Rich

I scrubbed the blackened pots miserably whilst Mary sat at the table and darned the tenth pair of socks that morning. I hated being laboured with the dirty work, as I much preffered fingering the soft silk dresses that the Mistresses Snow so loved to wear.

Margaret Snow, the motherly figure of the household had recently been to a lavish party with her three daughters, and there she had found a maid that had tickled her fancy, so to say.

"That lucky sod gets all the best jobs now," I sulked.

"Who, Charlotte? I've rather taken to her," Mary confessed, not looking up from the socks.

I rolled my eyes and placed the last pan on the drainer and wiped my hands on my apron. "I'm going to re-do my hair," I told Mary, and I slipped up the servants stairs.

In my room, I pulled out the pins that held my hair into a tight, severe bun to save myself from a hairpin headache later. My curls fell softly around my face and I stroked it gently, enjoying the smoothness of it.

A crisp note on my pillow drew my attention away from the mirror, however. I unfolded it with trembling hands. How terribly romantic I thought gushingly. I swear I can smell cologne on it.

The note read; Dearest Charity. Oh how I have been longing your company for a while now, and I wondered if I could be blessed with your presence this evening at 9pm. I have arranged a little party in Central Park and I would love it if you attended. I'm sure you will see us easily enough. Kind regards, An Admirer.   

The End

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