Maid to Be Mine: A Regency Cinderella Story

by K. L. O'Keefe

  When Tess was gone, Cynthia dragged herself out of bed and started to put on the dress, which was so large, it slipped right over her head. Tess was much shorter than she was, so the dress fell to her mid-calf, which was more than a bit awkward. Cynthia hadn't had her ankles exposed since she was in pinafores. She tried to comb her hair and pin it, but the resulting style was a complete mess. Fortunately, she did not have a looking glass, so she was not subjected to the sight of her hair, nor was she subjected to the sight of the immense bags under her eyes.

  Cynthia wandered into the next room, where the three servants were sitting at their usual table. Cynthia sat in the empty seat, and Tess presented her with a bowl of food—if, indeed, it could even be called “food.” It was lumpy, tasteless porridge, but Cynthia was so hungry, she ended up scraping the bowl.

  “You actually like this slop?” Robert observed. He scooped a spoonful of porridge, raised it up, tilted the spoon, and let the lumpy drippings rain back into his bowl.

  “No, I do not care for it,” Cynthia said. She hoped she didn't offend the cook, whomever he was. “At the moment, however, I would happily consume anything and everything I could get my hands on!”

  “Fair enough. By the way, you're with me today,” Robert said.

  “I know. I've been warned.”

  “Warned?!” Robert chuckled. “Is working with me such a bad thing?”

  It was a bad thing. For one, she couldn't shake the feeling that Robert was trouble. Maybe it was the hint of mischief in his eyes, but something told her to be wary of him. Secondly, Cynthia was unaccustomed to being alone with men. She wished Tess would recognize that fact and save her from an afternoon with Robert.

  But it wasn't going to happen. As soon as they finished eating, Robert rose from his chair and held out his hand. “Come on. I'll take you to the stables.”

  As she stared at his outstretched fingers, her nose involuntarily crinkled. His hands, still unwashed, were as dirty as ever. “You want me to take your hand?”

  “Not especially, Princess.” To prove it, Robert shoved his hands into his pockets. “Come on. I'll lead the way.”

  Cynthia rose from her rickety chair and followed him out the door, but not before casting a desperate look to Tess, which prompted the older woman to shout, “Behave yourself, Robert!”

  “I'm always well-behaved!” Robert was rolling his eyes as he stepped into the hallway. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure the lady was still following him. He saw that she was lagging behind, so he barked, “Come on. Hurry up!”

  Robert had incredibly long legs, so she had to sprint to keep up with him. “You know,” Cynthia began, “you should really wash your hands.”

  “I don't see the point in that! After a day's work, my hands are just going to get dirty anyway.”

  “They're already dirty. They're going to get filthy,” Cynthia said.

  “I'm not as filthy as you think I am. I do bathe,” Robert insisted.

  “And when's the last time you bathed, exactly? I imagine it was quite some time ago.”

  “You imagine,” Robert repeated with a chuckle. “You need to spend less time imagining me scrubbing my naked body and more time thinking about the task at hand.”

  Cynthia gasped. Never in her life had she been spoken to in such a way! She closed her mouth and held her tongue as she followed him into the stables, because no good could come from conversing with him.

  As soon as they were inside, Robert grabbed a horse brush from the wall and tossed it at her. She nearly dropped it. “Here. Groom the horses.”

  In what world did he think he could order her around?! Yesterday, she was Lord Montforth's daughter. Today, she was a lowly maid, taking orders from an equally lowly servant. She couldn't believe how far down the social ladder she had fallen. “Do the horses like to be groomed?!”

  “Of course they like to be groomed.”

  Cynthia stared at the horse brush and its extremely coarse bristles. “How do you know? It isn't as if you can ask them if they enjoy being brushed!”

  “They'll look better once you're done with them.” Robert opened one of the horse's stalls and motioned for her to go inside. “And they do enjoy being brushed. Everyone enjoys being brushed.”

  “Everyone?!” Cynthia repeated.

  Robert shrugged. “Sure. Would you like me to brush your hair for you, Princess? You can see how you like it.”

  Cynthia glared at him as she stepped into the stall. His company was already starting to vex her and they had only just begun! Robert returned his hands to his pockets as he walked away. Except it was more like strutting than walking—and he was whistling. He seemed to enjoy torturing her.

  As Cynthia approached the horse, she studied Robert in the corner of her eye. He was feeding another horse on the opposite side of the stables, which meant he was too far away to carry on a conversation with her. Thank goodness for small miracles!

  Cynthia brushed the horse's mane until she could run her fingers through it, then she moved to the next stall, where a proud mare with gentle eyes was waiting for her. She ran the brush along the bay's glistening coat, but she didn't brush too hard because she didn't want to hurt the animal. She didn't care what Robert said—the brush looked painful!

  As time went on, the gap between Cynthia and Robert gradually narrowed. He was only two stalls away from her when he said, “I like your dress.”

  “My dress?!” Cynthia looked down at the ill-fitting monstrosity that Tess had given her. When she saw her bare ankles, she sighed. “It is much too large for me.”

  “I know,” Robert said with a snicker. “I was being sarcastic.”

  “And my ankles are exposed,” Cynthia complained. “I feel... naked.”

  “Bare ankles make you feel naked?!” When Robert started snickering again, Cynthia found herself resisting the temptation to wring his neck. “Well, don't worry... I promise I won't look at your naked ankles. I wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

  Cynthia knew he was teasing her, so she pouted. “I am uncomfortable! It isn't proper!”

  Robert held a hand over his heart and gasped dramatically. “I know! It's shocking! I've never seen a naked ankle before! How am I ever supposed to reclaim my stolen innocence after witnessing such a thing?!”

  “You're insufferable!”

  “Good. I strive to be as insufferable as possible.”

  “Grrr!” As she growled, she stomped to the next stall and started combing a black stallion, who nuzzled her with his snout when she approached.

  “I have another question,” Robert said.

  Cynthia rolled her eyes. It was bad enough that she had to work; Robert's senseless, nonstop prattle was making the situation worse. “Dare I ask?”

  “I'm the one doing the asking, thank you very much,” Robert said. “I was just wondering about your age.”

  “My age?”

  “Yeah. How old are you? Twenty?”

  “One and twenty,” she corrected him.

  “One and twenty...” Robert scratched his chin as he repeated her answer. “So, why didn't you get married?”

  “Pardon?!” Cynthia stopped brushing the stallion and crossed her arms over her chest. “What a terribly inappropriate question! How dare you!”

  “Well, I'm just wonderin'... with you being an earl's daughter and all... why wouldn't you get married to some fancy lord and save yourself from this predicament?”

  “No one ever asked for my hand in marriage!”

  “And why not?” Robert shrugged. “You're sort of pretty.”

  Cynthia peered over the stall so she could leer at him. “Actually, that is not entirely true.”

  “You're not pretty?” Robert asked with a grin.

  “No. I mean... someone did ask for my hand in marriage,” Cynthia explained. “My cousin, Roland, wanted to marry me. But I wouldn't sell myself like that!”

  “The new lord wanted to marry you, and you turned him down?!”

  �
�Right.” Cynthia nodded proudly, not regretting her decision in the slightest. “If I married him, I would doom myself to a lifetime of unhappiness. My freedom is most important to me.”

  “Well, it was your decision to make.”

  “You're right. It was.”

  Under his breath, he added, “as foolish as it might be...”

  Cynthia stopped brushing the stallion and exited the stall. Unfortunately, on the way out, her dress got caught on an enormous splinter. Then the stall closed, trapping more of the excess material in the door. Cynthia tried to pull herself free, but she was caught, and the more she struggled, the worse it got. She could hear the material ripping as the dress slipped from her shoulder.

  “Robert?” She hated to ask for his help, but it wasn't as if she had a choice. “Robert!”

  “Yes, Princess?”

  “Um... I think I might be stuck.”

  “You think you're stuck or you are stuck?”

  “I'm stuck!” Cynthia confirmed. “A little help, if you please?”

  Robert strode toward her and observed the situation. When he recognized what was trapping her, he pushed open the stall door and rescued her from the splinter's clutches. “There,” he said. “Consider yourself saved.”

  When he started to walk away, Cynthia followed him. “Why did you need to know my age?!” she snapped at him. “Why was that important? Do you think it is shameful to be one and twenty and unmarried?”

  Robert answered her question with an indifferent shrug.

  “How old are you, Robert?!” Cynthia fired back. “You're not married, are you?!”

  “Five and twenty,” Robert replied. “But it's different for a man.” Before she could protest, he grabbed a shovel from the wall and held it out to her.

  “What's this?”

  “A shovel.”

  “I know it's a shovel,” Cynthia said with a roll of her eyes. “What do you expect me to do with it?!”

  “What do you suspect I'll expect you to do with it?”

  Cynthia raised an eyebrow, momentarily confused by his question. “I don't know, Robert. Pound you over the head with it?!”

  “No, but you're close.” As he walked away, Robert turned around and winked at her. “You get to shovel horse droppings, Princess.”

  Chapter Five

  “Mama!”

  Roland, Jemima, Georgiana and Edith were playing a game of whist in the drawing room. Roland was partnered with Jemima, and her two daughters were partnered on the opposite side of the table. Edith had been trying to get her mother's attention for some time now, but Jemima could predict what her daughter would say, and she had no interest in hearing it. She was too engrossed in her cards to care.

  “So, I have an interesting bit of news,” Roland said.

  “And what might that be, R-Rolly?” Jemima asked. No matter how many times she said it, his preferred name never quite rolled off her tongue.

  “This should be of some interest to your daughters,” Roland continued. “I mean, you do want them off your hands, do you not?”

  “If by off my hands, you mean married... then yes, that would be wonderful. However, I think we both know Edith will never be married,” Jemima said. “She has been on the shelf for so long, I believe she might be collecting dust!”

  “Mama!” Edith shouted again. “Mama, this is an outrage!”

  “You deny that you're a spinster, dear?”

  “That's not what I'm referring to!” Edith turned her eyes to Cynthia, who was standing in the corner of the room with a teapot in her hands. Ever since they arrived, Cynthia had been serving their tea. She was so ashamed of her current predicament, she hadn't bothered to make eye contact with anyone, not even Edith. “I'm talking about Cynthia! Having her pour our tea is just... it's just wrong!”

  “Is that why you've been trying to get my attention, Edith? Because you wanted to complain about my treatment of Cynthia yet again?”

  “Mistreatment is more like it!” Edith exclaimed. “Can we not end this nonsense? Haven't you proven your point?! Cynthia is one of us! She's part of the family, and she doesn't deserve to be treated in such a way!”

  “Then you can stand with her, if you'd like. However, I am not certain they would have room for you in the servants' quarters...”

  Edith had half a mind to throw down her cards and storm out of the room; however, she did not question her mother's threat. As much as she wanted to assert her opinion, she knew where to draw the line. As wicked as Rolly and her mother were, they surely wouldn't mind making a servant out of Edith as well.

  “Speaking of which...” Rolly spoke up, then turned his attention to Cynthia. He picked up his teacup and wagged it in the air. “Cynthia, I could use another cup of tea, if you don't mind?”

  Cynthia stepped forward and sighed. “Very well...”

  “Nuh uh uh!” Rolly clicked his tongue as he cautioned her. “That is not how you're supposed to address me, is it?”

  “Very well,” Cynthia repeated, and with a wince, she added, “my lord.”

  “Master would also suffice. Yuk yuk yuk.”

  When Cynthia went to pour his tea, she resisted the temptation to pour it in his lap. After the way he treated her, a bath in scalding tea would be the least he deserved.

  “Fill my cup too, Cynthia!” Georgiana demanded. Cynthia, unfortunately, had no choice but to do as she was told. Her gaze briefly landed on Edith, who was regarding her stepsister with a piteous pout.

  Cynthia retreated to the corner with her teapot, and the game of whist resumed. Jemima and Roland's team lost for the third time in a row, which Jemima secretly attributed to Roland being a slowtop. The countess demanded a change of partners, so Georgiana and Roland swapped chairs. Once everyone was seated, Jemima asked, “So, Roland, you said you had some news?”

  “Oh my! I nearly forgot!” Roland's hand flew to his open mouth. “How dense of me! What I meant to tell you is... we are to have a new neighbor! Someone is moving into Ridgeley Manor.”

  “Really?!” Jemima gasped. “And where did you hear that?”

  “From a friend of a friend.”

  “Who is he?! Do you know?!” Georgiana squealed. Earlier they had talked about marriage, and that conversation had been lingering in her mind.

  “His name is James Albray, Earl of Charmington,” Roland said. “From what I hear, he is unmarried... and actively seeking a wife!”

  “Well, he certainly sounds charming!” Georgiana's back straightened. While she was certainly intrigued, she did not want to look too interested, because if she was too interested, she thought she might look desperate. “Is he old?” she asked.

  “Not in the least,” Roland said, assuaging her fears. “He might be a bit older than me, but I think we're of a similar age.”

  “We should invite him over,” Jemima suggested haughtily. “I am sure he would love to meet another earl who lives nearby.”

  “Have you met him?!” Georgiana asked, her question eclipsing her mother's suggestion.

  “I met him once, but it was several years ago,” Roland replied.

  “Is he handsome?!”

  When Roland chuckled, the rolls on his stomach wiggled. “I daresay I am not the best judge of that, Lady Georgiana.”

  “Oh, please!” Georgiana rolled her pretty blue eyes. “A man can judge when another man is attractive just as easily as a woman can judge another woman! Whether you care to admit it or not, it is true!”

  “Very well. He is... handsome,” Roland sheepishly confessed.

  “Young, handsome, titled, eligible...” As she listed the new arrival's attributes, Jemima held up her fingers. “Georgiana, he might be a suitable match for you!”

  “Do you think so, Mama?” Remembering she did not want to look too eager, Georgiana tightened her lips and smoothed her hands over her dress. “Well... I am not too excited, but I would like to make his acquaintance. I would not, after all, want to end up like Edith. At three and twenty, I am nearly a spinster
myself!”

  “You are too pretty to end up like Edith, dear,” Jemima assured her. Had she bothered to look in Edith's direction, she might have noticed the expression of disgust on her eldest daughter's face. “As for Lord Charmington, I think we should meet him as soon as possible. When does he arrive?”

  Chapter Six

  “He's here!” Georgiana shouted. Ever since she found out Lord Charmington was due to call on them, she had been waiting by the window, anxiously anticipating his arrival. “Mama, that must be him!”

  Jemima joined her daughter at the window and tried to get a glimpse of the man on horseback. However, their view was restricted to a side profile; it was too soon to determine if he was handsome or not. “Sit down, Georgiana!” her mother said. “We would not want him to catch you watching him, would we? You mustn't look too eager to make his acquaintance. Go sit by Edith and try to look poised.”

  Georgiana did as she was told. She even picked up a book and tried to look busy, as if his arrival was of little note to her. Edith, who was now seated on the settee with her sister, tried to scoot away as far as she could. At the moment, her mother and sister were hardly her favorite people in the world.

  “Cynthia!” Jemima squawked. “Cynthia!”

  Her stepdaughter turned around, feather duster in hand. At her stepmother's behest, she had spent the better half of the morning scattering dust and cleaning the windows. “Yes, my lady?” Cynthia addressed her stepmother with respect, even though the words were like poison on her tongue. At present, she had the displeasure of dusting the sitting room where her stepmother and stepsiblings were awaiting the earl's arrival.

  “You will need to make yourself scarce,” Jemima demanded. She did not want her youngest daughter to be subjected to any unnecessary competition. Even though Cynthia was now a maid, she was an undoubtedly beautiful girl. She did not want Lord Charmington's eye roving to her stepdaughter, so it was essential to eliminate Georgiana's rival from the picture. “Whatever you do, don't you dare tell Lord Charmington your true identity. If you do, I will have you thrown out of the house!”