Of Fate And Prejudice

Chapter Eighteen

Disappointment washed over Frances when she woke up the next morning to find Roman missing from her bed. She was unsure of when he'd left her side, but was grateful for the time they'd spent together last evening, for the privilege of his company and the warmth of his embrace. The fact that he'd opened up to her about his parents' history gave her hope that someday she would fully gain his trust. Perhaps then she might also gain his heart.

She shook her head, rising to her feet. She mustn't sit here daydreaming about an unlikelihood, for if Roman was determined in his decision to deprive her of his body, then surely he meant to deprive her of his love. To think otherwise would be to expose herself to certain disappointment.

Turning her mind from Roman and every silly notion of love, she exchanged her nightgown for a plain gray day dress and made her way downstairs. She entered the kitchen, the sweet scent of freshly baked bread and bacon immediately awakening her appetite. It was good that they brought along some food supplies from London, without which they'd have needed to go into the village in search of food. And they knew nothing about the village, not enough to rely on it for their first meal. For all they knew, the markets were likely closed on Sundays in keeping with the Christian Sabbath. She would need to set aside some time to explore the village with Sara. Perhaps then they might learn about the workings of the place and maybe even make some new friends.

"Good morning, Mrs Brown," Sara called from her position by the old stove, where she stood brewing a pot of tea.

"You needn't refer to me with such formality. I insist you call me Frances."

"I do not think that'll be appropriate, and Mr. Brown would likely object. You're his wife now, you know? I shall not simply ignore that fact."

"Then you may call me Frances when we're alone." Her stomach growled as she spoke. Setting her eyes on the worktable, where the bread sat cooling, she crossed the room and cut herself a slice using a small knife on the table.

"Here." Sara reached for a stool Frances hadn't noticed until now and placed it by the table. "Sit."

She eyed it, doubtful it would bear her weight, considering the state of the building and everything in it. "Are you sure this is strong enough? Where did you find it?"

"It was downstairs among the rubbish in the servants' quarters. And I'm sure. I've been using it for all five hours that I've been down here."

"You've been down here for five hours?" She placed herself on the stool, pleasantly surprised by its sturdiness.

"Yes. Since I found it difficult to fall asleep, I thought I might get an early start by clearing out the kitchen and making breakfast."

Frances had been so blinded by her hunger, she hadn't realized that the kitchen was indeed sparkling. The broken shards that once littered the floor were swept, the floors were scrubbed, and the table and cabinets were dusted.

"Thank you, Sara. You did a great job cleaning the space like this. I only wish I'd been here to help."

Sara shook her head. "I feared you might have overworked yourself last evening with the cleaning of your room. I saw how exhausted you were. And considering how terrible the storm was, I imagined you were kept awake like me and didn't want to disturb your rest."

"Your concern was for nothing. I slept quite soundly." Frances breathed in the sweet smell of the tea as Sara poured her a cup.

"You did?" Sara paused and turned to Frances, confusion creasing her brows. "How odd. I would have thought all that thunderous noise kept you awake. And if not that, then surely the winds and rains made you cold."