Playing the King's ***

My name is Blossom Arreton. It hasn't always been that; my Father is a wealthy merchant who trades wool with the newly colonised areas in the West Indies and North America. Due to this, my Father was very close with those who associated with Royals. My Mother and Father acquired a large manor house in Arreton on the Isle of Wight, and naturally they took the name of the estate. What I'm attempting to get across is that I was born into this lifestyle, it was under no circumstances a choice of mine.

I'd been brought up in a wealthy, upper class family for the entirity of my life. I had a loving Mother and Father, however strict they may have been at times. I was always bought the most recent fashions, finest play things and paintings, and I was taught by the best tutor money could buy in this day and age; teacher to King Charles II and all of his siblings, so I'm told. Girls weren't often given an education unless they were descended from a strong bloodline or wealthy family, and even then their parents were still the figures who decided if it were appropriate or not. I was thankful of that though, that my Mother had demanded I have an education.

By the time I reached sixteen however, I started to realise I had certain opinions about things; very controversial in 1660s England. A woman with an opinion? Heavens above!

Back to the point, firstly I disagree with the fact that hundreds of people, including young children, are homeless and starving, driven to pickpocketing and working in dangerous occupations such as prostitution or disease ridden gong farming and leather tanning (I had read about the Roman studies of bad smells and illness and so blamed it on the filth on the streets). This is all while we live an overly lavish lifestyle in a huge country house where so many rooms simply go to waste. I brought it up at the dinner table once when we were entertaining guests, only to be silenced rather rudely by my arrogant, male chauvinist of a Father. He had made a sexist joke towards young women like me getting involved with the politics and social structure of the day, saying we were too 'sensitive' towards the peasantry. Add more fuel to the fire, won't you Father?
Then there was my arranged marriage to a Count whom I did not know, and was my age twice over. There were plans for when I was seventeen to marry me off so that I could fulfil the same purpose as every woman in England; having children. I knew it had always been looming, but I had never been in agreement with simply marrying to continue my family's wealth and social standing. I was a firm believer in true love and destiny. Of course my Mother was upset at my stubborn attitude (odd - it was a strong attribute to both she and my Father's personalities...) and my Father was absolutely livid with me. He didn't want to throw me to the gutter mind, being his only daughter (of course I know he wanted a male to carry on the family business, but I digress). He simply wanted to punish me for embarrassing him so often.
He and my Mother planned to lock me in my bedroom at the manor until the time came for me to marry, only so that I could not do anything drastic. I had been in that room for a year; only allowed outside around the grounds when basically manacled to a member of serving staff. I was an angst fuelled seventeen year old girl by this time.

The day had come where I had to meet my soon to be husband and announce our engagement to the community, who looked up to my family as a figurehead for the small Island we lived on (ridiculous). It was later that night when my plan would take place.

My Mother had awoken me early, opening the hand stiched, heavy curtains that covered the wide window, allowing shards of intense May sunshine into my bedroom. I squinted awake, not wanting to face the day that had been depressing me for weeks just thinking of it.

"Mother, honestly! You could simply tap me! The sunshine is beautiful, but it is cutting into my headache something terrible." I moaned with the voice you have before you've had a morning drink, feeling less than enthusiastic about the events to proceed.

"Sorry darling. But we need to ensure that you are awake and dressed so as to impress Count Mountbatten and make all of the other women jealous. You're a beautiful young woman Blossom, with a lot of opportunities using our wealth, and I won't stop until you're flawless." My Mother said, smiling warmly at me. I sighed and buried my face in my pillow, feeling like a string puppet that existed purely for my Mother and Father to dress up, play the puppeteer and use for their own gain.

My Mother was 34 years old. She had given birth to me at 17 years old after marrying my Father, who was a few years older and had been in the trade business for a few years. Both of their families had belonged to the same Country Club and that is how they had met. Mother had that sickly sweet face; rounded, flushed cheeks and a soft complexion with brunette curls that stopped at her chin. I had inherited those mousy curls as a child, but since ageing I had developed my Father's lighter blonde hair. Mother was quite slim, though having a child had taken it's toll, as her body had started it's slow decline into old age. She was often having hot sweats and needing to sit outside, even in freezing winds sometimes. Her eyes were the thing I was most thankful that she had gifted me with. They were blue, large and stunningly rimmed with long eyelashes. Her's were dark, obviously, and mine were light. That was the only difference. She was a beautiful woman, just very sickly sweet in appearance.

I rolled out of bed, straightening down my crumpled nightdress, concerned at the impending length of the day until I could finally put my plan into some sort of action.