History

Having been born to the misfortune of girlhood, the weight that hung around her brothers’ necks missed the slender stretch of her own. Without such a torment, the young girl was free to expand upon her personality from beyond the shadow of their controlling, particular father.

Duke William Russell of Bedford was not shy in practising his favouritism over his children, the order went as so: Edgar (the second born, strong of body and bold in confidence), Ophelia (an unwanted daughter, yet a shiny chess piece to be sold to the highest bidder) and Francis (the sickly first born who seemed to disappoint their father at every single turn). This order had been set in stone by the time Ophelia had grown old enough to pay witness to those small, little torments expelled from their father — snide remarks, knowing looks and the fact that he never looked her in the eye, but rather looked over her as if she were not there at all. Edgar, who had his own issues that were quite misgivings, was raised alongside Francis as if they were twins, two sides of a coin where one was considered lucky and the other not. Ophelia was treated more like a doll, passed to the Duchess Eleanor in order to make sure that the girl had not grown a misfortunate growth or an ugly spot upon her face, then thrown toward the nursery where she spent most of her days.

Woburn Abbey was a grand house, but Ophelia knew little of it. When the brothers had been there, tickling the edge of leaving the nursery itself, Ophelia had enjoyed watching them from afar, adopting boyish troublesome mannerisms such as running, shouting and playing with toy swords. When they left to make a start on a formal education, however, all unnatural traits were squeezed out of her by a new nanny who was said to boast a fine keen sense on how a young lady ought to be. Forcing her hand to needlework, singing and dancing, Ophelia was sculpted into the modest young woman she was meant to become, and by the time a governess was sent for, the only daughter of the Duke was presented with a well to do, clean, little girl who sported her mother’s eyes and her father’s clear complexion.

As the years passed by, Ophelia honed her craft, watching from the windows as her brothers (or more rather, Edgar) was taken outside with their father. Their mother rarely visited her daughter, leaving the governess to act as the only figure that Ophelia ever knew — these lonely days were at least memorable by the hours spent in the windowed alcoves of the house with her brother, Francis, where the two would come to know one another as children intent on releasing their true selves upon the world. She would ask him of what he had learned, of history and art with the quick of her heart… Avidly imaging his work of education and intelligence with vividity before she was forced to return to her Governess. Sometimes she’d work on her needlepoint as they talked, embroidering floral studies for Francis to tuck into his pockets like a Princess would give a favour at a joust. She loved Edgar too, of course, but Edgar was often led away from his siblings in order to become the worthy Duke he was meant to be. But even Ophelia was presented to the public now and then, exhibited in carriage or parade before Francis was ever given the opportunity. Of course, Ophelia had not said her peace on the matter, and rather enjoyed the slight moments of the spotlight as one would when starved of attention.

When Francis and Edgar left home to study at University, their father’s attention swayed toward his only daughter. Thus she was never left alone again, but rather watched over as a prison guard would an inmate, commenting furiously over the state of a drawing or how she held herself in a dance with her governess. He would say snide little comments about how she would never find a husband looking like that, or that her chances would be overlooked in order for someone prettier. Of course, every remark was taken with silence, but the words made their marks upon her person, slithers of complaints that darkened her soul in one single pinch. Despite this turn of events, there were some happier moments to be had. As the only child at home she was suddenly afforded gifts and opportunities that would have passed her by otherwise — a new instrument, a wardrobe set for her debut before the Queen and the likes of young women to visit coloured as her own faithful companions.

After her debut, it was said that Ophelia had been met with many fine proposals of marriage, each and every supposed engagement denied by her father who hoped to have her sent abroad or to some rich titled gentry since she was the daughter of the Duke. By her second season out, Ophelia was forced to remain loyal to her father’s vision… but that is not to say that she did not enjoy the attention. With a fine upbringing by that celebrated governess, she had been well prepared for the life ahead, and often impressed with flourishing dancework and singing beside a well tuned piano.

When William Russell died, the world was brought into a new act. By the time Francis was recalled from his travels, Ophelia met him by the front door — with the shock of losing the man who had controlled all of their lives, she barely knew what to do with the absence of the home. Neither in true mourning or celebration, she looked at Francis for some hope of wisdom of what to do next… That, and thus her future was put into her older brother’s hands, a brother who was suddenly cast anew compared to how he had been in the days of his childhood. With Edgar on side, his true fate sealed by the new succession, Ophelia intends to play the peacemaker and eager ally to her brother’s wishes… However, with their father now gone, she is faced with the disappointment of thinking about her future, when all that claims her are her dreams and the new bible that sits beneath her pillow.