Page 1 of Dragon Chosen
Chapter 1
Fern
I was never going to fit into the dress.
“No,” I said, crossing the floor to examine the gown the maid unveiled. “No, no.”
My hands smoothed over my stomach, despairing at the swell there. Today was the day I was supposed to meet my suitors, and Mother had been most adamant that I slim down before that day. That if I was to have any chance of making an advantageous match, I would need to lose at least a stone in weight. I’d lived on a diet of lettuce leaves and a small serving of poached chicken breast for weeks. But I knew my body, knew how my own dresses fit, and this?
The dress was just so beautiful. I felt a pang as I studied it, seeing all the work the seamstresses had put into its creation. A full skirt of soft green chiffon and satin, topped by a beaded bodice, no doubt to ‘enhance the one asset I did have’ as Mother always said, as she looked down her nose at my bust. In my head I could see myself descending from the main stairs of our home, an array of admiring men looking on from below.
But that was never going to happen.
The dress was at least a full size too small. My hands floated through the air, trying to measure the damn thing and somehow magically make it bigger.
“It’s beautiful, Lady Fern,” Agnes, the maid, said with a nervous smile, and that just confirmed my fears. “You’ll look a picture in it.”
“It won’t fit.” I hated the way my voice trembled, so I shook my head, as if that would dispel the despair I felt. “It won’t fit.”
I began to pace back and forth, my boots clicking across the floorboard. My hands moved frantically, trying to wave more air to my face, but that didn’t help. Tears, damn them, welled in my eyes, and that was enough to stop me in my tracks. My eyes rolled upwards, the ache sometimes enough to stop me from crying.
Because that just wouldn’t do.
I could almost hear Mother’s voice reprimanding me for my softness when the door opened. Apparently my thoughts had summoned her, because in through the door came my mother.
“Oh, the dress looks beautiful, Agnes,” she gushed, approaching the maid, then caressing the folds of the dress. “It will be just the thing for Fern. Not quite as elegant as Rose’s coming out dress.” Rose was my older sister who thankfully took after our mother, being tiny and delicate. I, of course, had to inherit my father’s far stouter frame. “But let’s see it on.”
“Mother.” I tried so hard to keep my voice even, my spine erect as I turned to face her. She despised weakness. “I am not sure it will fit. It?—”
“Won’t fit?” Watching all good feelings die inside my mother was unfortunately a commonplace thing for me. Her eyes hardened, her mouth becoming pinched as she looked me up and down. It felt like she was sizing me up, taking my measure and finding me wanting yet again. “And why wouldn’t it fit?Have you been sneaking down to the kitchens at night and gorging yourself on biscuits again?”
“What?” I jerked back as if slapped. “No, I?—”
“Because you used to do that as a child.” Mother shook her head as she turned to Agnes, as if this whole exchange wasn’t shameful enough. Apparently she needed to drag others in as witnesses. “Such gluttonous behaviour?—”
“Mother.” I didn’t dare interrupt my mother usually, but my lapse in good manners was at least enough to stop her rant. “The guests will be arriving soon.”
“Yes, they will.” Was every mother’s eyes as hard as mine as she stalked forward? “And you will come down in that dress.” Her perfectly manicured finger stabbed in the direction of the dress. “Or you won’t come down at all. Do not disgrace me, Fern.”
I thought that was the end of it. With my cheeks burning bright red, my eyelids fluttered, as if that was enough to keep back my unshed tears. It wasn’t. If I was going to fail my mother again, then there was no way to stop a single tear sliding down my cheek. My hands slid over my hips, my stomach, grabbing handfuls of the flesh there, my fingers sinking painfully deep.
“Get the corset on her,” Mother instructed Agnes. “Put a boot into her spine if that’s what you need to do to winch her…” She looked over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing. “Into an acceptable shape. I need to go and speak to his lordship.” I watched her shake her head. “He’s going to need to raise the price of her dowry if we’ve got a hope of marrying her off.”
Her. She. My mother spoke of me with much the same care as she might one of her lapdogs. My eyes burned as I stared after her, then at the back of the door when she slammed it shut behind her. Poor Agnes looked beside herself, but she was well used to my mother’s behaviour. Mother might be Lady Rochester, but she acted as if she was queen of this estate. Herroyal decree meant that Agnes pulled out a corset from the garments that had been delivered by the seamstresses.
“Don’t you worry, milady. I’ve winched many a lass into shape with a corset. I’ll have you wearing that dress and meeting your suitors looking like a princess of old.”
Her gentle words of encouragement forced me to smile, even as my eyes ached.
“Not Mother,” I said. “Not Rose.”
“Yes, your mother.” Agnes bustled forward, helping me out of my dressing gown. She eased it off my shoulders, then helped me into my chemise. “You think she maintains her girlish figure by good luck alone?” She shot me a meaningful look. “Lady Rochester isn’t above sneaking into the kitchens for a handful of biscuits herself, you know?’
“What?”
My exclamation was rude, but Agnes just grinned.
“Cook is always having to top up the biscuit jar for milady, and the cake tin.”
