Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 74631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Another loud bang and a hushed curse greet me as I open the backdoor. It creaks gently although I’m not sure the older woman heard me come in.
“Are you all right, Ara?” I peek my head around the corner and into the small kitchen, careful not to overstep. Ara is a petite blond woman with streaks of white throughout her locks and a natural beauty. She’s the epitome of motherly strength, and that’s exactly what she’s been to me since my own mother passed. Her lips purse as she clutches her hand. She doesn’t have to respond for me to know she’s not all right. I wince as she places her hand in the bucket of cool water meant to rinse the knives.
“The oven bit me,” she responds playfully. Her hands have several burn scars on them from years of baking and mishaps in the kitchen. She looks up at me with a little smile playing on her lips. It must not have gotten her too bad if she’s in good humor.
“Do you need any help?” I make my way to my small area of flour on a cutting board to continue my work but find the dough already kneaded. It’s resting in a bowl with a thin cloth laying gently across the top. I’m only slightly surprised; I wasn’t gone long but Ara is one to step in if she feels anything is behind.
“Is there more?” I’m quick to ask.
With a shake of her head, a defeated sigh leaves me. “No worries, my dear.” She dips her fingers in a cup of cold water before looking back at me. “Could you clean up the front though?”
“Of course,” I answer and return her simper.
I’m grateful to have any income at all. Especially one at the bakery. Ara lets me take home the stale bread. It’s rare that any goes unsold, but if it does, she allows me to bring it home.
There’s a constant dusting of flour throughout the bakery. Cleaning up the front is a task that will take all day, but I’m more than happy to do it. I strive to earn my keep.
Turning on my heels, I head to the front of the shop, the bay windows letting in more light than what’s offered in the kitchen. Back to real life where I’m just the baker’s helper and the candlemaker’s daughter.
After taking stock of what will need mending, I walk out the back door to the well. My flats are worn almost too thin, and every small pebble is felt under my feet. I pump water into a bucket on the ground beneath the spout. With the heavy bucket in one hand and a rag in the other, a sigh leaves me. It’s been three days since I last wiped everything down and it’s in dire need of cleaning already. There’s a small dusting of flour on every surface. It will take me all day. All day of silence, left alone with nothing but a mindless task and thoughts that refuse to let me sleep. If only I could tell someone. If only I could make the thoughts of the beast stop.
Just as I raise my hand to remove a basket of biscuits from the top shelf behind the counter, the front door opens with a groan and the ding of the bell. I turn to greet our customer with a smile, but my smile nearly falls as I see Lord Crawe giving me a cocky grin as his eyes travel down my body. I swallow tightly at his obvious craving.
Although he’s more than twice my age, Lord Crawe’s rather attractive. I suppose I’ve always been attracted to older men though. Something about the hint of silver at the temples and small wrinkles that form around knowing eyes, it just calls to me so much more than a smooth and charming appearance. The light stubble lining his strong jaw adds to his masculine appeal. The women are always gossiping—it’s really the only thing to do in this town—and they say Lord Crawe and the prince were the most handsome men in all the village in their youth. They looked so much alike, many would’ve sworn they were twins if they didn’t know any better.
He may be classically handsome, but I would never return his flirtatious tone. His sexual depravity is well known, and I do my best to steer clear of him. So much so that the dread I felt only moments ago returns fiercely, demanding my heart to race. He’s often taken advantage of many of his servants, letting them go once he’s had his fill. Only a few weeks ago he offered me a position paying almost double what the bakery pays me. But I kindly declined. I do not wish to be alone with him and there was no mistaking that his intentions were for me to be just that.