How would his large hands feel on her shoulders?
Shocked by her unseemly thoughts, Charlotte gasped. It seemed so loud to her that she was afraid being discovered by her mother. She was sure that her mother would immediately realise what she had been thinking. Another question arose in Charlotte. Why did she constantly have unseemly thoughts when she thought of him? About Mr Parker, whom she actually wanted to ask about London and the world, whom she was supposed to avoid after their encounter. Whom she intended to loathe.
Why was he constantly on her mind?
Until the encounter at the stable, she had not even heard his voice. Or stood so close to him. Now, it seemed to her absurd, she could think of nothing else, but of that look, worried and angry. His body, taking the warmth with him as he had moved away from her. His hand that he had lifted but not touched her. But Charlotte's still blushed at the memory, as if he had.
His rueful face, as if he was ashamed of his behaviour. She wondered what would have happened if he had rushed after her?
Again a thought flashed through Charlotte's mind that she felt cold and at the same time unbearable heat enveloped her whole head. A thought she was so ashamed of, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to shoo it away with a prayer. Her heart was beating as wildly in her chest as it had that evening when she had hurried back home through the darkness. So lost in thought and agitated that she had even shrunk back from her own shadow. Quite a while later, her heart was still hammering so loudly that she feared she would wake her sister as she lay in bed next to her. Charlotte had tossed and turned restlessly and later, instead of being immersed in dreamless peace, she was frighteningly drawn into colourful paintings. All these pictures had taken Mr Parker as their subject.
Dismayed at that tugging inside her for which she could do nothing, that tingling in her lower belly. The bubbling giggle, although she felt like crying at the same time. This behaviour was so uncharacteristic of her, these unfamiliar feelings and twisted thoughts, that she put her ice-cold hands on her burning cheeks to calm herself.
Perhaps she became ill? Because her dress, no her skin suddenly seemed too tight. Or was it the too stuffed room? Why was it so cramped and unnaturally warm here even though there was no fire in the fireplace and the sun was not shining into the room?
Charlotte opened her mouth, wanting to take a deep breath, but instead the air escaped her in a strange choked sound. She went to the window, opened it and, weak as she felt, let herself sink to the floor. In her brown dress, her father wouldn't even notice if he were standing right next to her.
"Parker, you shall see the boss."
Sidney hoisted a sack of potatoes onto the cart and looked questioningly at Carl, for the foreman was standing only three steps away talking to another worker.
"No, to the boss of the farm, Mr Heywood sent for you."
Surprise and a tinge of panic, crept up Sidney's spine. That Mr Heywood had sent for him could only mean one thing: that this girl, this Miss Charlotte whoever she was, had brought the encounter in the barn to his attention. Probably Mr Heywood, a gentleman and employer, was as conscientious as Sidney's own father. Old Mr Parker had also taken time on a certain day each week to listen to the concerns of his servants. Unlike Tom, who seemed to be totally indifferent to the concerns, or even the lives, of his subordinates in particular.
"Right now?"
"He said as soon as you can get out of here."
"Ahh."
Sidney wiped his hands on his trousers and ran a hand over his stubbly chin, not exactly an outfit to be seen in at a nobleman's house, whatever conversation might be taking place there.
bathed in light
Start from the beginning
