Chapter 2: Stumbling into debt
Year 1781
Though the Belmont family were no lords or dukes, they once lived a life far better than comfortable—until twelve years ago, when a conflict between vampires and humans tore through their community, forcing many—including the Belmonts—to abandon their homes and fall into poverty. In the remnants of what was once their vibrant life, a quiet desperation had settled in the corners of their modest dwelling.
Now, in the cosy living room, the soft ticking of the clock played a lullaby against the backdrop of clattering knitting needles as eighteen-year-old Ruelle sat beside her younger sister, Caroline. Each stitch was a breath of hope wrapped in wool, a silent testament to their struggle for survival and dignity.
"You know, the combination of these colours turned out excellent!" Caroline exclaimed with a bright voice. Leaning closer, she admired Ruelle's meticulous handiwork.
Ruelle held up the sweater, a warm flush of pride colouring her cheeks. "I'm glad they turned out alright! Can you imagine how happy Mrs. Clifford will be? I cannot wait to see their reaction!" A smile tugged at her lips.
"Alright?" Caroline laughed. "Mrs. Clifford is going to be positively delighted! She will pay handsomely for them! Isn't that right, Mother?" Her eyes sparkled with innocent hope.
Ruelle turned her brown eyes to their mother, silently pleading for acknowledgement—a nod of approval that had always felt just out of reach. Acceptance was a rare gift, one for which she yearned for more than the warmth of the sun.
Mrs. Belmont glanced towards Caroline first, a smile lighting up her face. "Oh, absolutely, dear. I'm sure she will be." But when her gaze flickered to Ruelle, it lacked warmth. The distance between them often felt unconquerable and hopeless. "Just make sure you finish quickly, Ruelle. The delivery needs to be done today," she added, her tone slightly curt.
Ruelle didn't pay much attention to her mother's lack of praise, and she nodded with a smile. She replied, "Yes, Mother." Determination sparked within her. No, she thought, she would make a better one!
They had laboured over twelve sweaters, each one stitched with care and hope, intended for Mrs. Clifford—a woman who soared above them, perched comfortably among society's elite. The money from this sale could close the growing rift in their finances, perhaps even restore a fragment of their lost dignity. Ruelle had always strived to help her family, driven not merely by duty but by the quiet whisper of love that hummed in her heart.
"Caroline, today when you go to the Clifford's mansion, you will be the one to speak with her," instructed Mrs. Belmont.