He had spent the morning listening to the high-pitched vapid laughter of the women and the arrogant draws of the men, watching them eat iced delicacies while his own laborers collapsed from heat exhaustion. He had hated them all. He had looked at the terrace and seen everything wrong with England, everything he despised about the title he had inherited. And then she had walked out. Gabriel drank the last of the water in the tin cup.
The metal was already growing warm. “Who is she?” Gabriel asked, his voice low, directing the question to the older man digging next to him. The old man wiped his face, looking toward the terrace with cautious eyes. That's Miss Hastings, niece of Lady Mildred, one of the wealthy widows up from London. Poor relation, they say. Ain't got a penny to her name.
They treat her like a maid in a fancy gown mostly. “Miss Hastings,” Gabriel repeated. The name felt solid, grounded. She's a bold one, crossing Croft, the boy next to him whispered, clutching the silver pitcher as if it were a holy relic. He'll make her pay for that.
Or make us pay. “Croft won't do a damn thing,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a register that made the older laborer glance at him sharply. Gabriel caught himself, relaxing his posture, playing the part of the weary ditch digger once more. Let's get back to it. Pacing ourselves.
The steward can scream all he wants.
Upon the terrace, the punishment was already underway. Aunt Mildred had dragged Norah by the elbow into the shade of the awning, her nails digging painfully into Norah's flesh. “Have you lost your mind?” Mildred hissed, her voice kept low so the other guests wouldn't hear. Though Louisa was watching with a smirk of malicious delight.
You walk into the dirt, you hand a cup to a common laborer, like a barmaid. “They were dying of thirst, aunt,” Norah said, refusing to wince at the pain in her arm. It was water, not a marriage proposal. Do not use that tone with me, Norah. Mildred snapped, finally releasing her.
She pointed a trembling ring-covered finger at the muddy hem of Norah's dress. Look at you. You are soiled. You weak of the outdoors. You have embarrassed me in front of the finest families in the county.
They were not looking at me," Norah replied calmly. "They never look at me. They are looking now. You are a scandalous fool." Mildred leaned in close, her breath smelling faintly of peppermint and cherry. If you think I will continue to house you, feed you, and drag you to these events while you behave like a feral child, you are mistaken. When we return to London, you will find employment.