~18th Century London~

The whispers of the women from the town crept and curled around her as she passed by the gathering. It seemed evident that despite all of her attempts, the fact that Cheryth lived alone without a male companion had finally got out. England did not smile too fondly upon the notion of a woman of good breeding to be left in such circumstances and the townspeople were ever so willing to abide by the nature and laws of England.



Cheryth ruled it down to sheer jealousy of the other women in the town. They were jealous that she had lived and survived this long on her own without the assistance or guidance of a man. They were jealous of her unruly, outspoken nature. A willful soul they called her. No matter the reason of their jealousy Cheryth knew the beginning of their blame and the absolute root cause of such loathing came from him. His arrival had ruined everything.



Her pale blue eyes narrowed as one blood red brow arched in challenge to the women that stared at her in shocked disapproval. Was it the paint smeared upon her hands and caked beneath her fingernails or the unbound loosened plaits of her red hair left to the wind that gave her such glances? Cheryth never knew, she only understood that for some reason the women of the town had turned against her since the day the new gentleman had come into their town. She had never even spared him a passing glance or even a gracious word and yet the women acted as if she was a witch cursing them all.



She knew he was attractive and well in his finances. Such was obvious for if such was not the case the women of the town would not have gossiped so over him. How in vain they seemed to strive for his attention in hopes for perhaps a marriage proposal or at the very least a kind word.



The Artist had no interest in marriage proposals. In fact she wished nothing more than to remain in the living circumstance and arrangement that she had been in since her father passed away. Very much alone.



Yet that was not the fate for her now was it. He had made certain of that. In one passing on the street upon another raining day on the outskirts of London he had ruined her life and turned the town against her. A mere touch of her hand, a turning of her palm to expose the paint stains and the azure blue vein that pulsed beneath.



A touch had changed everything.



The revelation and realization of such had her eyes snapping to meet his own before she managed to rip her hand away from his own to find its freedom again. Horrified and stunned she had taken off running down the streets ignoring her parchments and the painting supplies so recently purchased.



She ignored the fact that the telltale beating of her heart proved she was no better and no different from the other towns women. The desires and wishes of the women in the town resonated within the dark hidden places of her own spirit. She wished the same. Damn him but she wished the same.



It was the day that she found her painting supplies and other packages gathered at her door step that the women voiced their decision. Cheryth should no longer be left to her own devices. It was unreasonable for a woman of her … gifts… to be left alone.



She was left to be dutifully delivered to the doorstep of not the man she could not rid her thoughts of, but instead to the doorstep of Edmund Winters. A strict Elder of the town and also a widow with two unruly children that were too self-righteous and spoiled to be educated in any mere school.



Cheryth was to be their governess, imprisoned in a fortress she was meant to claim now as her home under the watchful gaze of Mr. Winters who’s gaze upon her was always far from that of a gentleman. The women of the town had got exactly as they wished… Cheryth had been sent to hell.