A Winter Wish (The Read Family Saga #1) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,34

last glance at the servants hanging decorations, and with a sickening dread turning in her belly, she forced herself to follow after Blake.

Each step sent her panic spiraling.

Stop it.

You are being ridiculous. Just because you’ve been summoned does not mean… what? That the countess didn’t know Merry had gone and fallen head over heels in love with her ladyship’s son?

Merry stumbled.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” the butler asked, and she struggled to so much as nod through the terror wreaking havoc on her senses.

When the butler looked a moment away from ringing for help, she forced her features into a calm mask. “I’m fine,” she assured him.

Only, she wasn’t.

Love Luke?

She couldn’t.

Yes, she’d enjoyed their time together more than she’d enjoyed any other time in her life.

But love? It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be, for so many reasons. The least of which was the time in which they’d known each other and the greatest being the fact that he was a viscount and she his steward’s daughter. A servant. She was a servant.

You deserve to go to those faraway places and see the world as you wish without any encumbrances.

Tears tightened her throat, and she struggled to swallow around them. No one had ever dreamed of a different future for her than that of servitude. Not even her own family. Not because they hadn’t or didn’t love her, but rather, because dreams such as those weren’t permitted for servants.

Luke had spoken to her of more. And wanting more for her.

She loved him.

She—

Would one day soon become his housekeeper.

And never more had Merry been filled with this great need to cry. To curl up in a ball and give over to every last emotion a servant wasn’t entitled to feel and weep until she broke from the pain of what could never be.

As they neared the White Parlor, Merry struggled to put order to her feelings and emotions.

After all, unless a situation merited her attention, the Countess of Maldavers didn’t bother with servants aside from the head housekeeper and butler.

Oh, the lady of the household had received a reputation for being firm but fair.

None would ever dare accuse her of being warm. Neither did they speak unkindly of her.

Meetings were granted between the countess and a servant in only two circumstances: extreme pleasure on the lady’s part, or displeasure.

“Here we are, ma’am,” the butler murmured upon their arrival.

As Merry was shown into the White Parlor—the beautifully adorned White Parlor—just one glance at the countess’ tight lips, pursed like she’d sucked the very lemon that had gone into Merry’s special shortbread recipe, confirmed one fact—this was not to be a meeting where one was awarded the countess’ extreme pleasure.

Merry forced a smile to her lips. “My lady,” she greeted.

Seated on the ivory satin sofa with its gold piping, a tray of tea and a platter of shortbread neatly arranged before her, the countess made no attempt to rise. “Come in, Miss Read,” she said coolly. “If you would, Blake?”

Merry stiffened as the butler hurriedly drew the door shut behind him.

Folding her hands primly before her, Merry remained at the doorway.

For all the warmth and joy of her meeting that morn with Luke, Merry was met with only a frosty cool from his mother.

Luke, who didn’t treat her as if she were no more than a servant. Luke, who saw her as an equal. And, oh, how she hoped that when she left, and the only company that remained were the proud lords and ladies of London, he didn’t lose who he’d been these past days.

“Come, come,” the countess said, impatiently gesturing her over. “Sit.”

It wasn’t an invitation.

Drawing back her shoulders, Merry walked with the same dread Joan of Arc must have known. As she settled onto the indicated King Louis XIV chair, Merry noted the official-looking envelope that lay upon the table.

“I’m not a cruel woman,” the countess began, snapping Merry’s attention up and over to the lady of the household. Luke’s mother.

Merry cleared her throat. “No, my lady. No one would ever say—”

The countess wagged a finger and with a tsking noise commanded silence as though she would a cat.

Merry flattened her lips. No, there could be no doubting that this meeting wasn’t to be one in which the pleased mistress praised a servant for her work.

“I love my family greatly. I wish nothing for them but their happiness.” She winged a thin, icy brow. “I trust you know something of that?”

“I… do,” she said cautiously.

Fury snapped in the other woman’s eyes