by Abigail Armani
Manhattan, New York, 1890
"You'll be left on the shelf," spat Agatha Mayfield. "Is that what you want? To spend the rest of your life as a spinster? It's high time you were married, girl, and you know it."
Cora eyed her stepmother with distaste. How many times must they have this conversation? Struggling to keep her anger in check, Cora managed to remain calm. "Better to be 'on the shelf' as you put it, than marry any of the obsequious toads you constantly try to procure for me."
"How dare you speak to me in that manner!" thundered Agatha. "I have done my utmost to secure you a suitable match, but you find fault with every single gentlemen presented to you... and my patience is fast running out."
Cora sighed as she thought of the men her stepmother had tried to saddle her with- a motley collection, being either fat, old, gouty, or flatulent. Admittedly, there had been a few younger men too who were quite presentable in appearance, but Cora was not impressed by their shallow personalities and snobbish demeanour. The only thing all her would-be suitors had in common was their immense wealth. And, next to her social standing, wealth was the only thing her stepmother cared about. "There is plenty of time for me to marry," said Cora, "and when I do so, it will be to a man of my own choosing."
"With your reputation?" scoffed her stepsister, Florence. "You've driven them all away with your smart mouth and silly ideas."
"You always were a wilful child, Cora," said Agatha. "And even now at twenty-one, you haven't changed. Your dear father would be mortified."
"He would not! He would have been proud of me. He always encouraged me to have a mind of my own and take an interest in the things that matter ... not this ..." She waved her hand around the opulent drawing room.
"And where would you be without all this? In the gutter where you belong!" hissed Agatha.
"How convenient that father died and left you all his money, otherwise both of you would be in the gutter," countered Cora. Turning on her heel, she headed towards the door.
"Don't you dare walk away from me when I'm speaking to you. Come back here at once!" But Cora ignored her stepmother and flounced upstairs to her room. "Oh that dreadful girl will be the death of me. Florence, dear, ring the bell and ask the maid to bring in some tea."
"Yes Mama." Florence dutifully obeyed and went to sit and console her mother. Really, the sooner they could get rid of that upstart Cora, the better.
"You're unusually quiet, Florence," remarked Agatha as they drank their tea,
"I've been thinking, Mama."
"Yes? About ...?"
"About Cora. Why waste time and effort trying to secure her a good match? Why not send her home - back to Kansas - and marry her off to some coarse cowboy? We need never see her again as she'd be over a thousand miles away, and to avoid any scandal we could invent some story that she'd married well in Abilene where she lives with her new husband."
"Why Florence, that idea is very much to your credit. You're absolutely right, the girl doesn't deserve to live here with us, and I see no reason why I should pay for her upkeep any longer. Since she has spurned dozens of society gentlemen, a coarse cowboy is all she is fit for!" Agatha put down her cup. "Yes, it really is a good idea. Leave it with me. I shall use my contacts and my influence to investigate suitable men... you will of course note that I referred to them as men, not gentlemen." She paused and laughed at her own remark as Florence looked on, smirking. "And when all that is settled, we shall take a vacation to Europe."
"Oh yes, Mama! That would be wonderful," enthused Florence.
"Indeed. We shall see the sights. And when we return you will be almost seventeen - time to procure you a suitable match, my dear. Someone with a title of course. And rich, exceedingly rich. Nothing but the best for my sweet Florence."
"Of course Mama." Florence smiled to herself and poured more tea. There was much for her to look forward to, but first, she would take a great deal of pleasure in getting rid of her stepsister. It was really most unfair that the bitch was so disgustingly pretty.
The event blew over, or so Cora thought, as there had been no further talk of weddings and suitors. Three weeks passed, and then one afternoon, Helga, one of the live-in house maids, knocked on the door to Cora's room.
"Miss Cora? May I speak with you?" asked Helga.
"Of course. Come on in, Helga." The maid looked surreptitiously along the corridor as though to make sure she was not being observed by anyone, then stepped inside and closed the door after her. "Is anything wrong, Helga?"
"Well ... I'm not one to speak out of turn, Miss Cora. But ... well, I've discovered something I think you should know about."
"What can it be that has you so agitated?" Cora put down her book. "Tell me, Helga."
"It's your stepmother, Miss. I overheard her talking to Miss Florence. I was dusting behind the silk screen in the small drawing room, and they didn't realise I was there. She's made arrangements for you to marry, and the gentleman is already on his way to collect you and will be here tomorrow afternoon."
"What?!" Cora jumped up. "Helga - are you sure about this?"
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