Maid Under The Mistletoe (The Mapleton Family Saga #1) - Annabelle Anders

Chapter 1

Misbehaving Maid

“You’ve never looked lovelier, Miss Fairchild. Your eyes sparkle like the winter sky. Your lips glisten like the ripest of berries. The shine in your hair surely must rival all the Regent’s gold.”

The Honorable Miss Fairchild tittered into her handkerchief, but a gurgling noise escaped from the diminutive maid walking behind them. Anthony Crespin, Earl of Mapleton, furrowed his brows as he turned his attention to his future betrothed’s companion.

Had Miss Fairchild’s maid just rolled her eyes?

He was not mistaken. She met his backwards glance with a shrug, as though to say, Is that the best you can do?

“But what of my dress, my lord?” Miss Fairchild demanded his attention once again. “And my complexion?”

This time, there was no mistaking the barking noise that quickly turned into a cough.

“Is something ailing you, Charlotte?” Miss Fairchild scowled in her direction. “I do hope you aren’t coming down with something. With Christmas just a few days away that would be most inconvenient.”

Large eyes, with nearly as many flecks of green as blue, widened in innocence. “A ladybug landed on my nose. Ticklish little creature.” The maid swiped at a most impertinent appendage. Upturned and defiant but smallish, much like its owner.

Ladybug? In late December?

“Hrmph.” The genteel lady beside him studied her maid suspiciously. “You’ll do well to control yourself in the future.” Anthony had not noticed the shrillness of Miss Fairchild’s voice before.

He tugged at his cravat, which suddenly seemed tighter than it had when he’d left Maplehurst that morning. Mindful of his manners, he offered his arm to Miss Fairchild once again.

The match between himself and Viscount Denton’s eldest daughter may have been a trifle rushed, but now he had nothing left to do but actually offer for the gel.

Anthony had inherited his father’s title, that of Earl of Mapleton, just over five years ago. Having recently achieved the ancient age of thirty, he’d decided the time had come to take a wife and set up a nursery.

As expected, it was what gentlemen did.

He’d originally allowed himself two to three years to view the field of eligible debutantes, but the need became urgent when two thirds of the structures within the local village burned to the ground.

And Lord Denton’s estate in Hampshire conveniently bordered his own to the north. The substantial dowry, although not outlandish, would cover the cost of recovering for the fire at Bridge’s End. He’d known of the honorable Miss Fairchild for some time. The family had good connections. She maintained a spotless reputation and was not too horrible to look at. In fact, he’d managed to note that she could be rather pretty, really, when complimented and admired.

Clutching his arm possessively, Miss Fairchild leaned into him. “The sky appears as though it might snow this afternoon.”

Anthony glanced upward. Not a cloud in sight. The lady was simply making conversation and so he nodded in agreement.

By Christmas, he’d be a betrothed man.

He tugged at his cravat again. When had Penrose begun knotting it so tightly? He’d have to have a word with his valet…

Hearing more muffled laughter, he glanced over his shoulder at the maid.

And again, she flashed those innocent eyes. Despite covering her hair with a simple mop cap, and wearing a frumpy grey gown, the petite young woman stirred him uncomfortably.

He determinedly faced forward and frowned. Such insubordination was quite extraordinary. He ought to be angry on behalf of Miss Fairchild. He ought to admonish the maid himself.

“And are you hoping for snow on Christmas this year?” He asked the young lady beside him. He drew in a deep breath, expecting to inhale a sweet feminine fragrance, but instead was forced to stifle his own choking sounds. Had Miss Fairchild bathed in her perfume this morning? The cloying scent of roses hung onto his senses as tightly as the wearer gripped his arm.

“Of course not, my lord! If it snows, our guests might have difficulty travelling to the Christmas Ball.” She paused meaningfully. “And they might miss the announcement.”

Damn, but the temperature had risen since they’d stepped outside ten minutes ago. He could not remember the last time it had been so warm around the holidays.

She had the right of it, for certain. He fully intended for her father to make the announcement at the Christmas Ball.

Miss Fairchild’s parents, Lord and Lady Denton, were hosting several people for the holidays. Lofty guests who all had high expectations for Miss Fairchild. He was saved from making any comment when approaching voices carried along the garden path.

He