The floors, she noted, hadn’t been properly swept that afternoon. Even as dark as it was, Victoria could still tell. Tomorrow she’d make it a personal goal to see to it that the work was done. There were always chores to be done at Sommer Steppe, and not nearly enough hands to see to them.

  Gathering her skirt in one hand, Victoria made her way down the hall. She didn’t enjoy the way the painted faces of portraits reflected back at her. Phantoms she’d never met. Memories of memories. Forever captured in cracking layers of old paint. The evening journey to the servants' stairs was not a pleasant one. There was a sinister quality to the whole ordeal. She knew it was the sparse candles in the hallway sconces casting illusions. Happier times would have lit them more fully, turned darkened smiles into bright grins of joy.

  Or perhaps it was just her mood tonight. As of late, she’d been quite maudlin. This month was the anniversary of her family’s passing. Her mother. Her father. Her siblings. All of them, so quickly, without so much as a warning. She wished she even had a simple sketch to remind herself what they looked like. It was only in her washing mirror that she sometimes remembered that the arch of her dark eyebrows perfectly matched her mother’s, or that her pinched frown was something she’d seen whenever she’d crossed her father on a particularly challenging day. Her brothers and sisters shared the same eye color. The same freckles. The only memory of them she could cherish was her own reflection.

  Lost in thought, she lingered in front of a particularly memorable portrait. One of the few that never seemed to glare back at her. The only painting with familiar, friendly faces to greet her. It was the late baroness, holding a cherubic Lady Elmira in her arms while her older brother stood with his hands fisted in her vast skirts. The baron was at her side. His face glowed with a healthy and sober joy the household had long forgotten. What a difference seven years could make. Some for the better. Far more for the worse. Truly, they’d been a beautiful family. Just like Victoria’s had been.

  “Miss Moore,” a breathless, tired voice interrupted her train of thought, drawing her attention. Stalking swiftly down the corridor, Mister Reeve, the Baron’s Valet, gestured at her with white gloved hands. His steel gray moustache and eyebrows twitched in an anxious and agitated fashion. How hair could be so emotive, she did not know. Victoria had never seen the stiff old man in such a state.

  “I see Lady Elmira has kept you up once more,” he said, attempting a pleasantry before swiftly changing the subject, “which is just as well. The Baron has returned with a guest. An esteemed guest the likes of which Sommer Steppe hasn’t seen in decades. They are in the parlor. The fire is nearly out. You are the only maid out of bed at this hour to see to it. Please, come.”

  Victoria curtsied briefly, “yes, Mister Reeve, of course.” The slim members of staff often were forced to wear multiple roles. She didn’t doubt her bedmate who normally tended the fires, Philomena, was already fast asleep. She hoped there was enough water for extra washing tonight. Dealing with the fireplace was rarely clean work. In fact, it was the single chore she hated the most. Absent-mindedly, she reached up to pat at the kerchief on her head to make sure it was still properly secured.

  A guest at this hour with no warning was peculiar, but it wasn’t her place to remark on it. Quietly, Victoria followed Mister Reeve to the living room. There was a time when she was just a little younger that she might protest, but she knew better now.

  “Don’t dawdle, swiftly now!” Mister Reeve directed, taking larger and larger steps towards the parlor. Victoria gripped at her skirts, lifting them just so to avoid tripping in her haste to keep up with him.

  Their guest must be quite important indeed. They were rationing the coal and wood as best they could for the harsher weather to come, and sparing any extra with the larder in its current state was foolhardy. Only a few embers burned now in the once-grand fireplace. The metal work around it needed polishing, the interiors of the large brick structure needed scrubbing, and when there was time one of them might eventually see to it. For now the household would simply have to be embarrassed to entertain on short notice. The Baron, Lord Albert Sommer’s financial state was no secret to his many debtors and friends.

  She tried to keep her eyes downcast as best she could, remaining silent. Lord Albert was already seated in his large wing-back chair facing the sofa where his guest sat across from him. He was a far cry from the stout and paunchy Baron, whose red hair was rarely tied back properly. Nor did it seem like the powder Mister Reeve painstakingly tried to spread about his hair ever managed to stick properly, preferring to cling in clumps and dampened spots where he’d patted excessively with his handkerchief. A wig might have served him better in his advancing age. His brown suit was at the very least well-maintained, though shabby from constant wear. Their guest, however…

  Victoria hadn’t seen the likes since her master had fallen into gambling and drinking. Even then, his former friends weren’t nearly so refined. He had the stiff confidence and air of a man of class, his dark hair unpowdered and pulled back in a simple but elegant black bow. The coat and breeches of his three piece suit were black, with rich gold embroidery, while his vest beneath was pure shining gold. He dripped wealth. It practically seeped into the sofa, making the room look that much dingier in comparison.

  She tried to focus on the fireplace, ducking her head to gather some wood laid over the brickwork around it. There was still enough of a fire that it would only take a little stoking and effort to get the room to some semblance of comfort. Granted, Victoria couldn’t work miracles.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  A rich, deep voice gave her pause. With just a few words, there was something so wonderful about the sound. It was captivating.

  “I must admit, your home has magnificent charm,” the guest remarked. She couldn’t help but listen. Victoria held her breath and tossed a log into the embers. She arched back to snatch up an iron poker set into a rack by the wall, flinching as sparks rose to dance about her.

  “I assure you, sir, the charm is entirely coincidental. I appreciate the courtesy all the same,” Lord Albert said, chuckling to himself. He always spoke a little louder than the moment called for. A little more forceful.

  “Now, let’s have some brandy and tea,” he continued, “perhaps some biscuits to soak up that ale we shared earlier, too. Miles, fetch it for us, and bring the good stuff!”

  “Yes, my lord,” Mister Reeve replied, and Victoria heard the sound of shoes smartly clicking against wood as the valet quickly departed the room. The entire staff knew there was only one variety of brandy in the house, so the ‘good stuff’ merely meant that tonight it was not to be watered down. In truth, they watered it down anyway. Just a little bit less than usual. Lord Albert wouldn’t be able to tell.

  Victoria prodded and poked at the fire, flinching again as more sparks flew into the air. How she detested this chore. It was not her strong suit. On more than a handful of occasions she’d nearly caught her skirts on fire. The very thought prompted her to wrap her fingers about it to pull the fabric up. Just in case.

  “I was here once,” the guest remarked, his voice once more casting a spell over her mood, “some years ago. Not on your beautiful estate, of course, but in a small village herabouts. I believe at the time there’d been some sort of illness in the area, so we were forced to ride through. Dreadful affair, I understand.”

  Victoria’s spine stiffened. There was no mistaking the illness he was referring to. It was the same one that had taken her whole family. Several neighbors too, as a matter of fact. She chewed anxiously on her bottom lip. Nobody spoke of those days anymore. Nearly half the staff were survivors of that dreadful plague. Whatever it had been. It had come and gone within a fortnight. Those who lived through it hadn’t had so much as a cough.

  “Ah,” Lord Albert said, his jovial tone wavering just a little, “you are fortunate, then. Yes. That was nine years ago, Lord Grace. Such a long time ago for a man as young as you must be!”

  “Not so young. I may look youthful, but I’m all of thirty-nine. I’d been traveling to London, I believe.”

  “Thirty-nine indeed! You’re thirty if you’re a day, sir,” Lord Albert argued, giving a sharp and loud laugh. Rather like a bark. Victoria couldn’t say she wasn’t inclined to agree with him. The man looked as old as Lord Albert’s son, Richard. Hardly a year or so older than Victoria herself.

  “Believe what you will,” Lord Grace said softly. Despite herself, Victoria looked back over her shoulder to steal a glance at him. The only hint at his age was the air with which he held himself. Confident and mature. If she ever allowed herself to indulge in fantasies of men above her station, she’d even go so far as to say he was handsome. His eyes, too. A girl could find herself drowning in those eyes. At the very thought, she blushed. Worse, his bewildering eyes flickered in her direction even as she bit back the thought. Shadows licked over his face, giving his pleasant smile an eerie quality.

  Victoria curtsied, stepping away from the fireplace and quickly spinning towards Lord Albert, “will there be anything else you may need this evening, my lord?” She asked, embarrassed at the sound of her own country brogue all of a sudden. Belatedly, she realized she was still holding the poker. Victoria quickly replaced it on the rack, all the while trying to keep her gaze focused respectfully on them. The iron clanging of the poker against the other metal instruments made her nearly wince. She was sure their guest thought very little of her, which was as it should be. Even though she could read, men of his obvious wealth and–

  There she went again! Practically fantasizing. Silly. She’d been reading too many romantic love stories to Lady Elmira. Tomorrow, they’d focus on letter writing. Something a little more useful.

  “That will be all, thank you Victoria,” Lord Albert told her, cutting her nervous thoughts short. He was likely the only nobleman in the county who’d actually bothered to memorize the names of everyone who served him. Even in his cups. It must look rather strange to their guest.

  “A pleasure to serve you, my lord,” she curtsied once more. Was that too many curtsies? She tried to rush out of the room without actually rushing, hands clasped tightly together. Her fingers grew numb with the effort. Passing Mister Reeve in the door, Victoria lingered for just a moment.

  “Now, Lord Grace, I would very much like to get back to why you wanted to join me tonight. I hardly think a viscount would have much reason to brighten the life of a humble Baron,” Lord Albert continued talking, directing his attention to their guest. A viscount! Goodness, she’d never seen a viscount before. At Sommer Steppe of all places!

  “As I was saying earlier, Lord Sommer, your estate has so much promise. I’ve been looking for investment opportunities, and as your father was once friends with my own, I’d rather like to help bring this place back to its former glory, as it were. In exchange I’d only ask for payment from the seasonal profits…”

  The rest of the conversation seemed like it would be rather dull. Though the viscount’s captivating voice did seem to bely that fact. Victoria shuffled down the corridor before she could be tempted to linger. She headed towards the servant’s stairs that were hidden behind a slim door near the stairs that led to the second floor. She wondered as she descended the stairs whether it was time she took Landon up on his offer to have a picnic when the weather improved. He was one of Mrs. Pragajh, the cook’s assistants, and while she didn’t have much interest in him as anything other than a friend - - it might be good for her to at least try. She’d ask her friend Philomena what she thought first.