~~~~

Shakespeare's 116th Sonnet

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark 
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
Within his bending sickle's compass come: 
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
   If this be error and upon me proved,
   I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 

~~~~

Beatrice bounced atop her pony through the blossoming orchard. She loved taking Penny on rides during the spring, particularly through the pear orchard. Closing her eyes, Beatrice breathed in the fresh, cool air. Rain had passed through St. Ives for just under a fortnight, and had only let up yesterday.

She smoothed Penny's copper hair, squeezing her boots tightly against the saddle as she kept her balance. These early, fresh mornings were Beatrice's favorite. The whole manor was asleep, which thankfully included Mama, Lady Margaret Bennet. Beatrice couldn't help but sigh in frustration just from thinking about her. Mama was possibly the most nosy gossip in whole of England. Her loud, whiny voice echoed in Beatrice's ears, scolding her for letting her petticoats drag in the mud. Instictively, Beatrice pulled her skirts up, even though she knew her hem was several feet from the ground.

A pear blossom fell from the cloud of white trees above Beatrice's head. She skillfully caught it in her the palm of her fair, ivory hand. Laughing to herself in delight, Beatrice kissed the blossom and sent it back into the air as Penny trotted on.

"Beatrice!" a familiar voice called. Beatrice turned around to see Papa on his steed, Henry, galloping after her.

Tucking a free, raven black curl behind her ear, Beatrice slapped the rains against Penny's back, making her break into a gallop. "Race you back to the stables, Papa!" she called back, ready for a challenge.

Her heart was racing wildly as adrenaline pumped through her veins. She loved these races with her Papa, rare as they might be. He only came out to ride for recreation upon Beatrice's demands or when he had a purpose for speaking with her. In this case, he must have had something to discuss, seeing as Beatrice could not recall throwing a fi for his presence prior to leaving the house.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Papa sped past her, laughing in his deep, throaty voice. "I'll see you there, my dear!" 

"That's what you think!" Beatrice slapped the reins again, sending Penny's back legs pumping harder and harder against the ground. The orchard fading behind them, she could now see the sable in sight. Hooves beat against the ground from both horses. She was gaining on Papa.

The stables were almost upon them now. Henry and Penny were nose to nose, their labored breath flaring from their nostrils. Beatrice clutched the reins tightly. Her knuckles were whiter than snow. As their routine, the winner would have to completely pass the stables. Papa had always beaten her, no matter how much of a head start she was given. Beatrice was going to win this time. She could feel it. 

Penny's heart beat speedily through Beatrice's stockings as her legs clenched against Penny's sides. She slapped the reins once more, drawing out another ounce of energy from Penny.

Before Beatrice could even process what had happend, Papa shouted, "My congratulations to you, dear daughter! This is the first time you've beaten me, is it not?"

Penny slowed as Beatrice pulled the reins, looking around. What? I won? Her upper lip curled into a jesting grin as she realized her accomplishment.

Her father brought Henry around, to the front of the stables. He slid off, pulling at the fingers of his leather riding gloves. Papa chuckled. "If my memory does not decieve me, it IS the first time. Also your face makes it quite obvoius," he finished, breaking into his deep laugh.

"Oh, Papa!" Beatrice blushed, sliding off Penny. "Don't tease me so, you know I dislike those sorts of jests." 

Beatrice dusted off her plain, navy blue dress. She had borrowed it from one of the servants she was close to. She giggled, imagining Mama after seeing her in a servant's wardrobe, calling for her smelling salts just before fainting.

Her father was chuckling, Henry's nose as he whinnied softly. 

"Papa, was there something you wanted to say to me?" Beatrice asked, leading Penny closer to her father.

"Ah!" he said, snapping his fingers. "Of course. I purchased a new stable boy to care for the horses."

"Papa!" Beatrice protested. Pierre was their last stable boy and the finest of his kind. Brought over from a farm town in France, he had spent every moment of his life around horses. Not only did he keep the stables clean, but he was a skilled trainer and a close friend of Beatrice's. Unfortunantly, he had passed away, just before the rains had begun. Pierre may have been athletic around the horses, but he was a sickly boy with an innefficient immune system. He had caught a fever and was unable to ride it out.

Her father held up a finger, staring down at Beatrice. "No arguing, young lady. I know you swore never to have another stable boy after Pierre's death, but if you love Penny as I do Henry, you will accept this. You cannot care for the horses any longer. Your mother will have a heart attack if she catches you working out here again, do you understand?"

Beatrice nodded slowly, defeated. She sighed. I want what's best for Penny. "Well, then Papa, where did you get him?" 

"Korea."

"W-Where?" Beatrice asked, confused. She had never heard of such a place.

Papa chucked as he fed Henry a sugar cube from his pocket. He handed one to Beatrice, motioning for her to feed it to Penny. "Korea, it's in the Pacific coast of Asia," he eventually said.

Beatrice was skeptical. She had never seen an Asian before, let alone owned one. She held out the treat for Penny, who lapped it up gratefully. Her tongue tickled Beatrice's hand. She wasn't an imbicile, Beatrice simply had never been exposed to anything outside their town of St. Ives. The only other nationalities she had seen before besides her own was French because of Pierre, their Irish cook, Mrs O'Keefe, and the occasional African servant in the shops. 

"Is he a skilled worker?" she asked Papa.

He nodded his head. "A friend of mine visited Asia about 10 years agoon trading business. He found the poor lad on the road, penniless, starving, and without family. My friend took him back to England and set him up for apprenticeship with his own horse master," he explained, feeding another sugar cube to Henry. Papa kicked at the dust as he tried to determine the boy's current age. He snapped his fingers again, "The boy was 7 then, so he must be 17 now."

One year my senior... Beatrice though. She frowned. Too old to be a playmate. There goes my last hope of any good coming of this. 

"I purchased him for a good deal less than was charged me for Pierre," Papa continued. He stopped as the sound of a rusty gate opening filled their ears.

"Ah, there you are, boy," Papa said as he turned around. "Come here."

Beatrice craned her neck to the side, trying to see around Papa. The Asian boy closed the gate to the stables carefully with both hands. 

He turned, running to Papa quickly. The boy's eyes watched the ground as dust rose with his feet. "Yes, sir?" he asked politely, bowing 90 degrees. He ran his fingers through his short, black hair. Flecks of his hair had been bleached to brown by the sun.

Beatrice was shocked. His English was suprisingly almost flawless. The slightest of accents remained, but Beatrice only found it charming. His face looked kind and handsome, but stained with years of pain, from what origin Beatrice could not tell. She couldn't help but run her eyes over the boy's body. He was fit and muscular, yet slim. 

He must have worked diligently his whole life, Beatice thought to herself. He wore baggy brown pants that had been tucked into a pair of thick, dark brown boots, stained with dirt. A long, dirty white rag was tied loosely around his waist. As Beatrice's eyes traveled upwards, her eyes widened. He had donned a dirty, brown, ed vest. Nothing was underneath except his smooth olive skin and muscular, defined abdomen. 

Beatrice gasped as she turned around, burrying her face into Penny's side. Ladies were not meant to see so much of men!

She heard the boy being slapped across the face. Her father yelled at him to change into something decent for being introduced to his new mistress. As he apologized multiple times and ran off, Beatrice nuzzled her face deeper into Penny, feeling a blush arising in her cheeks. She fancied him.

Papa sighed, taking Henry and Penny's reigns and leading them to the gate. Beatrice patted Penny on her backside as she trotted away.

What are you thinking, Miss Beatrice Isabella Bennet? Think of Pierre, your best friend! No one can replace him. Especially not this Asian boy. 

Papa tied the horse's reins to the gate and motioned for Beatrice to come to him. She clasped her hands together underneath her bosom and held her head high, walking to Papa as Mama had instructed her so many times. 

The boy came running from the small, one-room house that hid behind the stables. Beatrice clenched her fingers together tightly as a frown formed on her lips. She didn't like this new boy sleeping in the same bed Pierre had slept in.

Papa nodded approvingly, a small frown still on his face as he looked the boy over. He had slipped into a dirty, beige long shirt with billowed sleeves. His dark, handsome eyes met Beatrice's. He bowed.

"Milady," he whispered deeply.

Beatrice curtsied. "What is your name, boy?" she asked. It felt odd to her, calling a man older than her a boy. 

He kept his eyes on the ground respectfully. "Minwoo."

"Minwoo?" Beatrice asked, trying to pronounce his name correctly.

Minwoo smiled slightly, his eyes sitll on the ground. So this is my new mistress? He nodded. "I will take good care of your horses, Milady."

"Boy, you are not paid to make small talk with my daughter," Papa scolded, taking Beatrice by the elbow. "Bring the horses into the stable," he instructed, pulling Bearice away. "Give them water."

Beatrice turned to have one last glance at Minwoo. His eyes met hers, lingering, as he bowed. The neck of his thin shirt spilled open. He blushed, clasping it to his chest as his eyes dropped again to the ground. It was becoming a familiar sight to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vocabulary:

fortnight = 14 days

manor = the mansion of a lord with the land belonging to it.

Mama = well obviously, this is the mother. but when you think it in your head, pronounce it like muh-maw cause that's how brittish people say it XD 

Papa = puh-paw

milady = a term to refer to a noble woman

A/N:

I imagine Minwoo's white shirt to look like Jack Sparrow's.

I love it when people subscribe to fics when there's only a foreward. Part of this may be because I've never had the guts to do it myself. I like to make sure the fic interests me before I commit to reading it. That's why I love you guys <3 I know you three have read my other fics before, and I feel honored that you guys would commit to this fic without reading a chapter first. It means you have confidence in my work, and I thank you for putting faith in this fic~

*fans face emotionally* wah i'm sorry for getting so emotional. i just love you guys <3

please give me feedback!! ^^