Love is the Enemy

had had no time to tidy up before being required to help in other parts of the house.
It was unlike Elizabeth to be untidy or unpunctual, Nerina thought with a little frown and, picking up one of her ribbons from the floor, she wound it over her fingers, smoothing away its creases. As she did so she caught sight of herself in the mirror on the dressing table and made a grimace in dismay. She had no idea that she could look so dirty.
She had only been able to afford the cheapest seat in the train in an unclosed carriage. The smoke from the engine had been terrible and the wind had blown her hair about until she looked very unlike a prim and respectable Governess.
Nerina pulled her bonnet from her head. Her hair fell in heavy curls on either side of her face, framing it with a vivid fire that seemed to catch the sunlight and reflect it back again. The lashes that framed her green eyes were naturally dark and curly, but Nerina, looking at her own reflection, did not see any beauty in them or in the aristocratic perfection of her tiny tip-tilted nose. She saw only the superficial dirt that defaced her white skin and the fear that made her lips quiver however hard she pressed them together.