Georgette sat back and admired the blazing coal fire she had been working on for the past ten minutes. Well, it was really more like an hour if you factored in going down to the coal chute to fill the buckets, dragging them up the servant stairs, painfully coaxing the flames to rise in the cold, dark fireplace. The warmth washed over her face and soothed her soul. She told herself she needed to stay to make sure the fire took, but she knew this small indulgence was one of her only moments of peace.
The room around her was beautiful. Ornate pictures hung on heavily carved oak panels between bookcases holding a lifetime of leather-bound books. It was her favorite room in the whole manor house. The sitting areas were artfully arranged with sumptuous, plump furniture. While she sat and admired the flames, she imagined herself as the lady of the house, sitting on the couches, sipping tea while visiting with close friends, and sitting in the yellow silk chair by the window, reading a romance while overlooking the gardens.
She carefully avoided the portrait of the Earl, who had been the subject of too many of her other daydreams. Every time she saw it, her imagination ran wild. She was a maid, and such thoughts were completely out of line. It was better to appreciate the beauty of the house itself rather than the man who owned it. She should just be grateful they hired her.
Georgette stood...