My parents are dead, and it is all my fault. I swear I am not exaggerating. To explain what happened I suppose I must start at the beginning of this mess. It was December 23, 1799. My parents had thrown the biggest winter gala possible all for me. Or more truthfully, for me to be courted. I had nagged, complained, cried, screamed, threatened, and cried some more to try to get them to call it off but their minds were set in stone.

 I did not see why I needed to be courted at sixteen. Most people did not even get married until they were in their twenties, but they had insisted. I cannot blame them, not really. I have always been the black sheep of the family. My mother was now forty-nine and my father was nearing fifty-three and I was their only child. They had tried to have other children, but they were all stillborn. Every single one except me. It was quite the kick in the face for my father because they were all boys too. He now makes it his sole purpose to get me married off as soon as possible. They just wanted their money taken care of. Unfortunately, their idea of their money being taken care of includes me being ready to marry some wealthy man. Or any man at all for that matter. At this point my parents were not picky.

 I would rather spend my time reading a book in the gardens or playing with some of the wild animals that live on our plantations rather than think about men. The ball is to be set at our plantation in upstate New York a few miles outside of Manhattan. We rarely visit our plantation down in the Carolina’s, but it still reaps a considerable amount of cash. We also own at least one hundred slaves. I never have approved of slavery, but my parents say it is necessary to run our plantation.

It is a few hours before the gala and my mother is still fussing over my dress. My mother is a tall, lean, woman with honey gold hair and cold blue eyes. She wears a blue velvet dress with too many frills. I wear an uncomfortable pale-yellow dress that was made of silk imported from Asia. I did not know it was humanly possible to make silk uncomfortable, but my parents found a way. The dress had a lace lining which I thought was a nice touch and a faint floral pattern. My corset bit into my sides but there was nothing I could do about that. My dark brown hair had lovely chestnut highlights and was done up in a bun with layers of swirls. My dark brown eyes were the only thing my mother had not managed to powder. I would have to wash some of the powder off later.

I turned to my mother as she began to lecture me on the importance of this gala. How she and my father were getting older and they did not want to see their legacy thrown away.

“Mother, I’ll do fine. I will be polite. I will let the man lead me in the dance.”

“You had better.” She replied.

My father entered the room.

“Edward!” My mother exclaimed.

My father replied, “Charlotte, I just came to discuss The Will with Anastasia.”

I furrowed my brow, confused.

“Your Will?” I asked.

“Yes Anastasia. Our Will. Your mother and I are getting old and we have no male heir.” He mirrored my frown but with the intensity only a disappointed father could manage. “The only other relatives we have are those Acker’s up in Massachusetts.”

My frowned harder. My parents were bad, but the Ackers were truly awful. My parents let me have an education equal to any man. The Acker’s would not even let their four girls learn how to do more than basic arithmetic. The girls themselves are fine, but I could never have lived like that. And their five boys are complete brutes with ego’s too big for their bodies. As bad as the children were their parents were worse. Their father was a tall but wide man. He had a weak jawline and a cruel personality. The mother justified everything their father did. In her eyes he could do no wrong. Combined, they were a mad power-hungry duo.

“So,” My father continued. “We are leaving all of our assets to you and your husband.”

I frowned again. Why did conversations with my parents always have me frowning?

“Pardon?”

“Well,” my father replied. “We can’t have you running this place alone, now can we?”

“But Father!” I exclaimed. “I can’t even legally get married until I am eighteen.”

“We’ve taken care of that. If we give our permission, and get the consent of a judge, you can be married off at seventeen.”

“Well then I just won’t marry anyone.”

“We thought you would say that, so we have given you a deadline. You must be engaged by June 15th or we will give all of our assets to the Acker’s, as well as any remaining guardian rights over you.”

“You can’t do that!” I shouted.

“Oh, yes we can! June 15th Anastasia! June 15th!”

With that both my mother and my father left my room. I counted to fifty, exhaled, picked up my comb and threw it at my vanity mirror. I web of cracks spread across the mirror. I stared at my shattered reflection. My parents would not care, they would just buy a new one. I tried to calm down because it was getting harder to breath with my corset squishing me. I sat down on my bed and thought about what I should do. I had thought myself out of sticky situations before, but I was not confident I could do it this time. I knew Mandarin, Greek, Latin, French, German, and several Native American dialects. I could play piano, violin, and the harp. I could read, write, and do math no problem. Heck, I taught myself how to shoot with startling accuracy as well as throw knives. I would not be undone by something as silly as a Will.

 I evaluated the possible solutions. Getting married was out of the question. I could try the diplomatic approach to convince my parents. Or there was the third option… No. It would not come to that. I would talk my parents out of it. First, I needed to get them back into a good mood. I would have to pretend to have fun and consider the suiters at the gala tonight. This would please them. Then I could convince the cooks to make their favorite meals for a few days and dissolve some sleeping pills into their wine each night, so they were well rested and levelheaded. Then a would reason with them. Yes, it is a brilliant plan even by my standards.

I sat up, walked out of the room and stared at my reflection in the hallway mirror. I still needed to wipe off some powder on my face, but I managed a smile. It looked more like a grimace. I tried again.

“Better.” I said to myself.

I still had about two hours before the gala, so I went back into my room to practice the dance steps and smiling.