Author: goneGrimlight

Author's note: This story is an AU historical fic, set in England in the early 1800s. I draw a lot of my inspiration from Jane Austen's novels. This is my first Brittana story, but I would be interested in doing more, and I will gladly take requests. So bear with me, and leave your thoughts on the story…

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Santana, Brittany, or any other Glee characters that might appear in this story. I did, however, create many of my own characters for this story (and of course the idea).

*Santana's POV

It was a soft breeze that lifted my hair to dance gently around my face as I looked out over the hills. The sun was still low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the landscape. The grass, still coated in morning dew, glistened in the yellow light and swayed gently in the unsettled air. This was where I loved to be. Not the bustling town, not the busy house, but here. Without all the damned people. I found it to be the one place I could really think, and on such mornings, I needed space.

I had awoken in a relatively good mood, but my mother's forceful manners regarding my search for a suitor had ruined it quickly. It was, more accurately, her search for my suitor. I couldn't have had less of an interest in finding myself a man to whisk me away and steal my freedom. In fact, there was nothing I would hate more than for her to find me some wealthy and bloody intolerable husband, and I had tried to make that very clear. The result of that was me having to come out here to clear my head, which is what I was doing standing in the grass.

Shaking my head, I tried to rid myself of the tirade of thoughts running through my mind and looked back out over the fields. I had often considered running away and never coming back. I sighed dejectedly and turned on my heel, intending to go back to the house. My boots were wet and my feet were cold, not to mention the hem of my dress was soaking.

A few minutes later, I was back inside the house, peeling the waterlogged leather from my feet. I left my shoes in the coatroom and tried to tiptoe up the stairs before a member of my family could catch me, but alas; fortune was not in my favour. One of these days I was going to have to catch a break, wasn't I? Today obviously wasn't that day. My mother eyed me down from the bottom of the staircase, giving me a look that made me want to wither. I watched her face change from one emotion to another as she took in my appearance - first my bare feet, then my soiled dress, then my hair which had come out of place and now fell about my shoulders.

I must have looked quite dishevelled, and that was something my Mama could not stand. She was always the picture of elegance, not so much as a hair out of place. Her features settled on anger and she looked ready to hit something. I just hoped that something wouldn't be me.

"Mama, ah… there you are. I was just going to clean up," I tried, unable to keep the guilty look off my face. She glared up at me with even more hostility, if that was possible.

"Santana, you'll come down here right now. You look absolutely horrid! What if a young man came to the door right now, and you were dressed like this?" She gestured to all of me, emphasising her disgust.

"I couldn't care less, Mama. What you see is what you get." I quipped. This was dangerous territory – whenever I spoke out of line in her house, I was sure to be set straight, but sometimes it was truly worth it. This was one of those times – I was not about to let her win this one. "Besides, what kind of young man comes to a house this time on a Saturday morning? There's absolutely no reason whatsoever for anyone to come calling at this moment."

The universe must have had some sort of vendetta against me, because as soon as the words were out of my mouth, the bell rang. Both our heads snapped towards the door, and I knew that she was wondering the same thing. Who would visit? Perhaps it was Quinn; she seemed to have no trouble showing up at any time, but as my best friend, she had a pass of sorts to strange visiting hours.

I looked back at my mother, just in time to see her regaining her composure before moving towards the ornate darkwood entrance. She turned to me as she walked, "You will go upstairs this instant and make yourself presentable."

I couldn't help feeling relieved as I ran up the stairs, but I still rolled my eyes for good measure, letting her know just how much I didn't like to follow her orders. I began stepping quickly, lifting the front of my dress so I wouldn't trip. I had plenty of experiences in that regard that I would rather not repeat. And as much as I hated to admit it, I didn't preferred not to look like a slob in front of people. My mother never failed to remind me that with our position in society, it wouldn't do to have daughters running around in bare, muddy feet. Besides, I was clearly the most attractive woman in the entire country.

I reached the top of the stairs in record time and moved towards my room. I caught a glimpse of my brother as I went past the upstairs drawing room. The door was slightly ajar, and I could see him sitting at the writing desk, deep in piles of paper. Morys had always been studious, unlike myself and Peter, who had loved to joke around. He was like a loyal dog, without much personality but with a whole lot of drive. Peter and I always made what were to us 'humorous comments' about him, but everyone else seemed to consider them insults. We maintained that he deserved them.

I turned away and continued down the hallway until I reached the familiar white paint and floral engraving of my door. Pushing it open, I noticed the maids must have been through whilst I was in the fields. My bed was made, with an extravagant array of pillows covering half the bed. They were comfortable, if not a little unnecessary. I made my way over to the dressing table which was nestled at the far end of the room.

I was lucky enough to get a room that looked out over the estate. I had a huge south-facing window that let me see all the way over the land, far past where I had been standing earlier. The views were breathtaking, and I relished the fact that no other member of my family had a bedroom in the south wing. It felt so private, like my own part of the house.

I couldn't see the front of the house, so I still had no idea who had come calling. Probably for the best – I had a certain degree of misanthrope, so I wasn't particularly fond of any visitors. Perhaps it wasn't so much misanthrope as an intense dislike for conversing with idiots.

I reached the large white dresser and pulled out the stool. Sitting down was a relief; my feet were sore from my shoes, and my legs from riding the day before. I looked at myself in the mirror. I really did look quite bad, a little nature-beaten. I grabbed my comb from one of the drawers and pulled it through my tangled locks. My hair was silky and long, so it was easy to rid it of the knots. It settled down my back as I finished brushing it, and I reached across the table to pull out my pins. I pulled my hair up into my signature style; most of it was twisted around on the back of my head, and the few shorter strands at the front fell in waves over my ears. There were also some loose strands at the back of my neck, which I never bothered to pin. I liked it better when it wasn't picture perfect like my mother's. I placed a few of the flowers sitting on the table into my hair, as I loved to do. I liked having a little piece of outside come inside with me. Finally, a bit of hair ran from the front of my head, along the side and was pinned at the back. It sat easily so I didn't even need to bother with those ridiculous hair treatments mama was always going on about.

When I was satisfied, I grabbed my powder and put a little of it on my face. My skin was far from the porcelain white of most women in the English countryside, which I owed to my Spanish heritage. I didn't really like powder all that much, but my mother insisted that I wear it, if only for the sake of doing exactly that. She knew as well as I did that I didn't need it, but what Mama wanted, she got.

Standing up again, I walked to my wardrobe and pulled out the first respectable dress I laid my eyes on. I slipped it on after changing my under-dresses, which were soaked too. It was a soft cream colour, bordering on white, and had a light blue ribbon around the waist. I looked nice.

After waiting what I deemed to be long enough for my mother to have cooled down and the mystery visitor to leave, I made my way back down the stairs.

"Good morning, Miss Lopez," said Harrietta, the head housekeeper as I passed her.

"Good day, Harietta." I responded as politely as I could manage. I did like her; she was nice and she cleaned things, but I really wasn't in a chipper mood. I tried to make myself appear less unhappy than I was as I moved toward the dining room, where I found my parents having a late morning tea. I took a seat at the far end of the table, helping myself to a cup of tea and a biscuit. It was a minute before my presence was acknowledged, as my mother and father seemed to be in excited conversation about a piece of paper.

"Oh, sweetie, you're here. And looking much better, I might add. I have some wonderful news. We've been invited to a ball at the Duke's manor tonight. It will be rather high society – lots of rich young men looking for lovely wives, I'm sure…" She gave me a pointed look and I moved my eyes back down to my tea. I took a sip, and was disappointed to find that it was already cold. The pot must have been there for some time. I was forced to look up when she addressed me again. "You'll have to be looking your very best tonight, dear. And there will be no excuses – you will attend and you will enjoy it, or at least try to look like it." I scowled at her, which she promptly called out as unladylike.

"Mama, must we? Now I shall have to spend the day getting ready. I planned to read." I huffed and put down my biscuit, having lost my appetite.

"Oh, you and your nonsense reading. No one wants a wife that can read; they want a wife that can sew and listen to them. Stop all this tomfoolery about books and go up to your room. I'll send Scarlett up to help you. We're leaving at five o'clock sharp."

I had no option but to retain what little dignity I had left in a storm-out and head back up to my room. I didn't want Scarlett's help; I wanted to do it myself. I was perfectly capable. Once back in my room, I threw myself onto the pillows, whose comfort I was now grateful for. There was a soft knock on my door, and a call came through the wood. "Miss, I will warm some water for your bath." I heard the retreating footsteps and closed my eyes. The evening was most certainly not set to be an enjoyable one.

Many hours and baths later, I was being primped and preened under my mother's careful hands. She did my hair as I had done it earlier, but this time she made sure it looked perfect. I would have to remember to fiddle with it a little later. She added diamond barrettes instead of flowers, and a few pearls too. She picked out the most beautiful dress in my wardrobe, one I hardly wore. It was a deep crimson colour, quite bold. Most ladies wore white or blue, something subtle. But red, my mother said, would make me stand out. Black lace trimmed the bodice of an empire waistline and a small black bow tied at the front, an unusual feature. The bottom of the flowing silk skirt was intricately embroidered with beads in patterns that I couldn't quite make out. It was perfect.

I put it on and let it settle over my body, turning to the mirror to study my reflection. I was pleased with how I looked. No doubt I would turn a few heads tonight. My mother was obviously happy with it too, because she was looking at me lovingly with her hand over her heart. "You look beautiful, dear,' she said softly. And I did. "All the men will want to dance with you tonight." She smiled victoriously, as if this was some sort of competition she'd entered me in and I'd already won. I grimaced in response and the disapproving look was back on her face.

"You will dance with the men tonight. You don't seem to understand how important this is. It is my utmost priority that you find a husband soon, Santana. A woman of eighteen is at just the right age to be married."

I turned away from her and moved back over to the dresser, sitting down once again. I looked at her reflection in the mirror sadly, hoping to convey my emotions to her with my eyes. No such luck. She would never understand me. That was something I had come to accept.

"Come now, it's almost five o'clock. The coach will be waiting." She left the room with a flourish, and I sprayed a little of my favourite perfume on my neck before pulling on my gloves. It was going to be a long night - I could tell.

By the time I reached the carriage, my parents and brothers were already waiting for me. I smiled at Peter and frowned at Morys as I stepped into the coach and sat beside my father. He called to the driver to move and we began the 4-mile journey to Chatsworth House, the residence of the Duke of Devonshire and his family. Never in my eighteen years had I been to the Duke's house, despite living so close. My father had been there numerous times for business, but I'd never had the need nor the inclination to go. Until now, of course.

The journey took less time than I'd hoped, and soon I was stepping out of the black coach, my hand in Peter's for support. He offered me his arm, which I took with a forced smile as we made our way up to the front door. It was the biggest manor I'd ever seen, more a castle than a house. Our own paled in comparison to the extravagance of Chatsworth, and I watched the same barely disguised expressions of awe flit across the faces of other guests as they arrived. We passed the doorman and he greeted us as he took our invitation after studying it shortly. "Have a wonderful evening, Mr. and Mrs. Lopez. Master, Master, Miss," he acknowledged us as we passed him and entered the grand foyer.

Edit: In case it wasn't clear, the mystery visitor was the man delivering the invitation. Herp derp.

Author's Note: I know there was no Brittana yet, but there will be, just you wait… This was an introductory type chapter, just for you to get a feel for Santana, the setting, her parents and the style. For visuals, then Chatsworth House is a real place; I did my research. You can look it up. And Marchess manor, the Lopez house, is entirely from my imagination. Just imagine a stately English house.