#21: The (Would-Be) Baroness Torrington, Vera Newport

I am Vera Newport, the Baroness Torrington. Or I would be, if British peerage laws did not prevent me from inheriting my rightful title. As it is, I am the heiress who cannot inherit, and now the woman without a fiancé.

…Ah, yes. Thank you for your condolences, but I do not feel much grief over my loss, as harsh as that may sound. My fiancé was my first cousin, originally set to inherit my father’s title, as per his (apparent) right as the next male.  Our marriage would have been one of convenience, designed to keep him in line and the title in my hands. I did not particularly like him – he was cruel at times and weak-willed at others – but I would have put up with it.

I don’t now, but I have larger issues to contend with. You see, once I am out of mourning officially, I will have to find a husband. It is not only expected of me as a lady of fortune (and it is times like this that I wish I were a man, who would not be so harshly obligated to do things), but also required as a person of noble blood.

If I only did like the company of men, it would be so much easier. Any affection I have felt towards men has been familial or platonic. My younger sister, who is coquettish to the point of embarrassment, would be much better suited for this position, to find a husband and pass on the title. However, she will have to pry that right out of my cold dead fingers before that happens. I am the first born child and will inherit what is mine, regardless of what lies between my legs. Pardon my French, there.

What sort of man do I like? I do not know. I have seen many different types of men – suitors before I became engaged, military men, working boys – and none have been to my liking in a romantic sense. (If I must confess, I liked that delivery boy best, with his gay smiles and blunt personality. He was refreshing to be around. A shame he had to go to war and die.)

This all bores you, doesn’t it? To listen to a woman of high birthright complain about needing to find a husband. There is a war going on. People are dying, rations are becoming tighter, and I am complaining about something trivial. Well, it might be trivial to you but my future depends on this.

…why don’t I go and try to solve this problem a different way? You think I hadn’t thought of that already? You think I am not trying to? Plans like this take time, effort, and a lot of manipulation. Be patient. I know I must be. This plan is not my last hope. It is a ongoing project which I started a very long time ago. I must wait still before it bears any fruit.

…What sort of person do I like? A gentle disposition, but an iron will. Keeps a cool head in the face of adversity. Appreciative of humour even if it does go beyond their mental facilities, and willing to explain their jokes if they are met with confusion instead of laughter. Good with their hands. I also like dark hair and an olive complexion. So many people are as pale as ghosts that any sort of colour is wonderful.

–WHAT? How could you – you think that I – but we don’t even – I was not describing my lady’s maid. No, I was not. Go now. I don’t wish to talk to you any longer. Send Melissa along. I wish to see her (and if you dare insinuate anything I will personally make sure that you never step foot in England again).

Category: 2011, Drama