The Selection’s Defiant Outcast

Harry stood tall, her vibrant navy and bright blue dress making her a stark contrast to the dull, brown and green attire of the other girls in the hall. Her bare arms and fingerless gloves showcased her toned physique, while the slit up one side of her leg revealed her knee-high boots. It was a deliberate attempt to defy the norms of the selection process, where a submissive demeanor and modest clothing were highly prized.

As Mrs. Denu walked up and down the line of girls, correcting their clothes and makeup, Harry couldn’t help but feel a sense of defiance. She knew she didn’t fit the mold, but she wasn’t about to change who she was just to please the others.

“Now, girls,” Mrs. Denu said, her heels clicking on the floor. “When the suitor arrives, you are to keep your heads down, eyes on the floor. You do not, under any circumstances, look him in the eye. You must show that you know your place. You will do everything that he asks of you without hesitation. When he arrives, you will all curtsy like we practised.”

As the girls curtsied, Harry almost fell over, her clumsy attempt at a curtsy a stark contrast to the others. She caught a glimpse of the man as he walked towards them, his dark auburn hair and tall frame making her heart skip a beat.

Warren, the suitor, walked into the hall, his eyes scanning the line of girls. He was immediately drawn to Harry, her bold clothing and messy plait a stark contrast to the others. He turned away from the girls, his mother’s arm on his, and began to guide her away from the line.

“Do you not like them, Mama?” he asked.

“I don’t want just any ugly girl being the next Mrs. Denu,” his mother replied. “We have status. I will not let you ruin it by choosing some improper unattractive harlot!”

Warren rolled his eyes, his patience wearing thin. He didn’t want some high-maintenance wife who would cling to him for every little thing. He wanted someone who could take care of themselves, someone like Harry.

As he walked up the line, skipping past the younger girls, he couldn’t help but notice Harry at the end. Her glare at his mother was a bold move, one that he admired. He stopped next to her, his mother introducing her as Harriet Burman with a clear tone of disdain.

“Harriet Burman,” his mother said, her eyes narrowing. Harry glared at her under lowered lashes, her beauty and confidence drawing Warren in.

“So Harriet,” he said, his hand under her chin, raising her face to his. “Wh-“

“It’s Harry,” she cut him off. “Harriet’s a stuffy name for a stuck-up woman.”

Warren chuckled, his eyes locked on hers. “So Harry, do you mind if I take the twig from your hair?” he asked.

“If you like, I wasn’t bothered to on the way over.”

As he plucked the twig from her braid and dropped it on the ground, Harry’s gaze hardened. “I’m not proper nor a lady. I killed a bear and I wear my scars proudly.”

Warren’s eyes widened, his interest piqued. He saw a woman who was confident, independent, and strong. He wanted her, not just as a wife, but as a friend. And any woman who could kill a bear was definitely a friend of his.

He released her chin, his eyes locked on hers. “I chose you, Harry, because you would be fine by yourself. I don’t want a wife, you don’t want a husband, so why not appease our families and pretend we care, then go home and just be roommates?”

Harry’s mind reeled as she processed his words. Why would he choose her, a woman who hated the idea of marriage, just to appease their families?

“How do I know you aren’t lying, just manipulating me into marrying you so that you can have your way with me?” she asked, her voice laced with skepticism.

Warren’s anger flashed, but he quickly subdued it. “Do I look like I would lie to you, little girl?” he asked, his voice low and gruff.

Harry felt a shiver run down her spine as he towered over her, his body crowding hers. She wanted to point out that she was by no means a little girl, but right now, compared to the giant in front of her, she felt small.

“Think about my offer,” he said, his voice softer now. “I would rather a wife who can kill a bear than a quiet needy mouse trailing after me.”

With that, he left the room, leaving Harry to ponder his words. She didn’t know what to do, her heart heavy with the weight of his proposal.

As she packed her bags, still trying to make sense of it all, she realized that she had a decision to make. The logical side of her brain was telling her to stick to the plan, but the idiotic part was screaming to take a chance on this man, this Warren, who seemed to understand her in a way that no one else ever had.

It was then that she knew what she had to do. She would take a chance on him, on them, and see where it led.