Lady Ann's Holiday: Chapter Twenty Eight - Part One

Vulnerability

1

At breakfast, Ann felt a strange aloofness to the proceedings as though she were watching the scene on a moving picture.

Richard had arrived to join her and Grandmamma on his way to the office and he sat reading the newspaper while the ladies spread marmalade on their toast. It was lovely out on the balcony overlooking the park: warm but with a delightfully fresh breeze. No one was talking. They were each absorbed in their own thoughts.

The distance Ann felt from the scene prevented her from feeling the same peace and contentment she would normally have enjoyed. She was watching Richard and the more time that passed, the more she came to realize something extraordinary.

She had become so absorbed in her new life that it hadn’t occurred to her for a while to compare her performance as Ann with the former owner of that life. But she had noticed something that morning that made her do it now.

She realized quite simply that she was a far better Ann than the soul who was currently scuttling round the Griply estate doing labour. Because sitting there, watching Lord Hurley read his newspaper; reflecting on his behavior over the past few days; she realized that she didn’t love him. She didn’t love him at all. She only thought she had.

It crossed her mind to break off the engagement immediately but she wasn’t going to do that. That was why she was so much better than the former Ann.

She fully intended to go ahead with a marriage to one of the richest men in the country but she would use it to her own advantage, something the past Ann would not have had the foresight to do. The previous Ann had mismanaged her life at every turn until her final disastrous decision to trade lives with a dirty stable hand. The idiocy of the woman was beyond question.

No. The new Ann smiled coldly. She intended to take charge of her new life and do exactly what was necessary to get what she wanted.

2

The dirty stable hand in question reached the edge of Griply carrying two crates of vegetables as a delivery for the little village shop.

He still had no conception that he had been born a cultured and wealthy woman; a member of the aristocracy. As far as he was concerned he had always been Burt Harper, a labourer’s son. There was no memory high enough in his consciousness to tell him any different and he strode into the village proudly. There was no shame that he was only a servant. He’d known no other life after all. Doing chores and lugging heavy objects hither and thither was just normal life for him.

He had one crate on each shoulder, easy work for his strong arms. He could barely feel it and the knowledge of that gave him a lazy sense of contentment. He was the strong man of Griply valley; the boxing match had proven that for everyone.

A gaggle of girls on the corner tittered and whispered to one another as he passed. Burt found himself almost strutting, so proud he was of his physical endowments. His tryst with the vicar’s wife had shown beyond doubt that he was the most eligible bachelor in town amongst the lower orders. He bet he could have any woman he put his mind to now. Apart from the one he desired the most, obviously.

He sighed. It didn’t matter. When Lady Ann returned she would undoubtedly hear about his exploits and then who knew what might happen? She might start to notice him after all!

That would be right grand, that would. Right grand.

The fair was going for another couple of nights but as Burt passed the common he noticed that one of the stalls was packing away: the gypsy woman who had read his fortune.

He slowed as he neared. The old woman emerged from the partially dismantled tent carrying a box and saw him. “Good morning Burt,” she said, her bright eyes flicking up and down his body.

“Mornin,” he replied jovially. He remembered seeing her but little of the details. He must have got right bladdered afterwards. For the life of him he couldn’t work out what had been said.

“I see you’re feeling better,” she said.

“Aye,” responded Burt, but he wasn’t sure if she meant after the boxing match or something else.

“Your soul matches its body now. That’s clear enough.”

“Eh?”

“No matter. I’m just happy to see you being content.”

Burt frowned. He had no idea what this odd old woman was blathering on about. Though he had never understood gypsy folk. They were more than passing weird.

“You know who and what you are now,” she said. “You aren’t fighting against it all the time. I should imagine you feel a darn sight happier than most people.”

Burt shrugged, unsure how to respond. “I suppose.”

“And you do make a good servant.” She smiled mischievously.

Burt had a feeling she was having him on but for the life of him he couldn’t work out why. “How come you’re packing up?” he asked. He pointed with a toss of his head. “The rest of the fair ain’t moving on yet.”

The old gypsy placed the box she was carrying in the back of her little time-worn cart. She smiled her mirthful smile again and said, “I wasn’t part of the fair Burt Harper. I was only here to see you.”

3

Ann reflected on the coldness of her decision as she sorted through her jewelry, deciding which pieces would suit her outfit better. And she questioned if it was really how she felt. Did she really not love Richard anymore? Or was she just angry that he had treated her like a woman?

Perhaps it was the pinch of being sidelined when “important” matters were being discussed and put second to his work that made her feel this way. Perhaps her disappointment was that of any woman as she comes to understand her status in comparison to her future spouse, her second-class status compared to her man.

It was really rather hilarious when she came to think about it. Here she was: the thief of an aristocratic woman’s life and all she could think to do now was pick holes in the very femininity she had taken.

She put back the jewelry and walked to the window, feeling tetchy and confused. Her emotions were flipping and flapping in every direction, making her wish she could step off the earth for a minute. She placed her hands gently against her face, covering her eyes, nose and mouth and breathed deeply, the sound of it and the heat distracting her from her concerns.

When she lowered them the stable hand was at work again outside. She stepped back, a little too exposed so close to the glass, but kept him in sight, watching him again: his muscular arms and shoulders; his broad back.

She liked to watch him. It made her feel… nice. But she smiled to herself to think of her former life, loitering outside her paramour’s window, hoping for a glimpse.

How far she’d come from those days; and how near to them she was still.

But what if she were to sleep with this man? What then?

She missed the days when such matters wouldn’t really have concerned her; the freedom of promiscuity she’d possessed as a commoner. As a man she had taken what was freely given. As a woman, especially as a member of the upper class, it was all so complicated.

How would she go about doing it if she were to dare? She allowed herself the indulgence of thinking through what the sequence might be.

Coupling inside the house would be out of the question. Outside in the upstairs room he kept in the stable. That was where it would have to be.

And a credible excuse for her disappearance would need to be provided of course. She couldn’t be seen to be dallying with the help. A scandal of that nature might well ruin her matrimonial aspirations. She smirked to herself. Managing it was rather similar to plotting a murder. Every possibility needed to be anticipated and arranged.

But the real questions were: was she really prepared to go through with it and what were her true feelings for Richard? Did her affections really mean so little to her?

And did her lust mean so much?