The Last Eligible Bachelor - Ashtyn Newbold Page 0,1

many times in my life I had chosen to frown when I might have smiled. If I had known to cherish what I once had, I might not have acquired such creases in my face, faint as they were. But Sophia missed nothing, especially when it came to the flaws of others.

“I should like a warm bath drawn in the morning.”

I nodded, making a mental note.

“I have tea with my mother and Lady Dinah in the afternoon. Which dress do you suggest for my present complexion?” Sophia framed her face with her hands, looking up at me expectantly.

“I would suggest blue, perhaps the silk gown you purchased two weeks ago. Lady Dinah hasn’t yet seen that one.”

Sophia pursed her lips. “I will consider it.” She turned back to face the mirror, and I quickly worked her hair into a braid for sleep before tightening the rags around her face.

She released a long yawn, pulling her night jacket over her chemise. “You may go now, Sherbrooke.” She stood and climbed into bed. I curtsied before blowing out the candles around the room, taking the last one with me, the small light guiding me to the door and out into the dark hall of Sedgwick Manor.

Sherbrooke. I missed being called Tillie or Matilda. I would have even liked Miss Sherbrooke. Pinching my shoulder blades together, I corrected my thoughts. My life would never be what it once was. The Sedgwick family had been exceedingly kind in taking me on as Sophia’s maid after the ruination my father brought upon my mother and me. I should be grateful. Content. Relieved. The words pounded into my skull as I made my way downstairs, trying to stir up real emotions inside me. Perhaps soon I would feel them.

My bed was a welcome sight, and I curled atop the blanket for a moment before readying myself for sleep. Tucking my chin onto my arm, I waited for my eyes to fully adjust to the dimness before reaching for the letter I kept under my pillow.

My dearest Tillie, it began. That first line was my favorite.

Papa’s gruff and gentle voice floated up through the letter, entering my comprehension through my thoughts rather than my ears like I wished it would. It had been too long since I had heard him speak. Tears stung my eyes as I folded the letter closed again, each fold delicate and slow. I bit back my emotion, fighting the longing in my heart.

My life had changed. That was all. It had changed, but it was not over. There was always some good to be seen in every circumstance. My life was far more comfortable than Papa’s life at the moment. I closed my eyes against the image of what he might be enduring now, after spending the last three months imprisoned in Canterbury Gaol.

And I was helpless, entirely helpless to save him.

I studied the letter again, my heavy exhales causing my candle flame to flicker in and out. The words had begun to fade on the creases, and soon the paper would tear. But I still couldn’t stop myself from reading it every night. It was a wasteful thing to do, for I had already memorized each word.

My head pounded as I slipped the worn paper under my pillow, my body aching from the events of the day. Without bothering to change, I blew out the candle and my eyes drifted closed. It seemed I had only slept for a few hours before a thick hand grasped my upper arm.

My eyes shot open, heart pounding. Had I slept too long? I had accustomed myself to the new schedule, but the unforgiving face of the housekeeper, Mrs. Brisbane, stared down at me. Her square jaw and wide-set eyes looked rather masculine in the dimness.

“Mistress Sophia ‘as taken ill,” she said.

I rubbed my eyes, staggering to my feet. A sharp pain drove into my skull, and I blinked hard in an attempt to clear it. I chided myself for feeling disappointed in the sleep I would lose. Sophia’s health was a much greater priority.

“With what?” I pulled my loose hairs together into a knot at the base of my neck, covering it once again with my ruffled cap. “Has the physician already been called for?”

“No. She claims it be a mild ailment.”

I hurried past Mrs. Brisbane and made my way to Sophia’s room. There were times when her ‘ailments’ were less illness and more nightmare related. The dark corridors had formed a map in