Aristocrat | ✓

CHAPTER FOUR

     I kept doing my job, but I found myself desperate not to be in the same place as the Lord. He did leave for two days a week after he asked Marie to clean up his good waistcoat and shirt. I spent that time wondering what the woman he courted was like, and I was depressed by the time the Lord came back to Barcombe with a healthy glow and a jolly ring to his deep voice.

     He must have had a lot of fun.

     Since the Lord arrived back at the castle, I've done my best to do my work in the shadows. When I had left my parent's house, I was so sure I would be content with just being close to him, and now here I was fretting because the Lord might be courting a woman of his status and inclinations.

     Marie must have noticed the change in my mood because she began to take on some of my duties by bossing me into her own. That's how I ended up in the kitchen washing dishes and checking if the soup on the fire was ready.

     A sigh left my lips as I poked at the flames with a metal rod. I put it aside, going to the corner to take a seat on the stool. It was late in the afternoon, but it was easy to lose track of time. The heavy snowstorm had blocked out the sun, and it was already dark. The two candles that light up the kitchen flickered on their holders attached to the walls by the door.

     I was bored and scared that my mind would preoccupy himself with my imagination of the woman I felt the Lord was courting. Slender, doe-eyed, with full lips and a rosy face—she had to be all those things, plus youthful and classed. I stared down at my hands that had gone rough and were sprinkled with small scars from farm labor.

     She also had to have soft hands too, yes.

     I stared at the flames kissing the bottom of the post as I hummed to myself and upset myself with thoughts of the unknown woman. My head shot up at the sound of the kitchen door creaking open, and when I saw who it was blood drained from my face.

     "What am I having this night?" the Lord asked, making me open my mouth. Nothing came out. I apologized, getting up from the stool before using tending the flames as an excuse not to look directly at him.

     He was wearing a loose-fitting shirt with indoor shoes and tight-fitting tights. He'd been spending a lot of time in the west wing recently. At least that was the information related to me from Marie.

     "Soup, with chicken," I said, poking at the wood and watching it glow red. "It should be done in a few minutes," I added, hearing footsteps in the background. I felt self-conscious, but I couldn't bring myself to turn and face him.

     "It's been really cold these past few days," he said.

     The flame in front of me sizzled. "Yes."

     "It's dark as well."

     My eyes focused on the steam leaving the black metal pot. "Yes, it is."

     "Have I done something wrong?" The master's voice said as his breath kissed my ear with his warmth. He was standing behind me now, and my heart was beating so fast that I could feel its pressure and noise in my ears. He felt warm—like he had been toasted by the flames in the fireplace upstairs before heading down. My vision blurred and I felt like my feet would give way.

     This wasn't good.

     This wasn't good at all.

     "No," I said, my voice breathy. "Why would you think that?" I asked, trying to think of a way to slip away. He had cornered me, trapping me between his arms. The only option I had was to turn and face him, but I felt that my heart would burst from paranoia if I did.