But in the same instant, horror had fallen on her like a mountain of rock.
He was not for her.
He was an earl. He was also a day or two away from being betrothed to her mistress.
“I won’t require your attendance at dinner this evening. Mother says you’d make the numbers uneven.” Susan’s voice changed from a confidante to a superior. “Wait up for me regardless. I realize all of this…” she fluttered her hands in the air, “is new to you. But I don’t see why I should be prevailed up to suffer for your inadequacies.”
Charlotte was not a fool. She was well aware that her duties were not fulfilled until her mistress was abed. But instead of saying as much, she nodded. Another facet of servant life that would drain the very life from her soul.
She hadn’t minded hauling buckets of steaming water that morning, sewing until her eyes ached nor performing other menial tasks.
It was the lack of respect. The lack of dignity afforded most servants… Her soul fought and then died a little each time one of her employers referred to themselves as her ‘better.’
“I’ll be waiting right here, Miss Fairchild.” Charlotte forced a lilt to her voice. She would have preferred to grumble. How hard could it be to wait up a few hours so she could help Susan prepare for bed?
Several hours later Charlotte rubbed sleep from her eyes. She stretched in an attempt to rouse herself from the loveseat in Miss Fairchild’s suite. When she’d searched the room earlier for something to read, so she could stay awake, she’d only located a few fashion magazines and unfinished letters. She’d only meant to close her eyes for a few minutes.
She was not the world’s best companion, but she would succeed. She must.
Tired but restless, Charlotte rose and drifted toward the window. She could slip into the garden for just a moment. She touched the window. The air outside would be cold.
She’d only take a few seconds for herself. And then when she returned, she’d be more wakeful and ready to assist Miss Fairchild into her bed.
Since Charlotte’s own bedchamber consisted of a small cot in the dressing room, she didn’t have to go far to locate her coat and hat. And a scarf that her father had told her once belonged to her mother.
She slipped into the corridor and then tiptoed down the main staircase. Murmurs of conversation drifted up from the drawing rooms followed by occasional bursts of laughter. Who was she in this world? Did she belong anywhere anymore?
Outside alone, she could almost imagine she was her father’s daughter again. An icy breeze rustled a few remaining leaves in the trees, the moon shone like a beacon. For a few precious minutes, she could imagine herself a normal young woman with normal wants, normal tasks, and normal expectations.
A normal life.
Contentment teased her as she strode along the dirt path. Ten minutes, she’d only take these ten minutes to herself. She could pretend…
“You may kiss me if you wish.” Susan’s voice drifted through the trees, halting Charlotte in her tracks. She should have known others might be outside. With a house full of guests for the pending holiday at least a few of them would wish to seek privacy in the nearly dormant but still lovely, garden.
Her breath caught as she listened for Lord Mapleton’s response. Of course, her mistress would be with Lord Mapleton. Who else would she give permission to kiss her?
But there was no response. Only silence.
That meant…
Apparently intent upon torturing herself, Charlotte pinched her eyes together as she imagined the handsome earl taking Miss Fairchild into his arms, his mouth claiming the other woman’s lips.
She swallowed around the suddenly large lump that had formed in her throat. Did this mean the two of them had finally become engaged?
“Shall we return to the others then? They’ll be missing us.” Yes, it was Lord Mapleton’s voice.
“Already? We just came outside.”
A growl? Or was Lord Mapleton clearing his throat? He didn’t sound as though he was overcome with passion for his fiancé. “I do not wish to offend your father.”
Feminine laughter. “Papa won’t mind. In fact, I think he rather expects–”
“I will not dishonor you, Miss Fairchild.” An edge in his voice this time, as though the lady had irritated him.
Charlotte could picture her mistress’ pout. Miss Fairchild was accustomed to getting everything she wanted.
“Will you be meeting with him tomorrow then? Christmas is the day after. Everyone expects an announcement at the ball.”
