The next day, after the church service (and enduring the usual monotonous sermons the unsmiling parson Mr Reynolds delivered to us), the servants were free to go into town or take a break for the afternoon. Of course, I always enjoyed Sundays.
Sundays were like heaven, although I am certain Mr Reynolds would have contemned me for my blasphemy. For a little while at least I could relax and read a little or go out into the garden and draw sketches of nature. I wasn't very good at drawing but it calmed me and made me forget about the negative aspects of the previous week. I’d always head to a secluded spot that I was sure no one would ever discover and sit on a finely-crafted wooden bench beside the pond drawing something that caught my eye.
The only person who knew about my secret hideaway was the Gardener’s son Peter Grahame. And on that particular Sunday as I arrived breathlessly at that spot and started to pull out my small sketch pad from under my cloak, I was surprised to see Peter sitting on the bench throwing his cap in the air and catching it swiftly each time. Yet, when he spotted me the cap tumbled onto the lily-white snow. I grinned and let out a laugh as his face grew more redder. I dived in front of him to retrieve his cap and placed it on my own head expecting him to protest and grapple it off me as he usually would have done.
He just watched me, amused.
A/N: Please VOTE/COMMENT! Thanks! What do you think of the girl's personality?? :D
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The Feisty Orphan
Historical Fiction(UPDATED REGULARLY!) A woman's passionate search for a wider and richer life than Victorian society traditionally allowed. A story about a heroine full of yearning, the dangerous secrets she encounters, and the choices she finally makes. My first ev...
