But even this spoiled young woman was not immune to Lord Mapleton’s dashing good looks. She stared at herself in the mirror with a dreamy smile.
“I shall be a countess! You’ll have to address me as ‘my lady’ then, you know.”
Or perhaps Susan Fairchild was less immune to his other… assets.
Charlotte’s mistress then climbed into her gigantic bed and pushed her feet under the covers. “Steam my rose-colored gown for dinner. And I want my satin slippers brushed. Awaken me in two hours. I’ll have a bath then. And be quiet about filling it while I rest.” And then she swept the curtain closed in dismissal.
Charlotte hated being a servant.
Chapter 2
Second Thoughts
“Better you than me, that’s all I can say.” Anthony’s brother, Michael, dropped his hat on the bench beside him in the carriage. “Don’t get me wrong, I stand by your decision whole–heartedly. But if you aren’t certain you want to live with the woman for the remainder of your days, perhaps you ought to duck out. Go to London after the holidays and see if you can find a more palatable chit.”
“He’s as good as declared himself.” This from Daphne. She’d been even more quiet than usual throughout the tea their hosts had served. “If he fails to come up to snuff, he’ll gain a reputation for being something of a scoundrel.”
“Better than live out his days regretting the leg shackle.” Michael’s irreverence only served to remind Anthony of his own misgivings. Anthony held his own hat on his lap, in gloved hands as the carriage rocked into motion, drawing them away from his neighbor’s estate.
Would he regret marrying Miss Fairchild? He hadn’t noticed any serious doubts until this afternoon.
“Miss Fairchild was most unkind to her companion.” Daphne’s words reminded him of the moment these doubts had appeared. “I understand the girl lost her father recently.”
“She cannot have been raised in service.” He stared outside at the passing scenery as he commented. Anthony had made sure to be extra attentive to Miss Fairchild for the remainder of the visit. Perhaps she would forget her companion’s unfortunate behavior. Good God, and his own! He’d nearly bowed to the girl! A servant, for heaven’s sake.
She’d reached out her hand for him to take.
To an earl!
Impudent wench.
* * *
Miss Charlotte Drake deserved to be sacked and yet… their easy interaction had knocked him off his guard… he’d wanted to protect her for some reason. A rare intelligence lurked behind her gaze.
“Miss Frye said her brother recommended Miss Drake to Lord Denton. Vicar Frye acted as curate for her father years ago.” Anthony had known Vicar Frye for as long as he could remember. The man lived up to his calling.
“Miss Drake is a vicar’s daughter?” So, he was correct in his assumption that she’d not been raised or trained for her current vocation. Miss Drake’s inappropriate behavior made some sense then. She’d been educated at some point. If Anthony were to take a guess, he’d hazard she’d been a bit spoiled.
“She’s not going to last a week.” Daphne announced with a grimace. “She’s far too outspoken, but even worse, far too pretty.”
He could not dispute either of his sister’s assertions.
“I couldn’t tell if her eyes were green or blue.” Daphne continued. “Beautiful, she truly is beautiful. I wonder what color her hair is. I couldn’t quite make it out beneath her mob cap.” His sister settled into the seat comfortably beside him.
“Her eyes are blue, with green flecks.” He provided. And since her brows are blond, “I’d wager her hair is blond.”
Silence met his response.
“What color are Miss Fairchild’s eyes?” His sister attempted to sound nonchalant as she asked the question, but Anthony was all too aware that even his younger brother paid close attention for his answer.
Miss Fairchild’s eyes were barely blue. Miss Drake had had the right of it. “Blue.”
Michael raised his brows at the answer and Daphne sighed.
“Did you think I’d not know the color of my intended’s eyes?”
“Miss Fairchild is not your intended yet.” Michael pointed out.
“But for all intents and purposes, she is.” This was not the first time these two had bickered that morning. Through most of their childhoods, Anthony had felt like something of a referee.
“What color is Miss Fairchild’s hair?” Michael would return to this line of questioning.
“Blondish brown.” Anthony surmised. A rather unremarkable color all around. “Now if you both are done with your inquisition––”
“Dull brown.” Michael interjected. “Her eyes are dull blue, her hair a dull brown and her face, a very dull face. It seems, my dear brother, that you have chosen a woman for her very dullness in particular.”
“She will not be boring.” Daphne, dearest Daphne jumped to Miss Fairchild’s defense. “She will do her best to make everyone around her quite miserable.”
“Daph!” Anthony turned toward her. “You’ll do well to keep such comments to yourself in the future.”
Of course, his sister had an opinion. Since their mother had taken to her chamber, Daphne had taken over the running of the household. She would relinquish that duty to his future wife.
To Miss Fairchild.
“You are going to offer for her tomorrow?” Michael looked serious for the first time since they’d climbed into the carriage.
Anthony’s infernal cravat all but strangled him. Good God, he was going to have to speak with Penrose about his unbearably tight knots!
“Perhaps I’ll wait another day. Propose on Christmas Eve. I will take her driving tomorrow––into the village. I’ve a few last-minute Christmas gifts to purchase.”
“So you will delay. Effective tactic, brother. But it won’t work forever.”
Younger siblings could be more annoying than a horsehair sweater on a humid day.
“You’ll be wise to keep quiet today.” Susan advised Charlotte while preening at the looking glass. “I do wish Mama didn’t insist you ride along. It’s not as though we’re in London. A chaperone ought not be necessary for an innocent drive into the village.”
Charlotte had no choice but to accompany the courting couple once again this afternoon. She must, however, keep herself from commenting upon the Earl’s obviously contrived compliments and simply be thankful for the chance to venture out. She’d already gotten a glimpse of the lovely vehicle. The ride would be a treat alone. A chilly one, but a treat, nonetheless.
As she tugged her right glove over her hand, her pinky slipped out the end of the fingertip. She’d been meaning to mend it, but all her sewing energies had been put to work repairing the hems on three of Miss Fairchild’s gowns.
She never would have thought she’d miss the luxury of sewing her own garments.
Oh, Papa!
Unwittingly, Charlotte found herself blinking hard. It hadn’t been so very long ago since she’d been her own mistress and her time had been her own. Her greatest worry had been escaping church services without being held up by the local gossips. How naïve and foolish she had been!