "But enough about past fairs. Tell me, Miss Jackson, what has been your favorite part of today?"

Bradley hesitated, her mind wandering back to the lively discussions she had been part of earlier. "Truthfully, Cory, I've enjoyed the conversations and the camaraderie. It's a rare pleasure to find oneself amidst such a delightful group of individuals."

Cory seemed to pick up on her subtle longing. "Of course," he said, a touch more subdued, "there's a certain magic in collective enjoyment. I hope my invitation hasn't detracted from your experience."

"No, not at all," Bradley reassured hastily, not wanting to offend. "Your tales are most entertaining. It's just..." she trailed off, unsure how to convey her feelings without seeming ungrateful. “It’s odd being new somewhere.” It was only half a lie, so she did not feel bad about saying it.”

He nodded, sensing the words she left unsaid. There was a brief pause, and Bradley could see Cory reevaluating the situation. It was clear that he was accustomed to effortlessly winning over the attention and admiration of those around him. But he also seemed to possess the rare ability to truly listen, and it was this quality that made him adjust his approach.

"You know, Miss Jackson," he began, his voice taking on a more earnest tone, "I often get carried away with my tales, forgetting that conversations should be a shared experience. I've heard you spent some time in London. I would genuinely love to know more about your experiences there."

Bradley was surprised by his inquiry. She had indeed lived in London for a few years and had never really talked about it in public settings. "Well, Cory," she replied, her eyes distant as memories flooded back, "London was a whirlwind of emotions. The hustle and bustle, the grand theaters, the endless streets... It was overwhelming, but also mesmerizing."

Cory seemed genuinely enthralled. "I've visited London a few times, but only briefly. What was your favorite part? The art? The architecture? The culture?"

Bradley pondered for a moment. "Actually, it was the people. The diversity of backgrounds, stories, and dreams. Every person I met had a tale to tell, and I cherished every moment of learning and understanding their journeys."

Cory's eyes conveyed genuine interest. "That sounds truly wonderful. And it aligns with what you said about the value of intimate stories. It's easy to get lost in the grandeur of a city like London, but it's the individuals and their narratives that make it alive."

She nodded, pleased that he grasped her sentiment. "Exactly. Those experiences, those stories – they shape our perceptions and our understanding of the world."

Their stroll continued, with Cory now posing thoughtful questions about her time in London, displaying a depth and genuine curiosity that Bradley hadn't expected. The fair around them faded into the background as their conversation took center stage, a blend of shared insights and mutual discovery.

But as Bradley responded to his prompts, her thoughts kept drifting back to the group. While she appreciated his attempts at courting, she couldn't help but yearn for the more organic, shared experiences she had been enjoying before.

The dark hues of dusk cast a soft glow over the fair, casting shadows that danced with the laughter and conversations of the attendees. Laura stood amidst her group of friends, the soft rustle of their dresses merging with the myriad of sounds around them.

"Laura, are you even listening?" teased Charlie, trying to catch her wandering gaze.

"I am," she replied absently, her eyes flitting about the fair, searching for familiar figures. Cory and Bradley, she mused. Where have they wandered off to?

As she continued her search, her eyes landed on another familiar scene: The Jacksons, in earnest conversation with her parents. From her vantage point, she could only catch snippets of their discussion, but it was evident that the topic was of some import.

Lord and Lady Peterson, always the epitome of grace, listened intently to Mr. and Mrs. Jackson. The four of them formed an almost regal assembly, the very picture of Hampstead's elite.

Laura leaned in slightly, trying to make out their words amidst the din of the fair.

"... And the estate has been thriving under your guidance, Lord Peterson," Mr. Jackson commented appreciatively.

"Why thank you, Mr. Jackson. It's always been a labor of love," her father responded, a touch of pride evident in his voice.

Mrs. Jackson added, "Your gardens are the talk of the county. It's truly remarkable what you and Lady Peterson have accomplished."

Martha Peterson, smiled graciously. "Thank you, Mrs. Jackson. It's indeed been a joint effort. We'd love for you and your family to see it up close. In fact," she paused, glancing at her husband for affirmation, "Why not join us for afternoon tea tomorrow? We can take a leisurely walk through the gardens afterward."

Mrs. Jackson's eyes lit up. "That sounds delightful, Lady Peterson. We'd be honored."

Lord Peterson nodded in agreement. "It's settled then. Tomorrow afternoon, at our estate."

The two families shared a moment of pleasant anticipation, sealing the invitation with a firm handshake and warm smiles. As the group dispersed, Laura was left pondering her mother's invitation. An afternoon tea with the Jacksons? She thought, intrigued. Tomorrow ought to be interesting.

The fair continued with its enchanting allure. Musicians played lively tunes, dancers whirled in joyous abandon, and the aroma of exotic foods tempted the senses. There were moments of pure elation, stolen glances, and soft conversations that promised new beginnings.

But some carriages lined up for its end, ready to take the weary but elated attendees home. Farewells were exchanged, promises of future meetings made, and the Autumn Fair of Hampstead would be etched in memories. The intricate dance of intrigue, attraction, and ambition among Hampstead's elite would continue long after the fairgrounds emptied, shaping destinies and rewriting the tales of the ton.

As Laura stepped into her family's carriage, her thoughts lingered on the evening's events. The laughter, the conversations, and the budding relationships. There was an underlying current of change in the air, one she couldn't quite put her finger on but felt deeply. The world around her was shifting, and she was eager to see where these new winds would carry her.

Bradley, too, felt a mix of emotions as she settled into her carriage. The fair had been a whirlwind of experiences, some delightful, others unsettling. She was grateful for the new acquaintances she had formed, but couldn’t help but wonder about Cory's intentions and what they meant for her future.

The Jacksons and the Petersons, both prominent families with their own aspirations and dreams, found their fates becoming increasingly intertwined. The promise of the afternoon tea, amidst the famed gardens of the Peterson estate.

As the carriages made their way through the winding roads, the night's sky slowly gave way to dawn's first light. While the Autumn Fair might have been a single evening in their lives, its repercussions would echo through the salons, drawing rooms, and estates for many seasons to come.

In the heart of the vast expanse that was Peterson Manor, an embodiment of lavishness and elegance, the Petersons and Jacksons were seated for tea. The manor was a testament to the Petersons' deep-rooted legacy, decorated with art that spoke of their history and furnished with the kind of luxury that only old money could buy.

The Petersons had always been horse and livestock breeders, their lineage rich with lords and ladies of yesteryears who knew the art of rearing the finest breeds. The echoing neighs and proud trots of horses could be heard faintly, even from the plush drawing room where tea was being served.

In contrast, the Jacksons hailed from a simpler stock. They were once modest wool producers who, through foresight and industry, had recently managed to weave their wool into gold, earning them a spot amongst the affluent.

The furniture, all rosewood and silk, screamed elegance. It was a stark contrast to the laid-back Jacksons who, even in their best, seemed out of place amidst the intricate tapestries and chandeliers. Mrs. Jackson continually adjusted her hat, feeling the weight of Mrs. Peterson's discerning gaze.

As the elders spoke of politics and the weather, Cory Peterson decided it was time to execute his well-practiced plan. He sidled up next to Bradley Jackson, who looked divine in her emerald green dress, her hair cascading like a waterfall. "Bradley," he began, with the tone of a practiced charmer, "have you ever noticed how the sun seems to shine just a little brighter when you step outside?"

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I suppose," she replied nonchalantly, taking a sip of her tea, "but I also noticed it rains regardless of my outings, most annoying at times. Nature's way, I presume?"

Caught off guard, Cory tried to recover. "Well, I merely meant that—"

But his efforts to woo her were interrupted as they both heard Laura's animated voice echoing from the entrance. Both families turned to see her, books stacked so high in her arms that her face was barely visible.

"Oh!" Laura exclaimed, dropping the books on a nearby table with a thud. The gaze of disapproval in Martha Peterson's eyes was disconcerting, Laura felt the shiver roll down her spine and it was obvious to all in the room.

“Laura,” her tone was sharp and short and the girl was quick to leave the books aside to come greet the guests. “Lovely of you to finally join us.”

“Mother, I—” she faltered in her speech the minute her mother’s gaze grew more serious. Martha wanted no excuses, especially none that involved Laura forgetting the guests arrival, so Laura simply nodded and smiled.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jackson, Miss Bradley.” She greeted each calmly, politely, a perfect display of a lady. “It’s lovely to have you in our home.” Bradley was surprised watching her, acting so differently from what she had experienced.

The Jacksons exchanged glances, taking in Laura's tardy entrance. Mrs. Jackson, ever the diplomat, tried to break the tension. "Oh, Laura, my dear," she said with a gentle smile, "what interesting titles you've chosen." She gestured towards the pile of books, trying to direct attention away from the awkwardness.

Laura, grateful for the diversion, said, "Oh, these? I've been engrossed in romantic poetry lately. Wordsworth, Shelley, Byron... their words have a way of transporting one to another realm."

Bradley, a known lover of literature, perked up at this. "I've always found Byron particularly fascinating," she mused. "His rebellious spirit, the way he captures raw emotion... it's so compelling."

Cory, feeling a tad left out, tried to join in. "Yes, Byron! He wrote... that one about the ancient... something or other?" His attempt at contributing to the literary conversation made him sound more out of depth than he'd intended.

Laura stifled a giggle, and Bradley tried to maintain a neutral face. "That would be 'The Giaour' or 'Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage' you might be thinking of. Though his works are numerous," she offered, generously trying to save him some embarrassment.

"Ah, right," Cory replied, his cheeks reddening. “That exactly!”

Martha, eager to steer the conversation back to the grounds, chimed in, "Speaking of poetry, our gardens have been in full bloom. The roses this year are particularly poetic, don't you think, Mr. Jackson?"

Mr. Jackson, happy for the chance to contribute, nodded in agreement. "Indeed, Mrs. Peterson. Nature has its own poetry. And speaking of gardens, our sheep have produced a rather fine batch of wool this year. I believe it might be our best yet. We’d be honored to offer some of it to your family.”

The conversation gradually shifted, with Mr. Peterson discussing his latest prized stallion and the upcoming equestrian events. The room began to fill with laughter and anecdotes, the earlier tension dissipating.

Unbeknownst to all, in the corner of the room, Cory scribbled a note which read: 'Note to self: Read more Byron.'

Laura noticed his action from the corner of her eye and felt a pang of annoyance. She had always been close to Cory, and while she was no romantic poet, she understood emotions all too well. Watching him go to such lengths for Bradley's attention, especially after such a clumsy attempt, irked her.

Why was he trying so hard? Did he genuinely find Bradley captivating, or was he simply attracted to the challenge she posed? Whatever his reasons, Laura couldn’t shake off the discomfort it brought her.

She decided to speak up, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Cory, since when did you develop a passion for poetry? Last I remember, you couldn't differentiate Shelley from a seashell."

The room filled with soft chuckles, and Cory shot her a mock glare. "Times change, Laura," he responded with feigned haughtiness.

But Laura, feeling a bit more emboldened, pressed on, "Or people change for certain times? Perhaps, certain people?" She glanced meaningfully at Bradley.

Cory's face went a shade redder, but before he could retort, Mrs. Peterson intervened, sensing the growing tension between the two. “Laura please, let’s not bore our guests with childish comments.” She said gave her a stern look and the room seemed thicker than before.

As the conversation continued, Laura turned away, her feelings boiling in irritation. Cory, ever perspective and the charmer, suggested. “Perhaps we could show Bradley the library? It’s quite impressive.”

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea, Cory,” Martha nodded, giving her son a caring approval that was never spared for Laura.

In the grand Peterson Manor, the library was a masterpiece. Tall mahogany bookshelves kissed the ceiling, housing countless leather-bound tomes and manuscripts. A colossal stained-glass window bathed the room in a gentle, golden hue, casting intricate patterns on the plush carpet. It looked right out of a fairytale.

Bradley's eyes widened in admiration. "It's breathtaking," she whispered, walking over to one of the shelves. Her fingers gently caressed the spine of an old classic.

Cory, eager to impress, began, "Our collection spans generations. From medieval scripts to contemporary novels, we pride ourselves on having one of the most comprehensive collections in the county."

Laura, sensing an opportunity, chimed in, "Cory, why don't you show Bradley your favorite section?"

Cory hesitated for a moment, realizing he didn't actually have one. He had always preferred the outdoors and horseback riding over reading.

Before he could fabricate a response, Laura answered for him. "Oh, I forgot! Cory's favorite section is right over here." She led Bradley towards a small section filled with children's books. "These are the tales he grew up with. Especially fond of 'The Tale of Peter Rabbit,' weren't you, Cory?" she said, barely concealing her smirk.

Bradley, sensing the underlying tease, suppressed her laughter and politely commented, "Beatrix Potter is a wonderful storyteller. There's no shame in revisiting childhood favorites."

Feeling cornered, Cory tried to regain control. "While those tales are indeed charming," he stammered, "I believe the true treasures lie over here." He steered Bradley towards a collection of romantic poetry.

Laura, never one to be outdone, interjected, "Ah, the Romantics. You know, Bradley, I recently came across a first edition of Byron's works in one of our acquisitions. Would you like to see it?"

Bradley's eyes lit up, "A first edition? That would be incredible."

Cory shot Laura a frustrated look, realizing she had, once again, managed to upstage him. But before he could react, one of the maids voice echoed from the hall, “Miss Laura, Mr. Cory, your mother is requesting your presence.”

Laura cast a triumphant glance at her brother. "Bradley, do enjoy the library. We'll be back shortly."

As the two left the room, their footsteps echoing down the corridor, Bradley took a deep breath, absorbing the grandeur around her. She then sat down in a plush armchair by the window, pulling out Byron's works, completely engrossed.

She couldn't help but reflect on the peculiar dynamics between Laura and Cory. While Cory's attempts to woo her were clear, Laura's motives remained a mystery. Was it mere sibling rivalry, or was there a deeper sentiment at play?

But for now, Byron's evocative verses captured her full attention, the world outside fading away as she delved deeper into the poetic realm.

Outside in the hall, the two siblings faced each other. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the lavish décor and ornate wall paintings mere bystanders to their silent stand-off.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Cory finally spat out, his voice low and tense.

"Doing what?" Laura replied, feigning innocence but with a sly glint in her eyes.

"Undermining me in front of Bradley. You know very well what I'm talking about." Cory was struggling to maintain his composure.

Laura took a deep breath, her demeanor changing from playful mischief to genuine frustration. "Cory, you can't just parade around, trying to impress every woman who walks through our doors, especially not with shallow charades. Bradley is intelligent, she will see right through you."

Cory's face reddened, his pride wounded. "You act as if I have no depth. Just because I don't spend every waking moment with my nose buried in a book doesn't mean I can't appreciate literature or poetry."

"No, Cory," Laura countered, her voice softer now, tinged with sadness. "It's not about the books or the poetry. It's about authenticity. You try so hard to be someone you're not, and it's painfully obvious."

Cory took a moment, searching for words. "Is it so wrong for me to want to connect with someone? To find common ground?"

“No, Cory, it’s not.” Laura reflected on her own actions, and a pang of jealousy intertwined with concern clouded her thoughts. Why was she so eager to undermine him, especially in front of a newcomer she had so little regard for?

There was a weighty silence. The two siblings, so different yet bound by blood and shared memories, found themselves at an emotional crossroads that none could quite understand why was happening.

“I’ll see what mother wants,” Cory said. “You should go back to entertaining our guest. And maybe consider what you really want." With a searching look, he disappeared into the halls, leaving Laura to her contemplations.

Laura stood alone in the hallway for a moment, the weight of the confrontation with Cory still heavy on her. She hesitated, debating whether she should return to the library. But as memories of Bradley's genuine interest in literature and her astute observations flooded her mind, Laura found herself curious. Perhaps there was more to Bradley than just being the object of Cory's affections.

Taking a deep breath, Laura entered the library. Bradley looked up from her book, her eyes shimmering with the kind of excitement that only a true lover of literature could understand.

"Laura," Bradley began, her voice gentle, "I didn't think you'd come back."

Laura smiled, a genuine one this time. "Well, I couldn't resist discussing Byron with someone who truly appreciates him."

The two women sat across from each other, the vast collection of books surrounding them acting as silent witnesses to the bond that was forming. Bradley held up the Byron book she'd been engrossed in. "His words... they have such a profound effect, don't they?"

Laura nodded in agreement, her eyes lighting up with passion. "Absolutely. The way he captures human emotion, the rawness of it all, it's transcendent. But tell me, aside from Byron, who are your favorite poets or authors?"

Bradley paused, contemplating. "There are so many. But if I had to choose, I'd say Jane Austen, for her wit and insights into society. Then there's Mary Shelley; 'Frankenstein' was nothing short of revolutionary."

Laura was pleasantly surprised. "Austen and Shelley, two formidable women who challenged the norms of their time. You have good taste."

The two continued, diving into discussions about Elizabeth Barrett Browning, the Brontë sisters, and even contemporary authors. They debated passionately about characters, delving deep into the intricacies of various plots and the implications of specific literary devices.

At one point, Laura pulled out a leather-bound diary from one of the shelves. "This," she began, a hint of vulnerability in her voice, "is my grandmother's journal. She wrote her thoughts, poems, and even sketches. It's not a published work, but to me, it's one of the most precious collections here."

Bradley, sensing the depth of the moment, carefully took the diary and began flipping through the pages. "This is beautiful," she whispered. "Your grandmother was incredibly talented."

As the minutes ticked by, the two women found themselves lost in a world of literary wonder. The atmosphere in the library became one of mutual respect and admiration. The initial tension, misunderstandings, and rivalries seemed to melt away, replaced by the shared passion for words and stories.

The chimes of the grand clock echoed through the manor, signaling the late hour. Both women looked up, startled by how much time had passed.

"I should probably return to my family," Bradley said regretfully. "But this... this was delightful."

Laura nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Indeed, it was. I hope we can have more such conversations in the future."

Bradley stood up, handing her the Byron book. “So do I.”

Laura smiled, “Why don’t you borrow this one and we can discuss it more at another time?”

“Really?” Bradley asked, her eyes twinkling. Laura simply nodded. “Well, thank you, Laura.”

As Bradley left the library, Laura felt an unfamiliar warmth in her heart. For the first time in a long time, she had connected with someone on a level that went beyond the superficialities of society.

Unbeknownst to them, from a distant corridor, Cory watched the unfolding scene. A complex mixture of emotions played on his face: surprise, realization, and a touch of envy. He had been so engrossed in his pursuit that he failed to notice the budding connection between his sister and Bradley.

The sun began its descent, casting a deep amber hue over the manor. The evening's events had stirred something within the grand walls of Peterson Manor — a silent undercurrent of tension, thick and palpable.

As Laura made her way back to her chambers later that evening, she noticed Cory standing by a window, silhouetted by the fading evening light. There was a noticeable distance in his stance, a rare vulnerability that Laura wasn’t used to seeing.

"Enjoy your little victory?" he asked quietly, not turning to face her.

Laura approached him cautiously. "Cory, it wasn't about one-upping you or claiming some kind of triumph."

He finally turned to look at her, his eyes betraying a mixture of sadness and resignation. "It felt like it," he murmured. "Every time I try to build a connection, it's as if you swoop in, effortlessly making it your own. You didn’t even like her."

Laura sighed. "It's not a competition, Cory. We all connect in different ways. With Bradley, it just happened to be through literature."

For a moment, the two siblings stood in silence, the weight of unspoken feelings hanging heavy between them. Cory finally broke the stillness, his voice distant, "Perhaps I just need to find my own way then."

With that, he walked away, leaving Laura with her thoughts. The playful dynamics had shifted so fast, bringing forth deeper complexities neither had anticipated.

Despite the unease with her brother, Laura felt a deep sense of fulfillment. The time spent with Bradley was pleasant and unexpected. As she settled into her room, she held onto the memories of their discussions and the promise of developing it further.

The cold morning air was filled with the ringing of church bells, calling the townspeople of Hampstead to their weekly worship. The Peterson family, including Laura and Cory, made their usual grand entrance, taking up an entire pew near the front.

Reverend Whitfield began the sermon with his usual fervor. He was known for his theatrical proclamations, a point of amusement for many of the younger members of the congregation. As he continued in a particularly animated manner about the virtues of abstinence from worldly pleasures, Laura could hardly stifle her amusement. She leaned over to Bradley, who had been earlier invited by the Petersons to seated next to them, and whispered, "I suppose Reverend Whitfield would frown upon our delightful literary escapades then."

Bradley smirked, replying in a hushed tone, "Oh, certainly. The sheer indulgence of enjoying Byron’s verses would surely condemn us both."

Their silent laughter was interrupted when Cory leaned in, his voice a mix of amusement and warning, "Ladies, do remember where we are."

Sunday service concluded, and the congregation began to disperse. Some gathered in small groups to exchange pleasantries or discuss the sermon, while others headed straight home to enjoy their Sunday meal.

Later, after the service, Cory quickly introduced Bradley to two acquaintances she had previously met at the ton fair. "Bradley, you remember Miss Maggie and Miss Claire, don't you?"

The two young ladies greeted Bradley with polite nods and smiles. Cory, seizing the moment, began discussing their upcoming winter vacation.

"We're visiting our winter home in the countryside next month,” Cory mentioned casually, his eyes fixated on Bradley. "It's truly beautiful there this time of year. The snow-covered meadows, the lake, it's a sight to behold. Would you be interested in joining us, Bradley?"

Claire chirped in with a nod, "It truly is a wonderful retreat. The peace and quiet is a delightful break from the usual bustle."

Caught somewhat off-guard by the sudden invitation, Bradley looked towards Laura, trying to gauge if she too was part of this invitation or to simply gauge her reaction. But Laura was visibly distressed. Although she had found common ground with Bradley, she was fully aware of her brother’s possible motives.

Desperate to divert the conversation, Laura interjected, "Cory, perhaps we should discuss this later? After all, we are in the house of the Lord." Her tone was probing to him, serious toward his underlined intentions.

But Cory, ever persistent, pressed on, "Of course, sister, but I see no harm in extending an invitation. Especially if it brightens up our winter days."

Bradley, feeling the weight of the attention, replied hesitantly, "It sounds lovely, Cory. Let me discuss it with my family, and I'll give you an answer soon."

Laura grappled with a mix of emotions. While part of her was intrigued by the idea of spending more time with Bradley, she was also cautious about her brother’s intentions and the implications of their stay in the secluded winter home. She managed to slip away from their circle of friends, finding a quiet corner near an old oak tree. Moments later, Bradley approached, her face illuminated by the soft sunlight.

“Laura,” Bradley greeted warmly.

“Bradley,” Laura returned the greeting, her voice betraying a hint of relief at seeing a familiar face.

Bradley smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been reading the Byron book you lent me. The verses in it are enchanting.”

Laura's eyes lit up at the mention. “I’m glad you think so. Any favorite pieces so far?”

Bradley paused in thought, “‘She Walks in Beauty’ stands out. The way he captures beauty and innocence is just... entrancing.”

Laura nodded in agreement. “It’s one of his most celebrated pieces. Byron had an exceptional talent for weaving emotions into words.”

After a brief pause in which both women were momentarily lost in the world of poetry,  and each other’s gaze, Bradley spoke up, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "About Cory's invitation to the winter home...”

Laura's expression remained neutral, though internally she was battling a storm of emotions and concerns about Cory's intentions. “Yes?”

“I was wondering if you’ll be attending?” Bradley asked, clearly trying to gauge Laura's feelings on the matter. “It seems like such a tradition amongst your circle of friends. I wanted to ensure I wouldn’t be imposing.”

Laura offered a reassuring smile. “It's an annual gathering of sorts. And you wouldn’t be imposing, Bradley. If you do decide to come, it surely ought to be interesting.”

Bradley's eyes darted around, looking for any indication that Laura wasn’t speaking her entire truth. "Interesting? How so?"

Laura hesitated for a split second, weighing her words carefully. "Every year brings its own set of events and interactions. Each time we gather, it feels like a new experience. The mountains, the people, the environment – it all changes in subtle ways. And I believe, with you attending, it would add a fresh perspective to our usual routines."

Bradley looked thoughtful, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Well, when you put it that way, it does sound intriguing. Besides, the winter landscape described sounds like something right out of a Brontë novel.”

Laura chuckled softly. “Perhaps it is. You'll find that nature has its own way of inspiring one’s soul. The serene beauty of the snow-covered mountains, the warmth of the fireplace, the stories shared among friends – they all come together to create a unique tapestry.”

The two women stood in comfortable silence for a moment, taking in the beauty of the day. The sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows and painting the sky in hues of orange and pink.

Breaking the silence, Bradley said, “I'll give Cory's invitation serious consideration. But know that it's your company, Laura, that tempts me the most.”

Laura felt a warmth spread through her. “It would be a pleasure to have you there.”

She couldn’t help but think that despite the uncertainties about Bradley Jackson, having her there with them held the promise of deeper connections and memorable moments. Yet, the looming specter of Cory's motivations toward Bradley continued to cast a dark shadow over her thoughts.