So, for quite some time now I have been working on a novella. I am going to post it in sections over time and I would like to know what you think of it. The title is very rough and I am more than happy for you to suggest alternative options. :)
I hope you like it and I would like some feedback.
A glass smashes on the floor. A woman screams. A man, looking completely
bedraggled and deranged is standing in the doorway, sopping wet, letting all
the rain from outside soak the carpet. No one in their right mind could ever
imagine doing this, particularly if they wanted people to respect them.
His coat is gone and his waistcoat is unbuttoned. Part of his shirt is
untucked and his hair is messy and displaced. I look at his clothes a bit more
closely and realise that he must be from a reasonably wealthy family, due to
his blue, silk bow tie and the quality of his attire. His waistcoat is red
satin and he is wearing a very expensive and quality watch. Clearly someone
from a respectable family. I cannot help but wonder why I have not met him
before.
I feel momentarily sorry for him when I see the terrified and angry look
in his eyes. My father, the host of this party, goes up to the man and asks him
to leave. I cannot help myself. I simply have to do something for this poor
young man who looks so lost and in need of care. Judging by his face and his
youthful physique he is only about nineteen, one year older than me.
He has light brown hair that is cut quite short and, I imagine, would
typically be slicked back like so many men of the upper class. As he is soaked
to the skin, his shirt is sticking to his torso and I notice the faint outline
of muscles. My father and mother have been very careful to make sure that I
have never seen a man without both his shirt and his waistcoat on. I do not
really understand what all the commotion is about.
I walk gracefully over to my father, “Honestly father, this poor man
looks in terrible shape. We must show some Christian charity and at least lend
him some new clothes and help him to get dry?” My father looks at me with the
kind of affection that is only seen between family members.
“Your daughter is sweet, a good trait, and she has a strong sense of
charity which is also desirable. However, I can’t help but think that just this
once, she may be mistaken,” This comment comes from Henry, a twenty-one-year-old
man whom my father wishes me to marry.
“Oh, you don’t mind
indulging me just this once, Henry. Father, we really must help him. I insist,”
***
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