Victorian Romance: The Ragged Maid (#1, The Winds of Misery Family Sagas)

Chapter 02

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Charlotte Sutterfield was not wrong to think such bad things of her hosts. As she sat outside the parlour waiting to be summoned by her regal hosts, she overheard their conversation.

'How inconvenient it is to not have one's home to oneself,' a woman's elegant voice echoed down the hall outside the parlour.

'Yes, but remember, dear sister, we do it for the good of the convent. I am sure it is quite the excitement for them,' another woman said with a giggle.

'Excitement? Why, how could you say such things? No-one would want to be a governess.'

'Perhaps not but being a governess might be all that a woman raised in a convent without family and relations has in order to make an agreeable life. That is the material point we all must consider and why you allow such women in your home.' Although Charlotte could not see the man speaking, she could hear the disdain and disgust for the lowborn in his words. She hated him instantly.

'Good point, Huntley. Good point,' another man agreed. Charlotte quickly put together that the man with disgust in his voice had the same last name as her eager new friend Miss Huntley. Is he the girl's brother? Father?

'More wine here!' a deep slurred voice rang through the doors. A shiver went down Charlotte's spine as she realized that this must be Mr. Ashmore.

The heels of boots echoed, drawing Charlotte's attention to a stiff valet approaching. He turned the knob and announced into the parlour, 'Dinner is now served.'

'Heavens, I thought we would have to wait forever for this country timing. I do miss London so. I do not know why you make us come here, brother.' A regal woman with dark black hair and a fine red silk dress walked out, arm in arm with another woman who looked similar.

Charlotte's gaze fell on them. These must be the sisters. She was used to feeling invisible, but this was her first time being invisible to such a noble and grand party as they all poured out of the room and into the hall. Should I cough? Stand?

'Jane, what are you doing down here? I thought you'd gone to bed.' One of the sisters looked at Jane standing in her nightclothes at the bottom of the staircase.

'I did, but I do not feel well. I thought I could ask that Miss Sutterfield attend me.'

All followed Jane's gaze and turned to Charlotte. She was visible now, and she felt flushed as she stood up and gave a curtsy.

'Miss Sutterfield, what are you doing out here in the hall?' asked one of the sisters as they both came forward.

'I was summoned to wait here until summoned further.'

'Oh, that is right. I did summon for her. It must have slipped my mind altogether,' said the second woman.

'My dear Eleanor, how careless of you, sister!'

'You could have reminded me, Louisa. You know I am forgetful of these things.'

With her gaze on the floor, just like the nuns had taught her, Charlotte awaited further instruction. Though she had an itch to look at the three gentlemen now staring at her. Which one is Mr. Ashmore?

'What do we do now, Eleanor?' Louisa looked at her sister.

'We had planned to begin our interview with her today but now must wait until morning. We cannot have her at dinner. It would not be appropriate,' Eleanor stated.

'No, of course not,' the deep voice cut in. Charlotte recognized the man's disdain from earlier. She glanced up, involuntarily ready to defend herself. The man speaking was a proud man with dark hair, dark features, and a brooding and menacing way about him. This must be Mr. Ashmore.

'You do understand, Miss Sutterfield. It is not proper for a woman of your station to dine with us.' Louisa smiled as though the smile made the blow softer. It did not.

Charlotte nodded.

'But you may sleep upstairs across from Jane's room. You will be in no-one's way in that part of the house for tonight. Please attend to Jane, cold cloth on her head and the like. We shall see you tomorrow,' Eleanor instructed.

'Yes, ma'am.'

'This way, Miss Sutterfield.' Polite young Jane grabbed Charlotte's hand and led her towards the grand staircase. But Charlotte's backside was burning as she moved. Was this the stare of the whole party or the dark and menacing Mr. Ashmore?