Maid to Be Mine: A Regency Cinderella Story

by K. L. O'Keefe

  “Oh my!” Georgiana gasped when she saw him. “You're covered in snow! It's snowing out there?!”

  “It is.” There were empty chairs beside Edith and Georgiana, but James chose to sit next to Roland, which seemed like the safe bet. “This morning, it was only a few flurries. It's coming down much harder now.”

  “An unseasonable snow...” Georgiana said, awed. “The other day, do you remember me telling you it was unseasonably cold? It must mean we are going to have a difficult winter.”

  “Indeed,” Lord Charmington agreed. “Anyway, ladies, it is a pleasure to see you again. Please pardon my late arrival... the weather was cumbersome.”

  “You are forgiven, my lord,” Jemima said. “Besides, we are thrilled to have your company, regardless of your time of arrival.”

  James smiled at the ladies' mother. “I am glad to hear it.”

  Roland puffed out his chest, which seemed to accentuate his unfortunate mammaries. “You said it was your pleasure to see the ladies. What about me, my lord?!” His voice squeaked, as if he was truly offended.

  “It is a pleasure to see you too, of course.”

  “Your hair,” Georgiana giggled. “My lord, it is covered in snowflakes!”

  Alerted to the presence of the flakes, James tried to dust himself off. “My apologies. I did not mean to arrive in such a disheveled state.”

  “Oh, there's no need for apologies. You look quite handsome like that. Like some sort of snow angel!” Georgiana declared, and her candor earned her a cautionary glance from her mother.

  Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Robert was preparing to serve the first course. He tried to hand a plate to Cynthia, but she shook her head.

  “I can't.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I can't go in there!” Cynthia exclaimed. “I can't show myself to Lord Charmington. I've been ordered not to approach him.”

  One of Robert's eyebrows was comically raised. “Why? Is he a carrier of the plague?”

  “Goodness, no. My stepmother does not want me within his line of sight. She thinks it will distract him from Georgiana.”

  “Well, unless I can successfully sprout a new arm within the next few seconds, I can't carry all these plates on my own,” Robert said. “You're coming with me, with or without her approval. If the crone lectures you, I'll take full responsibility.”

  “She won't care! She'll blame me!”

  Robert thrust a plate in Cynthia's direction, which left her no choice. She took the plate with a sigh and prepared herself for the worst. “Are you ready?” he asked. “Ready to face the man of your dreams?”

  Cynthia used her free hand to swat Robert's arm. “Please. I never said he was the man of my dreams!”

  “Well, regardless, you might want to remove that flour from your nose. I quite like it, but His Magnificence might have a different opinion.”

  “I have flour on my nose?!” Cynthia tried to wipe it with her sleeve. “Is it gone?”

  “No.” Robert licked his thumb and swiped it across her nose, which made her wince. “There. Gone.”

  “You're absolutely revolting.”

  “I know. But isn't that what makes me such a pleasure to be around?”

  Grunting with disgust, Cynthia grabbed the remaining plates and carried them into the dining room. Upon entering, she briefly made eye contact with Lord Charmington, who smiled as soon as he saw her.

  She also caught the gaze of Lady Montforth, who looked as if she was prepared to twist Cynthia's head off of her shoulders. Without a doubt, her presence would invoke her stepmother's wrath.

  But Cynthia got to see Lord Charmington again.

  The sight of his face was worth it.

  Chapter Eleven

  By the time they finished supper, the snow had increased tenfold. Lord Charmington stood in the foyer, staring out into the great white tempest.

  “Well, my lord...” Jemima tightened her lips to conceal her grin, “you couldn't possibly travel in such terrible weather. You will have to stay for the night.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I don't think that's wise. I would not want my mother to worry.”

  “No, I insist! It would be far too treacherous!” Jemima took him by the arm and pulled him away from the door. “I am sure your mother will understand your inability to travel. Being a mother myself, I know my children's safety and well-being is more important than anything.”

  Edith's eyes rolled so far into her head, she might have caught a glimpse of her brain.

  “The snow is not so heavy yet, and my estate isn't very far. I am sure I could make it.”

  “Better to be safe than sorry, my lord,” Jemima said. She simply refused to take no for an answer. Any opportunity in which she could force her daughter's company on Lord Charmington was not to be missed.

  “But I would not want to inconvenience you...”

  “It is no inconvenience whatsoever. Georgiana?”

  Georgiana was staring at the earl's rear end when her mother's voice vanquished her unladylike thoughts. “Yes, Mama?”

  “Take Lord Charmington to the drawing room. He can listen to you play the pianoforte while I have the servants prepare a room.”

  “What a wonderful idea, Mama! Right this way, my lord.” Georgiana held out her arm, which James had no choice but to accept. It seemed he was going to have no choice in the matter. As Georgiana led him away, they were followed by Roland and Edith, who both seemed content to follow Lady Montforth's orders. The leader of the household was all too obvious.

  It was going to be a long night.

  His heart was lit by a single ray of hope: the possibility of crossing paths with a particular pretty maid.

  * * *

  “Tess, please... do I have to work with Robert?!”

  Tess burped. She had just consumed a plate of the upper class's leftovers, which hadn't settled well with her. Gripping her stomach, she asked, “What's wrong with Robert?”

  “He and I... we don't always get along,” Cynthia confessed. They were sitting at a table in the servants' quarters, so she kept her voice low, for fear that Robert would enter and hear her complaint. “I would prefer to work with you or Solomon.”

  “But you and Robert are of a similar age. It seemed like a natural pairing.”

  “We're of a similar age, but he lacks maturity,” Cynthia said. “I feel like I'm working with a child! I would rather work alone.”

  “But work gets accomplished so much faster if we tackle it in pairs.”

  “Really? I was under the impression he slows me down!”

  “You're still learning the job, dear. He's there for your benefit.”

  Cynthia puffed out her chest and tried to think of a better argument. “He... he licked my nose!”

  “He what?!”

  “Well... not exactly,” Cynthia admitted with a sigh. “His tongue never made contact with my nose, but it was bad enough! I had flour on the tip of my nose, so he licked his finger and wiped it off! I was disgusted and affronted!”

  “Robert can take some getting used to, but he's not a bad sort,” Tess defended him. “He's a sweet boy.”

  “I am a sweet boy!” When she heard Robert's jarring Irish accent, Cynthia winced. He strutted into the room with his hands in his pockets, and he wiggled his eyebrows at Cynthia. He must have known he was the topic of conversation. “I'm the sweetest boy in Britain. Would you like to lick me? I'm like a sugary confection of deliciousness.”

  Cynthia flashed the older maid a desperate look. “See what I mean?! His behavior is absurd!”

  Robert nodded. “She's right. I am pretty absurd.”

  “I'm not used to dealing with the likes of him!”

  “I am pretty difficult to deal with,” Robert agreed.

  “And right now... he's mocking me!”

  “Mocking? I would say it's more like parroting, actually.”

  “Argh!” Cynthia clenched her fists as tightly as she could. “Please, Tess! Let me work with yo
u tomorrow!”

  Before Tess could respond, the door to the servants' quarters opened, and Jemima entered. She looked disgusted, as if setting foot in the dingy room was the most unsavory thing in the world. “Cynthia!” her voice boomed.

  Cynthia looked down at her slippers, which were now covered in soot from the stables. She couldn't bring herself to make eye contact with her stepmother; an admonishment was imminent. “Yes?”

  “I have a complaint,” Jemima began. “I warned you, did I not? You were supposed to avoid Lord Charmington at all costs! And what did you do?” When her stepdaughter did not respond right away, she hollered, “You flaunted yourself in front of him!”

  “Uhh...” Robert held up a finger. “That was my fault, actually. I needed someone to help me carry the plates, and Cynthia's set of hands was the only one around, soo--”

  “Be that as it may!” Jemima interrupted, “Cynthia should have known better. She knew I forbade it. Your identity, your face... none of it was to be known to Lord Charmington. You were supposed to be the household specter. He was not supposed to know you existed!”

  “I am sure he paid little attention to me,” Cynthia lied. Lord Charmington's gaze had been on her the entire time—she had felt it. She only hoped her stepmother did not notice.

  “Nevertheless, you blatantly disregarded my edict. This time, I will let you off with a warning. Next time, I will not be so forgiving,” Jemima threatened her. “It is not so much to ask, is it? For you to make yourself scarce?”

  Cynthia shook her head. “No...” She desperately wished she could stand up to her stepmother, to give her a piece of her mind. However, the prospect of being tossed out in the snow was hardly appealing.

  “Now, if you're done making a nuisance of yourself, I have a job for you. I need you to prepare a room for Lord Charmington. The guest rooms are lavish, but they haven't been used in quite some time. I need one to be clean and spotless within the hour.”

  Lord Charmington was spending the night in Montforth Hall? The possibility of crossing paths with him made her heart stir. “Perhaps he can stay in my old room?” Cynthia suggested.

  “Your room?! No, it is much too feminine. It might make him suspicious.” Jemima crossed her arms, commanding authority. “Do as I say, and do it now. No dawdling!”

  Without another word, Jemima stormed out of the room; her heavy footsteps could be heard until she was halfway down the hallway. Cynthia swore her stepmother's presence had left a chill in the room.

  Which must have been the case, because Robert shuddered. “Whoo. She's a real joy squelcher, that one. Your stepmother must have spoiled a few Christmases in her day. Never a cheerful moment when she's around, huh?”

  “She is... hateful,” Cynthia agreed. “Tess, will you help me clean the guest room? If she wants it ready within the hour, I'd rather not attempt it on my own.”

  Tess, who had been silent for some time, gripped her stomach and groaned. “I'm feeling under the weather, dear. You and Robert should go...”

  “But--” Cynthia's protest was cut short by the sight of Robert's cheeky grin. She did not want to say anything rude when he was standing right next to her. “Very well. Robert, let's go.”

  “Sounds wonderful. I always enjoy scattering dust and trampling cobwebs.” Robert held open the door for her.

  “Cobwebs?!” Cynthia gasped.

  “Aye. Cobwebs. Mice. Vengeful spirits.” Robert grinned. “You never know what you might unearth at Montforth Hall.”

  * * *

  When Jemima entered the drawing room, Georgiana's hands were sweeping across the pianoforte. Lord Charmington was standing over her shoulder, turning the pages as she played. When he turned the final page, Georgiana finished the piece and took a bow.

  Jemima leaned against the doorway and applauded her daughter. “See, my lord? Isn't she a skilled musician?”

  “Very skilled indeed. And I am sure the talent runs in the family.”

  “Not really, my lord,” Jemima disagreed. “I have no musical talent whatsoever, and Edith is the definition of average.”

  “Thank you, Mother...” Edith murmured.

  “Well, we all have a talent in something,” Lord Charmington insisted. He sat beside Edith on the settee and tried to reassure her with a smile. “What is your talent, Lady Edith?”

  “I am afraid my mother is correct. I am a plain and talentless soul.”

  “I am sure that isn't true. There must be something you're skilled at?”

  “Well...” Edith chewed on her lip. “When I was younger, I fancied myself a playwright, and I have several plays stashed under my bed. However, I cannot vouch for their quality. It is something I enjoyed, but I would not say I am a particularly skilled writer.”

  “I would love to read something you wrote,” Lord Charmington said.

  “No, you wouldn't,” Edith laughed. “I wrote them when I was much younger. You would not want to subject yourself to the mindless ramblings of a child.”

  “I am sure they are not as bad as you think. We are our own worst critics, are we not?”

  “I have not read them in quite some time, but they are full of unintentional humor,” Edith said. “Trust me, my plays are truly terrible. What is your talent, my lo--?”

  “Ahem!” Jemima interrupted none-too-subtly. “Georgiana, would you play something else for us? Your music is such a joy!”

  “I will only play if Lord Charmington returns to my side!” Georgiana vowed. “Please, my lord? Will you turn the pages for me?” Her lower lip protruded in the most obnoxious of pouts.

  James exchanged uneasy glances with Edith before rising from his seat. He went to Georgiana's side and smiled at her; he did not possess the energy to decline. Georgiana was a pretty girl, but she and her mother were a test of his patience.

  “Georgiana is a prodigy. She has been playing since she was a child!” the mother continued to sing the younger daughter's praises. “When she was six years old, I caught her playing a piece by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart!”

  “My mother is exaggerating, I am afraid,” Georgiana pretended modesty. “I may be skilled, but I would not call myself a prodigy! I have more talent with a paintbrush, if I am being honest.”

  “We should paint together sometime,” Lord Charmington suggested, which made Georgiana gasp with joy.

  “Really, my lord?! Oh, I would love that!”

  As her daughter and Lord Charmington conversed, Jemima looked around the room. For the first time, she noticed there was someone absent.

  “Edith...” Jemima spoke up. “Edith, where's Roland?”

  “I have no idea. I haven't seen him since we were standing in the foyer, watching the snow.” Edith shrugged. “Did you need him for something?”

  “No. Goodness, no.” Jemima sank into a chair and folded her hands in her lap. “If that silly man disappeared, I would be the last to complain. I am grateful for the reprieve.”

  Chapter Twelve

  As soon as they entered the guest room they were meant to clean, Cynthia's jaw dropped. There were so many spiderwebs in one corner, it looked like a nest.

  “This is the room?!” she gasped. “This is where the earl will be spending the night?! He can't stay in here!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it's infested! How is is he supposed to sleep?!”

  Robert shrugged. “I reckon we won't tell him. He doesn't need to know about the room's eight-legged lurkers. Ignorance is bliss, or so they say.” He handed her a feather duster and went to a corner of the room, where silken webs glistened en masse.

  “This room is a haven for spiders!”

  “And I'm sure they were perfectly happy until we came along.” As he spoke, he used the duster to whisk away the webs. “Don't you feel guilty, destroying their homes? The poor little things.”

  “I feel more guilty putting Lord Charmington in this room! What if he gets bitten?”

  “What if the spiders decide to eat him? What if he wakes up in th
e morning and his entire body is swathed in arachnid webbing, like some sort of Egyptian mummy?”

  Cynthia shuddered. She gripped the feather duster, but she didn't move. She couldn't bring herself to eradicate the webs, because eradicating them meant moving closer to the spiders' lair.

  “If that should happen, you can rest assured, I'll cut him out of his cobweb prison and save the day. I won't let the spiders consume his eyeballs.”

  “Please, Robert, don't jest. I hate spiders. I have a dreadful fear of them.”

  Robert moved to another corner of the room and continued dusting away the webs. “Well, I like them.”

  “What?! Who could possibly like spiders?!”

  “Robert does.” He watched her in the corner of his eye. Cynthia moved to a web-laden corner of the room, squinted, and raised her feather duster. “Have you ever tried to kill a spider? It sees you coming, then it tries to run away on its tiny little legs. It's pitiful, really.”

  “Why are you killing them if you like them?

  Robert didn't answer her question. For once, he didn't have a comeback. Cynthia took a deep breath as she swept away the webs. Once she started the task, her tension settled a bit. She and Robert circled the room, dusting and de-webbing until there wasn't a trace of filth in sight.

  When they finished their task, they reunited in the center of the room, where Robert's eyes went to her hair.

  “That wasn't so terrible,” she said.

  “Uh.”

  “Is there something else that needs to be done? I saw you sweeping the floor.... it looks quite clean to me.”

  “Umm...”

  Cynthia continued, “You changed the bedsheets recently, did you not? I thought we would have trouble cleaning the room within the hour, but it seems to be going--”

  “Cynthia,” Robert interrupted her, “I don't mean to alarm you, but--”

  “What?!”

  “There's a wee spider,” Robert reported. He watched the arachnid tumble around in her tresses. “In your hair.”