Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Thank you truly,” Tricia said.
The maid curtsied. “Oh, it’s my pleasure, my lady. Would you like me to set up a place in the dining room for you?”
“Oh, please, don’t go to any bother. I’ll eat over there.” She glanced toward a small table on the edge of the kitchen surrounded by seven or eight chairs.
“My lady, that would hardly be proper.”
“I don’t believe I asked whether it would be proper,” Tricia said. “Thank you so much.” She headed toward the small table.
What did it matter whether she ate in the kitchen or the dining area?
The answer to that was that it didn’t.
Perhaps part of her would never get completely used to having servants. The Ashfords and her grandparents, the Denbighs, treated their servants very well, with much politeness. However, in the last four years, she had borne witness to those of the peerage who did not treat their servants thus.
Tricia felt sorry for those servants, as she had been treated that way herself. Though she was never a servant, she was considered lowborn, and she had often been treated less fairly than the ladies of the peerage whenever she found herself going into town.
She was looked down upon, whispered about.
She grew to loathe being around the highborn.
But then there were the times where she felt perfectly at ease. During the pagan festivals, for example. At the age of fifteen, she was chosen as the May Queen.
Most people of the peerage did not attend such follies, though some did. The Duke of Lybrook and some of his contemporaries were often seen at the festivals. The duke was quite talented with a bow and arrow and loved to compete in the archery contest. Tricia couldn’t help smiling at the memory of the year Cameron had bested him.
But the Ashfords never attended. The late Earl of Ashford had been a devout Christian who frowned upon such pagan frivolities.
What of the newer Lord Ashford? Did he share his father’s piety?
So much she did not know about the man she held in such high esteem.
Much she needed to find out.
She did know one thing, however. He was attracted to her, and with very little coaxing, she could lure him into taking her to bed. Then he would marry her. He had all but promised.
She could have her heart’s desire.
Yet she wished for his love as well as his hand.
“I’m simply being a ridiculous lovesick girl,” she said out loud.
“Did you need something, my lady?” a servant asked her.
“No, no. Please pardon me.” Her cheeks warmed as she took a bite of a fresh strawberry.
The fruit was plump and sweet.
But not nearly as sweet as the kiss she had shared with Thomas earlier.
She took another bite of the ripe berry, and to her dismay, some juice dripped onto her gown. Thank goodness the gown was dark blue to match her eyes. Had it been a lighter color, the juice would have stained. She quickly wiped away what she could with her napkin.
“Do you require assistance, my lady?” the same servant asked her.
“Goodness, no. I’m simply always finding myself in peril, aren’t I? If I’m not tripping over my own big feet, I’m getting strawberry juice on my bodice.”
The servant grabbed a cloth. “Oh dear, will it leave a stain?”
“No, of course not. The juice is only the lightest pink, and as you can well see, my gown is of a dark color.”
“It would be such a shame to ruin such a beautiful gown,” the servant observed.
“Thank you,” Tricia said. “I do adore the gown. The modiste said it worked quite well with my figure and with the blue of my eyes.”
The young servant girl looked down at her feet, her cheeks beginning to redden.
“You may look at me,” Tricia said. “I imagine we’re both about the same age, aren’t we?”
“I wouldn’t know, my lady.”
“How many years have you?” Tricia asked.
“Nearly twenty, my lady.”
“Then we are the same age. I am nineteen myself. What is your name?”
“Helene, my lady.”
“A lovely name, at that. My name is Patricia, but my friends call me Tricia.”
“That is also a lovely name, my lady.”
“Please, I may have the blood of the peerage,” Tricia said, “but I was never highborn. I only found out about my ancestry a mere four years ago. I’m not terribly comfortable being called ‘my lady.’ Would you like to sit down and join me?”
Helene raised her eyebrows. “I’m afraid that would not be proper.”
Tricia gestured toward the chair across from her. “But I’m inviting you.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Helene,” an older woman snapped. “Don’t be derelict in your duties.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Helene curtsied and scurried back to the counters, where she began wiping.
Such a shame. Helene was a pretty girl with brown hair and dark eyes. What a belle of the ball she would be if she were allowed to partake.