One Moonlit Night (Moonlight Square: A Prequel Novella) by Gaelen Foley
Authors: Gaelen Foley
Ads: Link
clean wineglasses, rags for cleaning up the tables, pitchers of water, and…
Aha!
A big barrel of ice with a treasure trove of open wine bottles left to breathe for a bit before being served.
Her glass now empty, Trinny helped herself to a bottle; hefting it by the neck, she marched on toward the door at the other end of the service passage. It opened onto a dim wooden stairwell. She could hear a clamor from below that told her this was, indeed, the way to the kitchens.
Feet smarting, she walked down the creaky steps until she reached the huge, crazed kitchens. She beckoned to a plump, harried-looking woman who seemed to be in charge.
“So sorry to bother you. More roast beef upstairs, I’m told.”
“Ach, you shouldn’t have had to trouble yerself, miss! Couldn’t you find one of the waiters to tell?” the cook cried, looking aghast to assume the staff was not attending properly to the guests.
“No, no! They were all busy taking care of others. The truth is, I suppose I just wanted a few minutes of peace and quiet. I’m the maid of honor, you see. And I’m exhausted. Would you mind terribly if I took a wee break down here somewhere out of the way?”
“Make yourself at home, dearie,” the woman said, clearly relieved. “There’s a stool in the pantry where you can put your feet up if ye like.”
“Bless you!” Trinny said, following her gesture toward the open doorway across from the bottom of the stairs.
As she shuffled toward the pantry to get out of everybody’s way, she felt the cool night breeze wafting in from the service door to the terrace straight ahead, between the pantry and the bottom of the stairs.
She glanced out at the gardens beyond the terrace, but nobody was out there. The stone benches looked appealing, but the thought of sitting alone in the dark was a little more solitude than she desired.
She was already feeling a bit depressed, cut off from the world by this single state she had embraced. She did not wish to put herself even farther from the ordinary course of life. She preferred to stay here, close to the comforting bustle of human activity at the edge of the kitchens.
Honestly, though, it was a relief to escape the worried scrutiny of all her relatives and neighbors upstairs for a while, all of whom she just knew secretly pitied her.
Upon entering the pantry, she plopped down onto the stool she found there, and the first thing she did was take off her shoes and flex her aching feet. “Ahh.”
The kitchen’s flagstone floor was cool and soothing to the sole, she thought with a tipsy chuckle. Then she refilled her empty wineglass from the bottle she’d purloined.
After swallowing another gulp, she let out a weary sigh and leaned back against the cabinets. The clamor of the kitchen was muffled in her little hideaway, and she savored this moment to catch her breath in utter luxury. She probably should’ve invited Abigail to join her, for her poor sister had been onstage all day, as it were.
I’m glad I’ll never be a bride, Trinny thought. Too much work!
She closed her eyes, waiting for the feeling to return to her toes. Aside from her throbbing feet, the rest of her was tingling from the wine. She’d surely suffer the headache tomorrow, but for now, the pleasant buzz in her head blurred her messy emotions, which made no sense to her right now, anyway.
Her heart was all mixed up today, both happy and sad, poignant and wistful. And behind it all, a slight panic had begun to percolate in the back of her mind, screeching at her, What have I done to my life?
Was this really what she wanted? Never to be the lady of the house? Never to be a mother? A grandmother someday?
Because if not, she could still change her mind. She had a gorgeous, charming man—with a castle—interested in marrying her. Making her his countess.
You don’t have to be alone, you quiz.
But don’t you see? I will be, if I marry him. Even more alone than if I were single, because we would
Aha!
A big barrel of ice with a treasure trove of open wine bottles left to breathe for a bit before being served.
Her glass now empty, Trinny helped herself to a bottle; hefting it by the neck, she marched on toward the door at the other end of the service passage. It opened onto a dim wooden stairwell. She could hear a clamor from below that told her this was, indeed, the way to the kitchens.
Feet smarting, she walked down the creaky steps until she reached the huge, crazed kitchens. She beckoned to a plump, harried-looking woman who seemed to be in charge.
“So sorry to bother you. More roast beef upstairs, I’m told.”
“Ach, you shouldn’t have had to trouble yerself, miss! Couldn’t you find one of the waiters to tell?” the cook cried, looking aghast to assume the staff was not attending properly to the guests.
“No, no! They were all busy taking care of others. The truth is, I suppose I just wanted a few minutes of peace and quiet. I’m the maid of honor, you see. And I’m exhausted. Would you mind terribly if I took a wee break down here somewhere out of the way?”
“Make yourself at home, dearie,” the woman said, clearly relieved. “There’s a stool in the pantry where you can put your feet up if ye like.”
“Bless you!” Trinny said, following her gesture toward the open doorway across from the bottom of the stairs.
As she shuffled toward the pantry to get out of everybody’s way, she felt the cool night breeze wafting in from the service door to the terrace straight ahead, between the pantry and the bottom of the stairs.
She glanced out at the gardens beyond the terrace, but nobody was out there. The stone benches looked appealing, but the thought of sitting alone in the dark was a little more solitude than she desired.
She was already feeling a bit depressed, cut off from the world by this single state she had embraced. She did not wish to put herself even farther from the ordinary course of life. She preferred to stay here, close to the comforting bustle of human activity at the edge of the kitchens.
Honestly, though, it was a relief to escape the worried scrutiny of all her relatives and neighbors upstairs for a while, all of whom she just knew secretly pitied her.
Upon entering the pantry, she plopped down onto the stool she found there, and the first thing she did was take off her shoes and flex her aching feet. “Ahh.”
The kitchen’s flagstone floor was cool and soothing to the sole, she thought with a tipsy chuckle. Then she refilled her empty wineglass from the bottle she’d purloined.
After swallowing another gulp, she let out a weary sigh and leaned back against the cabinets. The clamor of the kitchen was muffled in her little hideaway, and she savored this moment to catch her breath in utter luxury. She probably should’ve invited Abigail to join her, for her poor sister had been onstage all day, as it were.
I’m glad I’ll never be a bride, Trinny thought. Too much work!
She closed her eyes, waiting for the feeling to return to her toes. Aside from her throbbing feet, the rest of her was tingling from the wine. She’d surely suffer the headache tomorrow, but for now, the pleasant buzz in her head blurred her messy emotions, which made no sense to her right now, anyway.
Her heart was all mixed up today, both happy and sad, poignant and wistful. And behind it all, a slight panic had begun to percolate in the back of her mind, screeching at her, What have I done to my life?
Was this really what she wanted? Never to be the lady of the house? Never to be a mother? A grandmother someday?
Because if not, she could still change her mind. She had a gorgeous, charming man—with a castle—interested in marrying her. Making her his countess.
You don’t have to be alone, you quiz.
But don’t you see? I will be, if I marry him. Even more alone than if I were single, because we would
Similar Books
