Lucy lived a quiet life, simple and typical of a young girl in the French countryside during 1860. Sighing, Lucy set down her needlework and went outside her father's tiny cottage, looking at the flowers. How beautiful they were as they reached toward the sun on this early spring day! She would have to pick some of the budding blooms for Papa later.
She smiled, leaning down and smelling some of the daffodils. Her Papa was her dearest friend. Indeed, her only friend. They lived miles away from anyone else, and only saw people when they travelled into town for supplies. Her mother had died almost exactly eighteen years ago, giving birth to Lucy.
Sighing, Lucy felt a tear graze her cheek. How she wished for a mother! Lately, she was beginning to feel so lonely, and had no idea why. Honestly, she should be just as happy as ever, nothing had changed. But now that her dresses were growing tighter and she needed to wear a corset, and Papa said she could no longer sit on his lap, things had begun to change. She longed for people in a way she had never thought of before, and had no idea of the cause. No one told her anything! It really was a pity being such a sheltered girl.
Tonight would be especially lonely, because Papa had gone into town by himself for food and cloth for her to make a new dress with. She did hope he would buy the right color; he was not good at things like that. She dreaded spending the night alone; it was ever so dark and lonesome in the cottage at night. Drawing her shawl around herself to guard against the evening chill, Lucy went inside and locked the door just as Papa instructed, and latched the shutters. She made a fire and heated herself a humble dinner, and yet again found herself ever so lonely.
Lucy readied herself for bed, undressing in front of her full length mirror. She and her father were hardly wealthy, but he always gave her whatever she asked for. She slipped her chemise over her head and was reaching for her frothy, silk nightgown when she caught her reflection in the mirror.
My, had she changed in the past three years. The reflection of her large blue eyes was the same, but almost all else was different. Lucy's cheeks went red with shame as she regarded her nude form. Her skin was pale as ever, but more lustrous than before; supple and wanting to be stroked. Tentatively, she ran one of her hands over the smooth skin of her stomach, shivering even at the gentle touch. The blush on her cheeks grew even more profound as she brushed her long blond locks off her shoulders and, with a shaking hand, stroked one of her breasts, small but expressive. She gasped at the sensation, and watched as her nipple seemed to grow more attentive. She was beautiful, wasn't she? She'd never thought of it before.
A bird called right outside the window, making Lucy jump.
"Shameful girl," she chided herself, pulling her nightgown over her head. "How dare you look at yourself that way...!"
Crawling into bed, Lucy found she was not at all tired. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling and listening as the clock chimed once, twice, twelve times. Her heart was beating erratically, alert and excited by this new realization that she was beautiful. Beautiful girls were never lonely, were they? She had no reason to be. Her lack of information irked her, and she tossed and turned as she tried to think of a way to remedy her situation. She could ask Papa to tell her more, yes, tell her things a mother would, but he would not be home until morning, and she had never felt so impatient in her life.
Suddenly she sat up, eyes bright. Quickly, Lucy lit a candle, remembered Papa's private library. He had two large bookshelves in his bedroom, which she was never allowed in.
"My beautiful Lucy," he told her several times when she was younger. "There are things in those books that are not meant for a young girls' eyes. They are too mature, too worldly. I would not want to spoil your purity with those kinds of words!"
He had not mentioned those books in a long time, but he had only instructed her that young girls should not see them. Lucy was practically a woman, was she not? They surely would tell her the things her mother would have! Anyway, Papa had regarded her as grown up several times lately. She'd caught him looking at her in the morning light, when she was still in her nightgown.
"Isn't that a little... sheer for a young lady?" he'd ask, growing red.
"Papa, it's just you and I," she'd say, puzzled and giving him a kiss. There was no reason to cover herself; she she did not know of such relations between and man and a woman.
If he'd acknowledged that she was grown, then it was surely time! Lucy scampered out of bed, shivering in the evening air. Her nightgown had tiny straps like strings, and exposed most of her chest and back, as well as her arms.
Her stomach twisted in anticipation when she entered her father's room, not bothering to close the door all the way. She held her breath for a minute, enjoying the heavy beating of her heart and the knowledge that she was completely alone. First, she looked about the room, and smiled. It smelt of her father, and she was reminded of how much he meant to her. How she missed him! Her heart ached for his return. Only one more night, Lucy, she told herself. He was so brilliant, and cared for her so. She'd trust him with her life, her Papa. He was so good to her.
His room was decorated with dark woods, and had a large bed with blood red velvet curtains, hanging open. It looked so warm and protective. How it fit him! She could imagine him retiring, after a long day working on their land for their food, exhausted, the muscles of his chest hard and tight. His large, strong arms, perfect for protecting her.
"Papa," she murmured, missing him so.
Shaking herself out of her reverie, Lucy went over to the bookshelf. The books were bound in leather, and had no titles written on the fronts. No idea where to start, Lucy picked one off at random and carried to the bed with her. Curling up, she began to read.
