“Have you found our carriage, Alec?” The lady turned back to us. She paused as she seemed to see me for the first time. Her gray eyes penetrated mine as she looked at me from head to foot and then back up again. “She’s beautiful. Look at her, Alec, isn’t she beautiful?”
The man glanced away, as if embarrassed by her statement.
“Look, Alec,” the woman insisted as she moved her head to try to get a better view of me. “She’s exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
“Aunt Maude,” the man said to her, “this is neither the time nor the place.”
“But look at her,” she said again as she touched his arm.
He finally returned his gaze to me. His eyes were the bluest I’d ever seen, and his dark brown hair curled out from underneath his silk top hat in a playful manner, though it did nothing to make him appear childish.
Men like him didn’t look at me the way he did—and I felt ashamed of my old dress, my lack of a hat, my unwashed hair, and the dirt smudges on my skin.
I turned my gaze to the ground.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” the lady asked. “Under all that filth, of course. Just think what we could do with her.”
My cheeks burned with humiliation. What did she think she could do with me?
I no longer wanted their money or their attention.
Clutching the satin rose, I tried to turn away, but there was nowhere to go. I was trapped by the crowd.
“Aunt Maude,” he said with admonishment in his voice, “you’ve embarrassed her. And what if someone hears you?”
The lady glanced over her shoulder, as if remembering where she was. “Of course.” She moved a little closer to me.
I tried to back up.
“What is your name?” she asked me, her gaze intent upon my face. She did not look unkind—but she did not look welcoming, either.
I shook my head.
“Don’t worry,” the man said to me, “she means no harm.”
The lady was attractive, though age had begun to erase her youthful complexion. Wrinkles had set in around her eyes, but what she lacked in beauty she made up for in style.
“I don’t mean to scare you,” she said, clearly trying to control her voice. “I have been looking for someone exactly like you for months.”
Again, the man looked away.
“Will you call on me?” the lady asked, handing me a card. “Tomorrow morning at ten?”
Call on her?
I finally found my voice. “For a job, ma’am?”
“Something like that.” She smiled, as if to reassure me. “How old are you?”
I swallowed, hoping my voice worked. “One and twenty in June, ma’am.”
“Twenty-one?” she lifted her sculpted eyebrows. “I would not guess a day over eighteen. You’re so delicate and youthful-looking.”
I had never spoken more than a few words to a lady like her before, except for once, a very long time ago, and that seemed like a dream now.
But I had to tell this lady the truth. “I’m a pieceworker, ma’am, not a maid.”
“I don’t require either one.” She lifted her chin and glanced around to see if anyone was watching us.
