Maid Under The Mistletoe (The Mapleton Family Saga #1) - Annabelle Anders Page 0,21

grimaced. “The man certainly knows how to draw attention. What do you think of Wordsworth?”

Miss Fairchild frowned.

“Keats?” Her frown deepened.

“Wordsworth was one of my father’s favorites.” Charlotte piped up. She could not take a chance that this conversation would stall out again. “He refused to take Byron’s poetry seriously, though. He considered his morality a threat to society. Did you know he kept a bear for a pet? Papa said the man walked him much as others walk their dogs.”

“He does court controversy rather successfully.” Lord Mapleton inserted. “One has to wonder if that isn’t much of the reason for his success.”

“And his politics are equally provoking. Art, poetry, even fashion can express ideas so much better than a political speech.” Charlotte turned to Miss Fairchild, who’d seemed a trite lost at the conversation’s turn. “Do you paint, Miss Fairchild? Or draw? I’m sure his lordship would be delighted to view your work…”

Grateful eyes flew open wide. Apparently, she’d felt as ill at ease as Charlotte –– perhaps more so. “Oh, yes. I don’t show these to just anyone, my lord. They are normally for my eyes only.” And then instead of asking Charlotte to fetch them, she burst from her seat. “Charlotte would never locate them as I keep them in a special hiding place. I shall return shortly.”

Leaving Charlotte alone with Lord Mapleton.

Whereupon, an altogether different tension sprang up in the room. Charlotte forced her gaze to her hands. Was he looking at her? Was he as uncomfortable as she?

“Do you prefer Wordsworth?” His tentative question came as a surprise. He asked as though he was truly interested in her thoughts.

For three months now she’d gone without another human being asking her opinion on something other than themselves. Does this color suit me? Shall I wear the necklace or the broach? Do you think he’ll send me flowers?

Nothing to do with herself. Nothing to make her feel as though she mattered in any way whatsoever.

Lord Mapleton had asked her opinion about a poet. He wanted to know her thoughts about a philosopher. Fighting the burning behind her eyes, she nodded and looked up to meet his gaze. “His works make me think about life, in general. Its purpose. Its meaning. But also, the little things and how precious they are...”

“Do you have a favorite?” Before he even finished asking, she was shaking her head.

“Never for long. Since my father died, one in particular comes to mind, I’ve Wandered Lonely as a Cloud.” She sighed.

“But he is not lonely.”

“No. He finds joy in a past experience.” The poem offered hope that joy could be relived.

“So, you remember times with your father.” Lord Mapleton’s eyes reflected understanding. “And you are attempting to find joy now, in your memories.”

Surely joy could not only be a thing of the past. Surely, she would know joy again. The alternative was unthinkable…

“Yes.” She answered truthfully. Why would she tell him something so personal? Already, he must pity her for the station she held. She jutted her chin up, unwilling to accept his pity. “Did you imagine I couldn’t read?”

His eyes held no pity, though. Just a sad understanding.

Why him? And why now?

“Never.” And then she could see his throat work, as though swallowing some unwanted emotion.

What was taking Susan so long?

“Wordsworth is not my favorite though. Nor is Lord Byron. I prefer Keats, in case you wondered.”

He laughed. Over the next several moments the two of them argued back and forth the merits of all three. Then she mentioned Jane Austin, an author Charlotte had discovered the year before.

Lord Mapleton was just promising he’d read one of Austin’s works when Lady Denton appeared. She immediately sent a smile in Lord Mapleton’s direction. But when she glanced around the room she frowned when her gaze landed on Charlotte and not her daughter.

“Miss Fairchild wanted to fetch some of her artwork.” Lord Mapleton drew the perturbed woman’s attention back toward himself. “And she insisted Charlotte would never be able to locate them.”

“Charlotte?” Her ladyship’s brows rose as she drew out Miss Drake’s Christian name. “Drake.” Her voice sounded icily cold as she addressed Charlotte now. “You’ll attend to my daughter. She likely is in need of your assistance.”

“Of course.” Charlotte rose and dropped into a hurried curtsy before leaving the room.

What had she done now?

Lady Denton, Anthony belatedly realized, was all too aware that the companion attending her daughter was far more attractive than her daughter herself. He wondered how she’d allowed Charlotte to be hired