"Idrie! Idrie, you won't believe what Daddy's done!"

The young woman lowered her book and turned in her chair to face the smaller and lighter-haired version of herself.

"What is it, Lizzy? Surely he's done nothing too dreadful?"

Lisabeth Brightley fell at her sister's feet and said in a passionate tone, "Oh, but he has! He sold you off!"

Her look was steady. 

"Has he now?" 

The tone was one that might have been used to comment on the weather or the latest cricket scores, both of which this young lady had little interest. Lisabeth, however, refused to overlook such a serious and disgraceful matter, (particularly where unfamiliar husbands were concerned).

"You must speak with him, Idrie," she said with a pleading tug of her sister's skirt. "Oh, you must speak to him immediately!"

Although she seldom saw a point in granting Lisabeth's wishes, Idrielle Brightley was more or less her slave; not in the literal sense of the word, but never (since that unfortunate affair with Mr. Empton's goose) has she refused any whim or demand for Lisabeth's benefit. Idrielle Brightley paid little attention to the world and considered herself fortunate in many ways; this life served and arranged her unimportant affairs, not the other way around.

Their father was at his desk, immersed in letters, when she and her sister entered, with the latter stepping on her skirt tails. (And that patient woman never uttered a word of remonstrance!)

Mr. Brightley was a man of exact habit and method and one felt his presence whenever they visited Brush of Hills with its sprawling lawns, falling hills, and abundant gardens. A touch of feminine charm swept through the bright halls of the house since, once upon a time, the trill of children's laughter rushed along the now peaceful walls. Even childish ink-stained art hung on the walls of his study from the sweet youthful days of long ago. While others may have found this memory-filled room burdensome, Mr. Brightley enjoyed these tender moments of reflection. The image of Lizzy playing dolls, Idrie reading in her corner and dear Henrietta smiling from the chaise, brought him peace.

Mr. Brightley, his full grey head tied back with a ribbon, looked up from his papers.

"Idrielle, my dear! I haven't seen you in a while, but I imagine you're too consumed by your books to remember your old father. It's fine, my dear, I'm only teasing. Where did I place that pen...? I hope you're well?"

"Quite," and receiving a well-aimed kick in the ankle from her sister added hastily, "Well, in health, I should expect so, Father."

He clapped his hands. "Wonderful! You never were one to complain, unlike your sister, eh Lizzy?" He gave his youngest a debonair grin, to which she returned with a scowl from behind her sister.

"To what do I owe this pleasure? Come, come, sit in my armchair there. It's always been your favourite spot."

She would have snuggled into the offered chair had her sister's tug on her arm not implied that now was not the time to 'rest in father's company'.

"Thank you, Father, but I'd rather not... at the moment."

Mr. Brightley raised his spectacles higher upon his nose, eyeing her from beneath his brows. Lisabeth leaned in and whispered, causing their father to raise an inquisitive brow.

"Tell him you need to discuss something important."

"I've something of utmost importance to speak of with you, Father, and hope you can spare a moment of your time."

The corner of his mouth twitched while his eyes betrayed amusement. He rested his elbows on the desk and intertwined his fingers in a business-like manner.

"Have you used all of your allowance, then?"

"That's not—"

"No worries, my dear girl. I'll write you a cheque this minute." He reached for his pocketbook and drew a fountain pen from somewhere with a flourish.

"Father, I assure you I have no need of money today—"

"Then I suppose you've come on Lzzy's behalf?" He looked over his spectacles at his younger girl. "You've been spending most recklessly, Lizzy dear, that it worries me. I've had to replenish your allowance three times this month, and that is something!"

Lisabeth raised her nose. "It isn't my fault. I have a taste for costly things, Daddy, and you know very well why."

The man chuckled and shook his sleek grey head.

"And is it someone else's fault you think you must buy those seemingly expensive things you have no need of?"

Her cheeks reddened and, to save herself from his laughing gaze, she turned and whispered to her sister, "Tell him what you need to say."

"I've come, sir," Idrielle began after a delicate cough to regain his attention, "To speak of some engagement you've made concerning me."

There was a lengthy pause and only the owl-faced clock disturbed the temporary silence within the room with his hooting tick.

After a few blinks and licking of the lips, the man let out a cry of "Aha!" as if only just realising what 'engagement' she spoke. Settling himself into his chair, he said animatedly,

"Ah, yes, yes, yes, that business, of course." He paused before adding with genuine curiosity, "What of it?"

Before she could respond, Lisabeth sprang from behind her like a fiery kitten.

"Tell her how you've sold her off! To let her go as though she were a cow headed to the slaughter is unspeakable!"

"Now you're being dramatic, Lizzy. I have not sold your sister. I've simply agreed with a friend that his son may pursue her and if he finds her fitting, may have her for a bride—"

"But without her consent!" cried Lisabeth with a stamp of her little foot. "What if she despises him? Or doesn't find him the least bit attractive in mind or body? How dreadfully impolite of you, Daddy—I never thought you so cruel—oh, oh, oh!"

Mr. Brightley rushed to comfort his daughter, who'd thrown herself on her late mother's chaise and chanted "Oh, oh, oh!" in a fashion of pure discontent and misery. A glimpse of the trio would make one think the maiden had suffered a terrible misfortune (her cheeks, neck and bosom were flushed from all her crying). And one would wonder about the impassive young lady watching the twittering goldfinch that bustled near the window; his curious beady eye seemed to want to know what was amiss in Mr. Brightley's study.

~

Lisabeth, having recovered from her tearful episode with a cup of tea, sniffled from the velvet chaise while her father petted her mound of dishevelled curls.

"Now let us be reasonable, Lizzy," he began with a paternal air. "It is high time Idrie set about to wed, don't you think? You wouldn't want her to be alone in the world, would you? Considering all the suitors you had?"

This was a tactical approach to the rather sensitive Lisabeth Brightley, who had indeed had her share of admirers in her eight and ten years. Her cheerful countenance and bewitching smile gained favour from young and old men alike. Idrielle's withdrawn nature, on the other hand, stirred a man the way an enchanting portrait might; an object without a soul, to be observed and admired at a distance. And so most of her possible suitors remained unknown.

But Lisabeth's adoration for her sister was near reverence (the after-effects of a melancholic childhood accident). This affection grew two-fold since she'd overheard the minister's wife whispering to Mrs. Adgeworthy that 'the elder Miss Brightley's nose was far too long for her face'. A minister's wife! Imagine! (Mrs. Minister's brother had been infatuated with Idrielle Brightley despite his sister's wish for him to marry Mrs. Adgeworthy's girl, a wan creature with knobby wrists and thin, whitish-blonde hair. But she needn't have worried; the young man went away to his father soon enough, taking any thought of romance with him.)

"Perhaps I am being selfish," said Lisabeth with a dramatic sigh. "But to think you've sold my darling sister to a man we know nothing of!"

"Nonsense, Lizzy, I haven't 'sold' Idrie. Raymond Lambert was a dear friend of mine in my younger years, and I am confident his son is a respectable young man."

Lisabeth scoffed, casting a pitying glance at her sister, who stared out the window. She caught her father's hand. "But what if he's a tyrant, Daddy?"

"Lizzy—"

"What if he's a drunkard or a gambler? Or worse—both! Oh, Daddy, you know how men are these days. They're not wholesome like you!"

Idrielle thought her sister unfair, since neither Mr. Croft nor Mr. Jones (both hopeful in attaining the darling Lisabeth's affection at one time or another) possessed such detestable inclinations. But she also knew this was Lisabeth's way of disrupting the peace of their father's decision.

Mr. Brightley chuckled and gave the fair hand a fond pat.

"Your imagination, where Idrie's concerned, always was... exotic. But I am flattered by your view of me, my sweet girl. The Lamberts are a respectable lot. I've had the fortune of dining with them recently when you both had gone to visit your uncle in Cairne. They are a handsome family—their little girl is quite an outgoing cherub. And I had lunch with Margaret Garin's son some time ago, a fine man turned doctor you know, who," he added with emphasis, "is a devoted friend of Wade Lambert."

This was some small comfort to Lizzy, who held a high respect for doctors in Harwickshire, although it must be admitted there were only three generally trusted by society. Doctor Harme was a modernist, so the older residents of the country never risked a call from him. Then there was Doctor Adamms, an evolutionist, whom everyone considered a hazard. Finally, Doctor Willis (and who doesn't trust a Willis?) , a sensible old man, was a beloved figure in Harwickshire.

"Doctor Willis spoke well of this, Doctor Garin, then?" inquired Lizzy, dabbing at her eyes.

"Why yes, he had many impressive things to say about him—Lambert as well," (he abstained from mentioning the unpleasant things he'd heard about the young Lambert). "But those are trivial things," he'd thought to himself later. "Every man has been a boy once," another truth to consider. Despite this 'truth', Miss Lisabeth Brightley would have been outraged if she knew the details he conveniently failed to mention. In her eyes, Idrielle deserved nothing less than perfection for a husband.

"Oh Idrie, I wish you'd say something!" she cried, flailing her handkerchief at the morose creature near the window with some vehemence in her swings. "Aren't you frightened at all—concerned even?!"

At last, the elder Miss Brightley turned from the playful afternoon and faced her sister with an apathetic gaze.

"No, Lizzy, Father's decision does not bother me in the least." She shrugged. "I don't expect it ever shall, really. Few things move me; you know it better than anyone... But I do wish you wouldn't fret—for my sake, if not your own." And here she glided across the room and placed a tender kiss on the rosy cheek.

And as in their youth, the sweet solace of her sister's kiss settled Lisabeth's nerves more than mere words could have. She gave a defeated sigh.

"Well, I suppose if you can bear it so bravely, so must I." She stared at her mother's portrait with a saddened air before adding, "But how I do feel the world has crashed upon our heads and not even the finest dresses in Europe can make it all better!"

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So?! We've met the Brightleys! What are your thoughts on Idrie and Lizzy? I really enjoyed these two and Mr. Brightley was a bonus. I'm still working on their personalities so we'll see how it goes from here, right?

Leave me a few VOTES, if you're 👍😎 AWESOME!