When you first met the Baroness Angelina Dallas-Burnett, she was engaged to Lord Burnett and you was just a mere eleven-year-old. You thought she was beautiful (she still is, there's just a hint of maturity in her eyes now, that sort of old maturity that have seen both the good and the bad of life). Her red hair had been up in a delicate, neat bun, a couple strands outside of the bun, curling on either side of her face. Her eyes - red and glistening with this mischievous glint - were crinkled at the edges from her always-smiling, pale face.
You had been at the party, the birthday party held for your father, though no a single sight of a family member or friend was said to be seen. It was dreadfully obvious the guests invited were merely there for your father to show off the manor, the one he'd gotten 'from that promotion he worked so dearly for'. Of course the Dallas family were invited as well
Carefully stepping out of the bathtub, hands gripping the sides of the tub as firmly as they could, feet planted firmly on the ground, you wrapped a rather large towel around yourself securely. Once you were sure it wouldn't come undone the moment you let it go, you grabbed another towel and sat precariously on the edge of the bathtub, one leg propped up across the other. You quickly dried of your feet. The last thing you wanted was to leave wet footsteps behind you. You didn't want to ruin the bedroom's beautiful, soft carpet, nor did you want to forget it was wet, walk into the room and then slip.
Once your feet were dried, you quickly cleared up any puddles your feet may have made before laying the towel over the side of the tub. Feeling refreshed and a bit more ready to face the day, you stepped out of the bathroom and over to your bed, peering down at the pretty dress spread delicately out on the bed.