For all the fiery resistance to the domineering will of her mother typical of Sam, this time she sat in silence across from the perpetually-dissatisfied woman, finally conceding partway through the carriage ride ... or so Mother thought. The reputation of [i]the untamable Samantha Whitmore[/i] would not be proven false on this night, or any other night upon which Sam drew breath. Mother father and daughter all wore the frowns residual of the night’s previous argument. The gaudy red hat, giant bow, and sparkling gold ribbons in her braids were obviously not Sam’s idea, and the girl would not stand for anything that was not her idea. To do so would subject her to being paraded in front of men like merchandise on display, with her value being reduced to whatever last name she could be compelled to take. This trip was no different, so thought the parents. She had other plans. She [i]always[/i] had other plans.

Both her parents had important business to attend to back home during her time attending. [i]Zero parental supervision.[/i] That was honestly low hanging fruit. Was she not supposed to use this time for her own adventures? No, that is exactly what she was going to do. Maybe she’d flirt a bit with some cute guy, but this was mostly going to be about her. ‘Noblewoman’s grace’ was out the window. This would be one of the few and treasured times when the wild side of Sam Whitmore could take center stage.

She wanted [i]her[/i] hat back. Not the hideous crimson umbrella with a massive bow that made her look like a bloody christmas present Mother had forced upon her head, the slimmer black hat that matched the jacket Mother had also taken. The thin gold trimming on the brim looked far better on her head than tacky ribbons. At least if she couldn’t take the braids out it would match her hair too. It naturally matched with the cuff embroidery on the jacket that prevented her dress from feeling like the apparel of a streetwalker. That would need to be taken back too, lest the undecorated top advertise her bosom constantly.

The displeasure wagon came to a halt out front where a greeter promptly opened the door for the arriving guest. Sam seized upon the opportunity and tossed the abhorrent red frisbee at Mother. In a single swift motion she stood, reclaimed [i]her[/i] choice of wardrobe, and exited the carriage. Mother lurched after her but did not set foot to the ground. Father had seized her by the arm, knowing better how to pick battles with their oxheaded daughter. [i]“Samantha Meredith Whitmore you bring that back here!”[/i] she bellowed in the distance.
[color=ff2424]“You never did care for my fashion choices Mother, but I care for yours even less,”[/color] she goaded back.
Mother wouldn’t stand for a public spectacle, especially not right before her daughter appeared before lords and kings. Sam would, though, and the defiant girl knew that. [i]“It’s not worth it,”[/i] Father pleaded with his wife, and he was right.
With both of them returning to Chesterford at once, there simply was no time or point fighting a battle over wardrobe here and now. It was unlikely one they would win. Mother conceded the contest and slammed the carriage door shut. [i]“Where did I go wrong with that child ...”[/i] she mused aloud.

Sam was already halfway to the chateau by the time the carriage pulled away, and was pulling at the ribbon woven into her head. Were the braids smaller she might have been successful, but instead of using only a few locks Mother had the bright idea of putting her [i]entire head of hair[/i] into a crown braid that wrapped around the sides of her head and then came together in a single large rope. That had to go, and the sandpaper-like quality of the ribbon frizzing her hair with every pull wasn’t helping either. Thus the braids were gone by the time she reached the door, her hands incessantly combing it out for a down-but-wavy style.

[hr]
She was no royalty and garnered no special introduction. It suited her though. She would take the spotlight on her time, not anyone else’s. There seemed to be enough women who favored a crimson red for her to not immediately stick out. There would be a time for that soon enough. For now, the periphery was populated with random gentlemen only worthy of a glancing inspection, nothing more. It would take more than title to catch Sam’s eye, and more than a fashion statement to hold her attention.

She paced through the room, catching the occasional stare. [color=ff2424][i]‘Let them stare,’[/i][/color] she thought to herself, caring not what a few petty noblemen thought of her choice of outfit. She had paired a brilliant scarlet dress, of full collar and quarter sleeves floor length as typical but split up to the knee and wide enough to spin a perfect circle, with an unbuttoned black men’s jacket with gold embroidery on the cuff. Her affinity for hats withstanding, she topped the outfit with a relatively short flat-top hat in a matching black. Her hair being down lent a much more appealing caramel color to the mix where the gold ribbon had simply been tacky. The trademark style of Samantha Whitmore struck an odd balance between provocative and reserved, with a mandatory dose of unconventionality ... and a certain overtness as a result.

She kept her brisk pace along the perimeter, passing by the uninteresting folk rambling on about something inane as far as she cared. There seemed to be a handful of interesting parties floating around, much as she was. Some of them had managed to gather together, likely gossiping in the same pattern of the uninteresting rabble. It left her selection of potential acquaintances irritatingly small, but that was the price for being as ultra selective as she was. At least Mother wasn’t here to parade her in front of every drab, half-inebriated and overly handsy noble in the manor.