Amelia Meadowcroft
Prim and proper, at a glance Amelia appears to be all that a Victorian woman should be. Sharp and immaculate with nary a scuff or dark lock out of place. But there is a glint of more in those pale, determined, grey eyes. A hint of defiance and rebellion that is entirely unbecoming in a young woman of such standing.

Her attire is the height of fashion, flared skirts and peaked shoulders, but it hides the lithe form of someone more used to racing horses than balancing on the latest, low cut pumps. Her movement, whilst easy, is clearly uncomfortable and she is oft fidgeting with things here and there in an attempt to get some freedom in her silk and satin prison.

There is something of a rumour making its way around since her return to London that her heritage might be more...exotic than admitted by her family. Perhaps it is the shape of her eyes and face, or the consistency of her ebony hair and the slight duskiness in her complexion but there could well be some truth to the gossip. Certainly neither her or her father speak much of her mother, who reportedly died overseas some time ago.