Page 51 of The Maid's Secret

“Flora!” I heard, but not from the boy beside me. It was my mother, shrieking, running down the pathway in her party dress and heels, her legs splattered in mud. She scooped me up in her arms and hugged me so tight I could barely draw a breath.

“She’s here!” she yelled out to the trail of ladies following behind her.

Her grip released, and she put me down. She stayed at my eye level, looking me in the face. “Your book,” she said. “I saw it by the edge of the pond. I thought you’d drowned!” she cried as tears streamed down her cheeks.

I placed a hand on her hair. “Don’t cry, Mama,” I said.

It was then that she slapped my face. “How dare you scare me like that!” she growled. “You’re a very bad girl. Come. Now.”

She grabbed my hand and marched me up the path, away from the little boy and all the grim-faced ladies who’d borne witness to the entire spectacle.

Back at the manor lawn, I was made to apologize to the little girls for ruining their tea party. Mrs.Mead was instructed to take me to my room, where I was banished for the rest of the afternoon.

The next day, when no one was watching, I sneaked out of the manor and made my way back to that old oak tree. The boy wasn’t there anymore, but in the knotty hollow of the trunk was mystorybook, the mud cleaned off, the pages smoothed, the ripped ones taped up neatly.

From that point onward, I wholeheartedly believed in fairies, but what I should have believed in all along was John.

—

“You really don’t remember?” John asked as we stood there, the only two left in the classroom.

He looked at me with the same glassy brown eyes he’d had as a child, the eyes of an old soul.

I shook my head and looked away, pretending I had no recollection.

“I wanted to tell you something,” John said. “The other day, at the Braun Summit, what you did in that boardroom…It was brave. It was remarkable.”

“I did nothing,” I replied.

“That’s not true,” said John. “There’s nothing more important than family, and you saved yours. Don’t you see that?”

Was that what I’d done? I could give myself no credit, for it had been by accident or instinct, but as John looked at me, it was as though he was seeing me in a whole new light.

“As your auntie would say,” I replied, “don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

He laughed. “Aunt Maggie would say that,” he said. “Please. Will you call me John from now on? I promise not to be an idiot. And I promise not to hate you for being a rich kid. Truce?”

He held out his hand, and I took it. I felt a tremor run through me then, as if nothing else mattered except his hand in mine, soft and warm, a perfect fit. “Truce,” I said as I held it tight.

“May I ask a favor?” he said. “Tomorrow night, will you reserve a dance for me at the ball? I have a feeling you’re going to be very popular.”

“Of course,” I replied, still holding his hand. “As long as you don’t step on my feet.”

“I think I’ve made enough graceless missteps lately. The next one won’t be mine.”

“You’re sure about that?” I asked.

Those lips, that disarming smile. I tell you, Molly, that man could light up the entire world. As I watched, he raised our conjoined hands and planted a delicate kiss on the back of mine.

“See you tomorrow night, Flora,” he said.

“Until then…John,” I replied.

—

Chapter 15

I’m sitting on the edge of the stage in the tearoom as my vision starts to clear. I didn’t faint, not this time. Beside me is Juan, a protective arm around my shoulders, and on my other side is Angela.

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