Page 4 of A Maid's Fateful Courtship
“I do not know if the brothers shall adore me anymore," Josephine worried, sharing the concern that was at the forefront of her mind. "Not as they did when I was a little girl, anyway.”
“They will love you as much as the day when they all left,” Lettie assured her.
“No, I do not think so,” Josephine said. They had reached the beautiful meadow full of tall wildflowers of all colors. “My role in the Sarandale Manor is very different now. We are no longer on equal terms. They will see me as a servant now.”
“That is tommyrot,” Lettie called out, looking smug with herself as she ran through the tall grass.
“What? Wherever did you learn that word?” Josephine laughed as she followed Lettie. “Do not let your mother hear you using such language.”
“One of the girls in the kitchen has a sweetheart who is in the infantry. She said he uses that expression all the time, so it is quite acceptable, I am sure,” Lettie said indignantly.
“If Cook hears that sort of talk in her domain, she will have you in the kitchen sink with the scullery maid,” Josephine warned.
“Look at these cornflowers, will they do?” Lettie asked, pointing to the small, bright flowerheads.
“Yes, they are lovely. Be careful as you break the stem, I do not want the blooms bruising,” Josephine cautioned. “I wish it was bluebell season, they would look so wonderful.”
“They do not last long once they are picked though,” Lettie said. She screwed up her nose in distaste as she pointed to a cowpat. “Watch out!”
“Let us go find some blue thistles, they will be stunning,” Josephine suggested as she walked around the dried-up cowpat.
“Talking of sweethearts," Lettie called out as she ran after Josephine who was now wandering towards the hedgerows. "I have not told you about mine yet, have I?”
Josephine stopped in her tracks. “I do not believe it,” she declared with her eyes open wide. “Why have you not told me sooner?”
“Well… because we are not sweethearts yet,” Lettie admitted, placing a bright yellow buttercup underneath her chin. “Can you see if I like butter or not?” she asked Josephine, lifting-up her chin as she twirled the little yellow flowerhead around.
“I do not need the shine of a buttercup under your chin to tell me whether you like butter or not. Anyway, that is child’s play,” Josephine chided. “I want to know about this sweetheart. Who is he? And when did this romance start?”
“Whoa… Nothing has started," Lettie declared, throwing down the buttercup as if it had offended her. "And it happens to be Henry. Do not say a thing, because he does not know that I have a crush on him yet. That is why I need your help.”
“I will not be encouraging any such thing," Josephine chortled. "Your mother would have my guts for garters if she found out I had helped you with a romance.”
“Listen," Lettie said, "you are lucky enough to be able to read and write. That means you should know words for poems, does not it?”
“I suppose it does.” Josephine stopped in her tracks. “I am so lucky that I got to spend my childhood sharing the same classroom as the brothers. You know, it was Ethan who helped me to learn my letters,” she recalled, gazing off into the distance as she remembered.
“You are doing it again,” Lettie complained.
“Hmmm… what? I am doing what?” Josephine asked as her mind returned to the task at hand. She continued to place blue thorn heads into her basket.
“Going off into your thoughts. I know, let us stop for the picnic I smuggled out,” Lettie suggested. “Then we can talk of nice words that you can write for me on a piece of paper. It does not have to be the best paper, anything you can get hold of.”
“I am sure the Missus will be appreciative of me writing love poems on her best paper.” Josephine chuckled. “But yes, if you like him that much, I can help you.Henry, oh, Henry, my love, you are as sweet as a dove,” Josephine sang out in jest.
“Stop making fun of me!” Lettie remarked, happily smiling along. “I am quite serious about sending a little poem to Henry. Something that tells him how I think him to be tall and strong. I know all this about him because I have observed him on many occasions, but that is when he is not looking, of course.”
The two young women found a patch of long grass to hide in. They sat down to eat the small offerings Lettie had managed to sequester from right under Cook’s nose.
“Have you written any words of love before?” Lettie asked.
“No, but I have thought of them many times,” Josephine answered, as Ethan came into her mind once again.
Chapter 4
“Why did Father not send a coach for us?" Cedric grumbled. "I hate to travel on these rickety public coaches.”
“At least we are not on the mail coach,” Ethan reminded him. “You know Father. He always wants us to provide for ourselves. Besides, without Anthony, we at least have a little more room with his empty seat.”
