Page 25 of Baron in Check
She folded the head of the sheet over. “One of the prerogatives of a fallen girl is that I no longer need to try to make a good impression on society.”
Anna’s eyes darted to her. She was young and blond, with a serviceable white apron and a modest bonnet, but there was a glint of rebellion and intelligence in her gaze that Hermy liked. It reminded her of herself a few years earlier when she’d stoppedcrying and taken on the task to manage the estate atWillowby Park.
“May I speak out of turn, milady?”
“Please.”
“They say downstairs that you’re fallen but I think you’ve risen.”
“How so?” Hermy plopped onto the side of the bed and folded her hands.
Anna inhaled sharply. “I don’t think it’s fair to punish a woman for falling in love. Our master is kind and easy to love.” Hermy swallowed hard hoping that Anna meant love in the platonic way. “He’s generous and gives each of us a day off every week, twice as much as other masters. This way, I can see Matthew every Saturday.”
“Who is Matthew?”
“He’s the coachman, but he doesn’t live here. His father died in the war, and he lives with his mother in Whitechapel.” The nearby town was characterized by their working-class residents, who faced tough living conditions and economic hardships. These neighborhoods were a hub for migrants and the working poor.
“His mother is Italian, only his father was English. They were in love and Matthew says there’s nothing stronger than the bond of love.” Anna smiled dreamily.
Good, Greg was in the clear and Anna had a beau.
“That’s what I want, milady. A child born out of love because those will be happy and strong adults like Matthew.”
“Why did you think you were speaking out of turn to tell me this? It’s a beautiful tale of love, Anna. I wish you to have a big family with all the love your heart desires.”
“And I wish you the same, Milady. I imagine it took much courage to return to London, but we can all see that our masteris smitten with you. He’s been so lonely for a long time. Perhaps you can have love despite your station.”
“Despite?”
Anna lowered her head and blushed ferociously. “I apologize, Milady. I didn’t mean to overstep.”
Hermy rose and walked to her. She gently touched Anna’s arm. “Please speak freely.”
“It’s just that we see and hear things. But when I look up to the nobility, I don’t envy you for the nice dresses or the big empty houses. Most women of the Ton can barely stand their husbands, and my mother says that most men hate their wives. My mother said she’d rather work in a small home filled with love than sit in a nice dress in a big empty house seething with disdain.”
“Who is your mother, Anna?”
Anna turned beet red. “Margaret Livingston, milady. The cook.”
What the girl had said was true and gave Hermy pause. “She’s a very wise woman. Thank you for opening my eyes with a perspective I lacked.”
She’d been raised with the single most important task of becoming a wife to a titled nobleman. Her mother, her governess, and even her teachers at finishing school that one year before she was expelled for ruining her reputation, had never spoken of love in marriage. They were so consumed with the ideas of making good impressions in society that they had lost sight of life’s essence: a loving family.
No more.
Hermy dressed and Anna left her to her breakfast. Alone in her room, dressed in a silken dress with the matching kid gloves, bonnet, and pelisse in the box on the side table, Hermy decided to confront her future. Nothing she’d learned in the past had worked. The first twenty-seven years were filled with ought-to’sand what-not’s and what had she gained? Absolutely nothing. She was alone, penniless, shunned. The only person who had never told her what to do or not and who was still there for her was Greg.
CHAPTER 13
“What did I walk into?” Greg asked with a chuckle when he arrived too early for dinner at his friend’s house near St. James. Fave, Arnold, and Greg were almost like brothers. Emphasis onalmostbecause Fave and Arnold were openly Jewish, married to loving wives of the same faith, and fathers to some of the prettiest children Greg had ever seen. Greg had been to their births, brit-milahs, every birthday celebration, and many times in between.
Tonight, something felt different.
Maia, Fave’s five-year-old daughter, usually looked as pretty as her mother, Rachel. Long milk-chocolate colored hair, eyes sparkling like Montana sapphires in cornflower blues and sweet light pink and white dresses. In short, Maia usually looked like a doll.
Not tonight.
Fave was in his black evening coat with a starched white cravat. Rachel wore one of her breathtaking gowns that shimmered in purple and raspberry, and even Arnold was there with his wife Hannah, a fiercely intelligent beauty who’d initially bristled against Greg but had since become a good friend.
