Pushing the maudlin memories away, she followed Miss Fairchild out of her chamber. When they reached the balustrade, Charlotte nearly plowed the other girl over when she stopped dramatically and posed for inspection. Lord Mapleton stood below, with his head tilted upward and his hat in hand.
Like any good suitor, he anxiously awaited Miss Fairchild’s appearance––or appeared to be doing so, anyhow.
Because his gaze did not trail after the young lady of the house. No, it landed upon Charlotte.
No! No! No! Whatever was he thinking? Was it his intent to make her life miserable?
Charlotte scowled down at him and lowered her own gaze to her hands. It was just the sort of thing Lady Denton would notice.
“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting overly long.” Susan called down in a treacle-sweet voice, feigning regret. All three of them knew for a fact that he’d arrived forty minutes earlier. And he likely knew as well as they, that Miss Fairchild had been dressed and ready but insisted upon making him wait.
“Time is of no matter when you are the prize, Miss Fairchild.”
Charlotte required all of her resolve not to roll her eyes heavenward. Did he not realize how ridiculous these compliments sounded?
The object of his gibberish sighed dreamily and descended the steps with more haughtiness that a queen. When Charlotte dared to glance his way again, the blighter winked––yes, he winked––at her! He’d known the compliment was rubbish.
Oh, but this was not good at all! Because Charlotte’s lips twitched back at him.
He was an earl—an aristocrat. And she …
Although she’d once been a gentleman’s daughter. She was now a servant.
Not that she lacked intelligence, or manners. In truth, she knew herself to be just as good as Miss Susan Fairchild—excepting, of course, the twist of fate that landed Charlotte with a vicar for a father, and Miss Fairchild, a viscount.
Many believed the classes within society to have been ordained by God. This opinion had never failed to derive a hearty scoff from Charlotte’s father. Such a God would be cruel indeed. To give every human a brain, needs and desires, and then to only allow a select few to benefit from all the world had to offer would have been a mean irony, indeed.
Having spent time in service now, albeit only a few months, she’d come to be friends with a few of her fellow servants. They were not emotionless beings without hopes, dreams and fears.
She’d known all of this logically, of course, but now she knew it with her heart.
Lately, she wished that she didn’t––know better, that was. Because if she hadn’t been taught otherwise by her father, she might not mind so very much trailing behind another human being in subjective humility. She might not mind the insults and degrading comments or being allotted such a lowering place in society.
Her mind argued back that she would still mind all of it. Something to contemplate later, when she wasn’t under the scrutiny of her new employers.
Lady Denton descended the stairs behind them. “You are a lucky fellow indeed, my lord! Just last night Lord Creighton expressed the wish to take my darling daughter for a drive. I told him you’d reserved her this afternoon, of course, but he promised he’d try another day.”
“Mama!” Susan protested half-heartedly.
“How right you are, my lady.” He did not miss a beat, this one. Charlotte pinched her lips together tightly and assisted Susan with the elaborate bonnet she’d chosen to wear that day.
“We’ve yet to see any snow, my lord.” Her young mistress exhibited a brilliant aptitude for meaningless conversation.
Charlotte refrained from sighing heavily. She hated talk of the weather when there were so many other topics to discuss, topics that mattered. There were plenty of subjects where one might express an opinion and then defend it with logic and reason, and then allow one’s companion to do the same. And yet she could not keep her gaze from shifting to the window. Snow had covered the ground last year at Christmas time. She and Papa had made a snowman and then had a snow war.
“Another beautiful day indeed.” The blighter directed his response toward Miss Fairchild, but Charlotte felt his gaze fall upon herself. “Are you ladies ready then?”
Ladies?
Again, Charlotte wondered, Is he trying to get me sacked?
“Mama is not coming with us.” Luckily, Miss Fairchild failed to comprehend his faux pas.
Gentlemen did not refer to a servant as a lady.
“Ah.” Clearing his throat, he pointed his gaze toward a most benign watercolor hanging on the wall. “Such a shame.” And then seemingly recovered, he offered his arm to Miss Fairchild and led her outside.
Crisp air. Hazy blue sky. And the open landau was even prettier up close.
“Hand me my parasol, Drake. Did you forget it again? Fetch it now and make haste. We haven’t all day.” The girl barked her demand without so much as a glance in Charlotte’s direction. “I must be careful of the sun, you know.” Susan fluttered barely-there eyelashes in the direction of Lord Mapleton.
Just ten minutes earlier the girl had insisted she would not require a parasol today. With her new resolve to not get herself fired, Charlotte bit back a caustic retort and dashed back inside. As she climbed the stairs, muttering to herself, she nearly ran down Lady Denton.
“Excuse me, ma’am. My lady, I mean.” She mumbled as she went to pass.
But a tight grasp kept her from going any farther. “My husband hired you, gel, but I can fire you any time I wish. Step carefully, now.” And she just as quickly dropped her hand, leaving a stunned Charlotte in her wake.
Lady Denton had obviously noticed Lord Mapleton’s misplaced attentions. And, oh dear, she’d possibly heard him address Charlotte—the maid—as a lady, along with her daughter. The Viscountess was clearly not as oblivious as her daughter.
Eyes down, Charlotte scampered up the stairs, retrieved the parasol and reluctantly headed back outside.
Miss Fairchild had arranged herself most elegantly on the bench in the open vehicle, but Lord Mapleton waited nearby, supposedly to assist her up as well.
Which ought to be innocent enough.
If only he would stop watching her!
“Miss Drake,” he extended one hand. Thinking quickly, Charlotte slapped the closed end of the parasol into it.
“You will kindly hand this to Miss Fairchild?” And then she curtsied.
Chapter 3
Purchasing Gifts
The sting on his hand reminded Anthony that this lady, this young woman, a servant, did not wish his attention, and most definitely did not want his kindness.
He ought to kick himself for his bumbling behavior already this morning. Miss Drake was Miss Fairchild’s companion, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time since meeting her.
With an expression of impassivity he didn’t feel, he stood behind the unsettling young woman as she lifted her foot to climb up. She was half a head shorter than Miss Fairchild but if she wished to do this herself, who was he to deny her the accomplishment?
One attempt. Fail.
Another.
Another yet.
Feeling more awkward than he had in over a decade, Anthony stepped forward only for her to motion him to back up. Servant or not, did the woman not realize any gentleman would not stand by while a lady, a girl, a woman, for God’s sake, struggled to climb into a vehicle?