Isobel stood in the doorway, lovingly watching Charles say goodbye. Once again he was off to sea with work. She had no idea what “work” was, but it required constant leaving and for quite a long time. But Isobel didn’t really care. She probably should of…but she didn’t. it didn’t really phase her mind why. She tucked a few stray hairs behind her chin. She leaned against the doorway. Smiling faintly and closing her eyes for a moment to hold in the tears she always had when he left. Always. No matter how many times. The first time. Second. Third. Seventh. Twenty-third. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes to see him smiling and walking towards her.
Unlike most men during their age, who had small braids or ponytails behind their heads, nearly hidden under their hats, he had a flop of brown hair. In his face. All shaggy and scruffy. And against her parents wishes, she liked it. He wasn’t really tall and wasn’t short. In the middle. Strong. Lots of muscles.
He stood in front of her, no expression as she stared at him. After a few moments he cracked and smile and hugged her. She hugged back. Then she whispered like she always did “Can I come?” and he always shook his head and whispered back “Not yet.” It was a long hug and ended when she kissed his cheek and he waved and left to the streets to go to his boat ‘THE MOON’. It was large with white sails and few chips of paint or wood. Isobel allowed a stray tear to fall down her face. After he was out of sight she turned back into the house. He father stood frowning, fully recovered from the smile he had put on for the goodbye. He stared at Isobel and raised an eyebrow not changing his facial expression. She hurried off to her room to the left of her father.
They lived in a house that was quite small compared to other people of their social status and age and her parents friends. But it also came in handy. When he fathers friends wanted to lose themselves to loose morals and to get drunk and play cards and gamble, their house was always the spot. The only rule was: no assaulting his wife. On those days Isaac Brown didn’t seem to care for his daughter. Or most days. Just some. And today, as usual was no exception. She hurried off to her room, her dress moving with her. Other ladies that she saw were always wearing ginormous skirts with layers and layers fabric piled on top of each other. Instead Isobel had probably the amount of fabric that one of those ladies had in one layer as her whole wardrobe. Two dresses. No big hoop skirts. Nothing except her two dresses, her worn down leather boots, and the one corset that her mother and her shared on occasions. Isobel’s dresses had no layers. They went straight down and touched the floor. Nothing extra. Just the way she liked it.
Once she was taken by Charles to a dress fitters, so she could try out one of those monster dresses, instead, she passed out because of the corset three minutes later and had to have a bucket of water poured on her face.
Isobel sighed. Charles was off again. That meant her days were as free as birds until he came back. She had managed to keep no friends after all eighteen years of her life for no longer than a week. Except Charles. But he didn’t count. He had told her once, in a drunken fit that he wanted to marry her. Even though it was only the rum speaking, she had told him he said it the next day, when he was sober and he had said that he had meant it. And to be honest, she hoped it was true. He was the one she could tell nearly everything to. Even though he was rarely around. But when he was, she just start pouring all her feelings and regrets and sadness and everything that had happened while he was gone.
When he was gone it was usually for around a month. Then a week or less of hanging around then gone again. An usually most of that time, he hung around her. Nearly never drinking or leaving. He didn’t gamble tons and when he did he usually won. Which was good because he for some reason always gambled with the richest men in England.