Heir to the throne.
The woman was clearly on a mission. She swung her hips provocatively and tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder like she was selling sex and shampoo. When she reached him, she placed her hands possessively on his face, angled her head, and kissed him. The kiss evoked no response from him. He stood completely still while she devoured his mouth. Weird, I thought. The lack of affection was noticeable from a distance. Though, they did make a pretty pair.
The curtain ballooned up on a gust of wind and, at that exact moment, he lifted his face and looked straight at me. Startled, I stepped aside, my heart beating erratically as prickling heat crawled up my neck. The last thing I needed was to make a bad impression on my first day and my new employer had just caught me spying. I was about to flagellate myself when I was interrupted by a soft knock at the door.
“Come in,” I called out.
The door swung open and a tall, curvy woman stepped inside. I judged her to be younger than me, probably in her mid-twenties. She had huge brown eyes and a full head of bright blond, curly hair pulled tightly in a bun. She raised her long slim fingers to her hairline, where some wayward curls had escaped, and unsuccessfully tried to tame them back into place.
“Hello, I’m Charlotte Beckwith. I thought I’d introduce myself.” She spoke with a very clipped British accent that I recognized from the kitchen.
“Vera, it’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry for the disturbance I caused downstairs.”
“No worries, we need a little drama around here. I’m warning you, it’s dreadfully dull most of the time.” There was a devilish look in her eyes that made me instantly like her. “As a matter of fact, you’d be doing everyone a favor if you could take up fainting on a regular basis, just to break up the monotony of the day.” Dimples punctuated her cheeks when she smiled. “There are thirty housekeepers, and I’m one of only two under the half-century mark…until you came along,” she continued, talking quickly.
“Thirty housekeepers?” I whispered. An army.
“That doesn’t even include the groundskeepers. And tragically, not one attractive eligible man in the five kilometer radius.” A crease formed between her golden brows. “Aside from the beast of course––but he doesn’t count.”
My eyes widened. “The beast?”
“Oh, you haven’t met him yet, right. Mr. Horn…Sebastian. Not that anybody would ever be that familiar with him.”
Charlotte clearly had a predilection for drama. She came further into the room, plopped down on my crisply made bed––without invitation––and quickly moved into rapid fire questioning.
Did I like live music?
What were my favorite books?
Did I speak French?
“Do you have a boyfriend? Maybe we could go out some time? There’s not much to do, but there’s a terrific café in town that has live music on Friday nights. Oh, they have this wonderful…” she drawled, holding on to the word as if it belonged to her, “singer from Cape Verde with a gut wrenching voice.” She didn’t pause for a reply so I pulled out the only chair in the room, sat down, and listened patiently as she chattered on. I noticed that she didn’t offer any personal information, which was fine since I wasn’t ready to share any of mine.
“Charlotte––” I had to interrupt her or she would have continued indefinitely. “Why do you call Mr. Horn the beast?”
“Because it’s more polite than calling him an arsehole,” she picked invisible lint off my blanket, “even though he is. Didn’t you hear him when we were in the kitchen? Right, you were having a kip on the floor.” I couldn’t help but giggle. “He’s awful. He never speaks, hardly ever, and when he does he’s usually shouting. I don’t care what happened to him, he’s not a nice man.”
“Is he dangerous?” My skin began to itch. I had become hypersensitive to even a hint of danger.
“No. Not dangerous…cold, not in a malicious sense, rather like…” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “there’s something missing…dead.” As I contemplated her words, she continued, “Mrs. Arnaud says he wasn’t always this way. He used to be funny and sweet. I find that a bit delusional…although she swears that before his wife––” She stopped abruptly, a sheepish look appearing on her face. “Shit, I’m not supposed to gossip. Bentifourt will skin me alive.” Her long legs swung back and forth beneath her, her effervescent energy spilling over her attempt to restrain it.
“Don’t tell me. I don’t want you to do anything that will get you in trouble.” In no time I had become protective of this girl that was so eager to befriend me. I watched her lose the battle for self-control; her transparent face telegraphed every thought she entertained. She needed no encouragement from me to break the rules.