Spring of 1853, Mississippi

It wasn't that Rogue lacked any beauty; on the contrary, the fifteen-year-old daughter of Charles Xavier, owner of one of the wealthiest plantations in the South, boasted rich auburn hair, compelling olive-green eyes, and skin as white as dainty snow. But her deep wine-colored tresses paled in comparison next to her sister Jean's glorious scarlet locks, her green eyes weren't quite as compelling when in the same room as Jean's expressive viridian-colored pools, and her milky complexion looked downright pale when judged against Jean's fair, jasmine-white skin. Because of this, Rogue had failed to be too surprised when at parties and dances, it was her gorgeous sixteen-year-old sister Jean who was always surrounded by eager suitors--foolish young gentlemen, she'd always thought, the way they hung on to her every word and tried every trick to get her to spare even one brief glance in their direction--while she sat inconspicuously tucked away at a corner, not quite with the married women and the elderly but nonetheless clearly away from the group of young, marriageable girls as well.

Rogue sighed and irritably smoothed over a nonexistent wrinkle in her dramatic green silk dress as she watched the unmarried young girls giggling and flirting with their male escorts. The already petulant second daughter of Charles Xavier was in a worse mood than usual today, partly because her whalebone corset had been laced too tightly for the ball--not her fault she didn't have a ridiculously tiny sixteen-and-a-half-inch waist like her younger sister Kitty, she thought annoyedly--partly also because she realized that said fourteen-year-old younger sister was already attracting many more suitors than she could ever possibly hope for. Rogue sighed crossly as she eyed Kitty chatting pleasantly with Kurt Wagner, the grandson of a German immigrant who'd sailed to the Southern States with nothing more than the clothes on his back and had proceeded over time to build one of the richest plantations in the county. She could certainly understand why eligible young gentlemen were practically smothering Jean and fighting each other to get to the seats nearest her, but what exactly did they see in Kitty that she, Rogue, didn't have as well? After all, she thought moodily to herself, it's not like Kitty's got the prettiest dress, or has the nicest hair, or for that matter anything other than her stupid little sixteen-and-a-half-inch waist. And she's so flighty, too...Rogue suddenly blinked her eyes viciously, as though to snap herself out of her thoughts. What had made her turn so catty and jealous all of a sudden? She wasn't that type of person at all. Granted, she wasn't the sweetest or most charming young lady around--those titles belonged to Kitty and Jean, respectively--but she had never been a recklessly shameless gossip like Tabitha Smith, either. Rogue sighed again to herself, fighting hard to smother a yawn of boredom before working her mouth into a frown as she realized that she really had nothing to do with these mindlessly happy crowds. Glancing around to make sure none of those old busybodies were around to report her conduct back to her father--it was Mrs. Smith, Tabitha's mother, that she was especially worried of--Rogue stood up from her seat, smoothed down the skirts of her dress, and proceeded to leave. What was there for her here at this stupid meaningless ball, anyway, suitor-less and flat out without any attention from anyone, let alone a boy? She might as well sneak back to her father's plantation, where she could finally get rid of this damn corset and change into a dress that wasn't as silly and didn't have as many skirts or ribbons. Darting final quick glances at the group of married women sitting around fanning themselves, Rogue stealthily crept farther away from the festivities.

Pietro Maximoff grinned, his sky-blue eyes lighting up with mischief as he finally arrived at the ball, already knowing that all the female heads would be turned in his direction as he made his grand entrance alongside his twin, Wanda. At age seventeen, Pietro was as dashingly handsome and charming as any eligible young bachelor could hope for, and the arrogant youth was only too aware of this fact. Already his mind was running over which conquests he would make today. Miss Tabitha certainly intrigued him...but she was a bit too close on the border between Southern belle and white trash for him to really be stuck on for too long; besides, her family's plantation was several acres smaller than his own. Maybe Miss Amara; she was annoyingly emphatic about the courtesy and demure charms that all Southern ladies were supposed to have, but Pietro was sure he could knock her down a peg or two. Just then, Pietro caught sight of the usual swarm of eager young men crowded around a rather consternated-looking Miss Jean, and his upper lip began to turn up in a smug little smirk. There was his target--Charles Xavier's prided eldest daughter. Pietro had courted the glorious redhead on-and-off for the past year, mainly because all the other men in the five nearest counties seemed to be doing so, and he always did enjoy victory over others. Although Jean had been wary of him in the beginning, he knew that she was slowly warming up to his good looks and charms. Or at least he thought she was, as he began weaving his way through the crowd, pausing to sweep down in an exaggerated bow for Miss Jean's youngest sister, Miss Kitty, earning himself a timid blush and smile from the perky brunette and a scowl from her hopeful suitor Kurt Wagner.

Before Pietro could actually reach Jean, however, his eyes happened to lift up and scan across the room, just in time to catch a feminine figure discreetly slipping away from the festivities. Pietro paused, frowning and starting to feel the beginnings of intrigue as he pondered who could possibly leave when the ball had barely begun. Judging from her extravagant silk dress, she was obviously a young and unmarried girl, because family matriarchs were hardly expected to dress in such a flashy way and still retain their dignity. So what, then, would a marriageable young lady be doing leaving like this, without having danced at all and clearly having failed to charm any potential suitors? His curiosity roused, Pietro wasted no time in forgetting all about the lovely Miss Jean and began cutting through the crowds after the mystery girl, not even bothering to pause and acknowledge Miss Tabitha's seductive smile as he passed the blonde bombshell by.

Rogue tottered as fast as she could on her forest-green slippers, then forced herself to slow down lest she faint from lack of breath getting to her lungs through her corset. She had to stop herself from muttering unflattering words against the person responsible for lacing her in too tight--namely, the family's beloved housekeeper, Ororo Munroe, an attractive African-American woman who'd been hired rather than bought for her services at the plantation because she was as free as any Caucasian and too respected by Charles Xavier to be treated as anything less than a family equal.
"Again, she's got to remember that Ah ain't got a waist as tiny as Kitty's," Rogue muttered grumpily to herself. Out of all her sisters, she was the one with the most prominent accent, and after being ashamed of that fact for the better part of her life, she was just recently learning to proudly show off that accent like a symbol of her individuality amidst all the other fair-haired, prettily-dressed, demurely charming Southern girls.
"Ah don't have a suitor to impress, why should Ah bother trying to mold myself into some little perfect Southern damsel, anyway?" she muttered sourly to herself as she continued to rapidly cross the gardens of the Summers plantation where the ball was being held.
"Oh, don't be so sure of that fact, Miss," a distinctly masculine voice spoke up from somewhere behind her, and Rogue was so startled that she nearly fell right on her face when she spun around to meet the speaker. Her eyes narrowed at the handsome youth leaning lazily against the trunk of a huge oak tree, his blue eyes laughing mischievously at her from under a mane of platinum-blonde hair so pale that it was almost a silver shade.
"What do you want, Pietro?" she spat out, forgetting all the ladylike manners Miss Ororo had so painstakingly taught her over the years she'd worked with the family.
"My, awful sassy today, aren't we?" His words echoed the arrogant smirk on his lips, as Pietro added with mock indignation, "Can't a gentleman talk to a lovely young lady any more without getting snapped at?"
"Maybe, but judging by your irresponsible and narcissistic ways, Mr. Maximoff, Ah can hardly call you a gentleman, now can Ah?" Rogue sniped, ignoring the flutter in her heart that Pietro had called her lovely. Even if he had been mocking her, or working his charm, or whatever it was that he did that made so many girls latch on to him like he was their demigod, this was still the first time that any male had ever admired her beauty.
"Well, aren't we the feisty one today, Miss...ah..." Pietro's smug grin seemed to fade a notch, as he struggled to remember her name, and the fact that he was so obviously ignorant of her seemed like a slap on the face, especially when he'd bothered to remember the names of all the other girls at the ball, even white trash like Tabitha.
"It's Rogue," the petulant girl seethed through clenched teeth, tightening her hands into fists and resisting the urge to pummel him with them.
"Oh, of course, Miss, er, Rogue. How could I forget?" Pietro was instantly back to his usual charms, recovering fast and beginning to prattle, "But Miss Rogue, that is a mighty strange name you've got there. Haven't you thought of something more normal? What about Marie?" Rogue scowled.
"What do you think of the name John?" she shot back, exaggeratedly fluttering her eyelashes at him. "After all, Pietro isn't exactly all that normal a name itself, now is it?" And she rustled her skirts and hiked off, as fast as her slippers could carry her and with Pietro behind protesting indignantly, "Hey, my name just happens to be French...Or is it Italian? Or is it Greek? And say, Miss Rogue, what do you think of the name Rachel? Or Diana? Or Victoria? You know, if you had an easier-to-remember name, maybe you'd get more suitors! Say, what about Caroline? Or Natalie? Or..."

---

"Ugh, Ah hate Pietro," Rogue declared huffily to herself the next morning, as she stomped around her bedroom, still not dressed and taking care not to rip her filmy white petticoat while Ororo helped her make the bed. The statuesque African-American woman discreetly shook her head and hid a smile, while Rogue continued to rant and rave about what a rascal Pietro Maximoff was. Judging by the girl's behavior, Ororo couldn't help but think that she was quite taken with the smug silver-haired youth, but with him being the first potential suitor--if one could even call Pietro that--to approach Rogue, she knew no better way to react to this than to immediately revert to more familiar but also more childish ways of name-calling and hair-tugging.
"...He is just so arrogant! Why, just yesterday at the ball, Pietro had the nerve to call me..." Rogue continued to bristle, throwing herself back onto the bed and ruining Ororo's previous efforts at tidying that very same bed. Ororo gave up and walked over to the window, deciding that Rogue could just make her own bed later once she'd blown off some steam, and as the elegant woman glanced out the window, she caught sight of a young man making his way toward the house. Her ocean-blue eyes narrowed in recognition, as she began, "Miss Rogue...this Pietro Maximoff is the one with the platinum hair, isn't he?"
"None other," came the wry response, somewhat muffled by feathery white pillows.
"Then that is indeed Pietro calling on somebody in this house," Ororo finished thoughtfully.

Rogue's response nearly broke the sonic barrier, as she shot up and off the bed and shrieked in a painfully high-pitched voice, "WHAT?!!!" As Ororo winced from the supersonic assault on her ears, Rogue, bed sheets and petticoat still tangled about her, tripped and tottered her way toward the window, muttering shrilly, "Pietro? Coming here? What does he want? Why would he come here? Oh, no, do Ah look terribly hideous? Where's mah new dress?"
"Miss Rogue, you should calm down--" Ororo tried to interrupt rationally, but Rogue ignored her advice and continued fretting about, finally arriving at the window and nearly throwing the entire upper half of her body out in her eagerness to get a view. Seeing the all too familiar silver head confidently leap off his horse and begin to make his way up to the front door, Rogue began to fret, "What does he want that would take him all the way here, anyway--Whoa!"
"Miss Rogue!" Ororo dived forward in an effort to save her, but her efforts to pull the girl back in were unsuccessful as Rogue leaned a bit too far, tripped over the bed sheets still tangled around her legs, and promptly fell out her window.

Pietro absently ran a hand through his perfect silver hair, beginning to take his first step toward the front door when he heard a frantic feminine yelp of, "Whoa!" that broke through his wall of busy thoughts. Glancing up, Pietro could only see a flurry of magnolia-colored petticoats flying down at him as though from heaven, and instinctively, he stretched out his hands, promptly catching the dismayed and horribly embarrassed girl inside the silky petticoats. Pietro's mischievous blue eyes lit up when he recognized said girl, dancing with laughter as their owner proceeded to smirk and say, "Why, it's that fiery beauty who desired to leave the party yesterday so early. What a pleasant surprise. Miss...Rogue, is it?" Rogue scowled, her own olive-green eyes flaring angrily as she snapped, "Flattery's not getting you anywhere; Ah still remember what you said to me yesterday!" Pietro blinked puppy eyes at her, pretending to be hurt as he reminded her, "What did I say?" He then added smugly, "Besides, aren't you the one who called me--and I quote--a person of "irresponsible, narcissistic ways who can hardly be called a gentleman?" Rogue colored faintly at his words, clearing her throat and trying to regain her composure.
"Well..." Her voice trailed off, and she retorted lamely, "you started it first." Pietro laughed at her weak comeback, and his mirth only served to annoy her further as she started to snipe hotly, "And, you are clearly showing your rude and arrogant ways by openly mocking me...!"

"Miss Rogue?!" Ororo, who'd briefly peeked her head out the window to see whether Rogue was okay, had now managed to make it down the stairs and to the front door, opening the heavy oak with Kitty in tow. Kitty, ever the early riser, was already fully dressed and had been helping set the table for breakfast, and when she saw her sister with the charming Pietro Maximoff, her cornflower-blue eyes lit up in delight and she raised a hand to her lips to cover her soft giggles. Despite Kitty's best efforts, Rogue still saw the younger girl shaking with laughter behind her hand, and then she also noticed the way Ororo was staring in that strange way at her, and only after a few moments did Rogue finally realize that not only was she only wearing her petticoat and was still cradled in Pietro's arms like a bride being carried over the threshold, but she had also somehow wrapped her arms around his neck when she'd first recovered from her fall. Rogue blushed furiously as soon as she acknowledged this fact, her oleander-white cheeks burning bright scarlet as she quickly jumped down and disentangled herself as best she could from her male companion.
"Uh...Miss Ororo...Ah can explain...It's not what you think..." she stammered awkwardly, not daring to meet her surrogate mother's disapproving blue eyes.
"I think we'd better finish setting the breakfast table," Kitty jumped in, bailing out her grateful sister and adding, "I'm sure Papa's up by now, and besides, we have a new cook and Lord only knows how she'll handle her new responsibilities. It's for the best that one of us should go see if she needs any help, Miss Ororo." While Kitty had been speaking, Rogue was silently praying that Xavier wouldn't show up and catch his middle daughter standing around in only her petticoat around a young man who wasn't even her suitor. Ororo worked her features into a disapproving frown, but, swayed by Kitty's intervening words, she finally relaxed and murmured in a tight voice, "I'll go see about the cook and Mr. Xavier...Miss Rogue, you better see to it that you get dressed sometime soon." Rogue blushed again at her pointed suggestion, but for the moment was thankful and relieved when Ororo left them alone, Pietro soon following after bowing lavishly in Kitty's direction when she smiled and let him in.

Rogue reentered her house, and Kitty soon shut the door after everyone had gotten in, still smiling at the incident that had occurred only a few minutes earlier.
"Ah wonder what he's doing here so early in the morning," Rogue harrumphed, trying to regain her dignity while quietly making her way up the stairs to get dressed, as Ororo had suggested. Kitty looked genuinely surprised at her sister's words, as she demanded in an incredulous voice, "You mean...you don't know?" Rogue shook her head without bothering to turn around, muttering, "No, Ah don't."
"I thought the whole county would know by now--I mean, what with gossip traveling around as fast as it does and everything," Kitty remarked, more to herself than to anyone else. Rogue was beginning to feel irritable at the way her younger sister was dodging her question, as she demanded, "What do you mean? What gossip?" Kitty looked up, a warm smile washing over her features as she reported happily, "You haven't heard? Why, Pietro Maximoff's come over to ask Papa for Jean's hand in marriage!"