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Christopher walked around the winding path way that rounded tye estate. His brunette hair was whipped by the early day winds. His clear blue eyes fell on the side door, the Servants entrance, and stopped, pawing at his pocket of his pants. He fished out a small key, ,opening the door to slip inside. There he took off his coat and hung it up amongst the other Servants effects and took up a white uniform shirt and slipped into it as he listened to the hustle and bustle of the Servants in the kitchens. It was early in the morning bit itvwould be the best time for it, to see her again as he always did. To serve her breakfast, the way only he could.

He opened the doors, rushing in to join the crew in their preparations. The ovens were already and roaring with heat, the pantry open to doll out food stuff and start the meal preparation.
 
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Clara’s eyes flickered open. She stared blankly at the ceiling above her. She’d been dreaming again, dreaming about the same person. A kitchen boy, or something, she thought. She couldn’t figure out why it kept coming back. She’d never even spoken to him and only saw him once or twice a day. She sat up, reaching over to pull the bell rope. She got out of bed thoughtfully, then shook herself, trying to clear her mind.
 
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The bell rang out, quieting the din of the cooks and kitchen briefly as the Head Chef, Aaron, A large stocky man with a large set of arms, scruffy beard, and shaved head, Whipped his head over to Christopher. "Boy, take the young Lady her breakfast" He barked out. Christopher collected her tray and covered it with a silvered lid, to the side of the lid were two small glasses, one for her drink, the other for her morning flowers. The servant straightened up a bit as he pushed through the kitchen doors, moving out into the dining room. He walked through the estate, swiftly, following the ring of her bell. He approached the door, turning to knock upon it gently, waiting for her to respond.
 
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Clara pulled her housecoat over her shoulders, straitened her hair a bit, then called for the servant to come in. She wasn’t sure which one it would be, there were many, but she wondered if it would be the one she had dreamed about. She waited, looking at the door expectantly.
 
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Christopher walked into the room, the fair skinned young man striding in and placing the tray on her bed side table. He was lean, like all of the Servants they were well kept, and clean. He glanced to the flowers they had given Clara, adjusting them slightly. "Your breakfast, my lady" he said as he stepped aside. In her presence, Christopher felt his stomach churn slightly, but he didn't show his nerves.
 
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She studied him closely, her heart beating a little faster at the connection, unknown to him, they had. He was in her dreams. “Thank you,” she said softly, then paused, “what was your name?” His expression was relaxed and normal, but a slight flush showed on her face and her look was sharp.
 
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He drew his gaze up to her eye level, briefly, taken aback by her question for a moment. His name? Did he upset her? "Christopher. Christopher Miller." He said as he brought his hand to his chest, and bowed respectfully. Her studying eyes ran over his features, he was clearly maintaining his Composure before his betters, such as sharp look as hers compelled him to remain proper before her. His heart hammered slightly in his chest.
 
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“Thanks for bringing my breakfast, Christopher.” She offered him a smile. “I…” at that moment, a step was heard in the passage. “That will be all. You may go.” She offered him another smile, then turned her attention to her breakfast as the house keeper strode by the room, glancing in as she did.
 
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"Of course, please enjoy." He said as she turned to her meal, He stepped back, gently closing the door behind him as he crossed into the hall. He looked to the housekeeper as she strode on, curious what the Lady had to say to him for a moment longer. He turned to walk back for the kitchens, not wishing to linger too long. As Clara raised the silvered lid from her meal, the aromatic scent of freshly roasted potatoes touched her nose, they were sliced and buttered, alongside carefully made eggs and thick, yet crisp slices of bacon. On the smaller plate was a personal loaf of bread and jam.
 
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Clara picked over her breakfast; more thoughtful than hungry. Her mind was in a turmoil as she thought over her dreams and the handsome face of Christopher -she knew his name now- floated in her minds eye.

The rest of the day was a dream. She rode with a potential suitor, practiced her music and embroidery, read her books, and spent an inordinant amount of time sparing off into space.
 
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"Clara? Clara?" Her Suitor tried to gather her attention again as she seemed to be day dreaming again. He was named Cyril, from some manufacturing family, he owned a fistful of factories, connected to a higher company. He was tall, handsome enough, broad shouldered and manicured in his appearance. He had went to her father for this arrangement and yet he couldn't seem to keep her attention, which was....Uncommon for one like himself. "Are you well? Should I get a servant to fetch us refreshments? He said as he held up a hand, they were on the garden grounds, his personal servant starting over from their position a way down the path to give his Lord his space. "Claude, go to the Lady's kitchen and gather us something to eat." He said without even waiting for her answer to send the man off.
 
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Clara struggled to focus and was about to protest that she was well when she heard his words. “Ahh… I do so apologize.” She said faintly. “I fear I am feeling a little faint. Come. Can I rest over in that pavilion?” She made her way toward a small pavilion that stood nearby. “A little food will suffice. Do not sound any alarm.” She hoped to reassure her suitor.
 
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"I would be shamed if anything befell you." He said almost as if he were a gallant knight, standing at her side. Was Christopher as eager to protect her? Would he have done the same? "Your father would surely never let me step foot on the steps of your state again might I add "

Cyril loitered at her side, casting his gaze around the corner of the pavilion. "Ah- here we are!" He said as Claude came around, the servant had a few of her own in tow, carrying trays and small baskets. They set up shop with a small table before her. Baskets if fresh fruits, small delicate pastries....but perhaps what caught her attention the fastest was Christopher among the team, moving deftly with his hands, arranging plate sets before her. He was dutiful no doubt but he set her arrangement precisely before Cyril could even make the attempt himself...or no doubt tell Claude to.

As the team pulled away to await their leave, Christopher stopped short eyeing the table. He hesitated a moment as his team cut him a look, something clearly he felt was missing from the set personlly But started to back to up into the line to prevent holding up any further.
 
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Clara stepped into the cool pavilion and breathed a sigh of relief. She stepped over and took a glass of water, still making her apologies to Cyril. Her eyes, however, immediately found Christopher and focused on him she took her food and sank onto a stone bench, waving them back. “Please. Give me some time to recover. Can I be alone here?” She looked at Christopher “stay and attend me.” She sank down and closed her eyes, resting.
 
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Sensing they were alone, Clara straightened, glanced around, then threw off her pretense of weakness. She threw Christopher a shy smile. “Good.” She glanced at the door. I get a few moments peace.” She spoke low, making sure they would not be overheard outside. “I… was hoping to talk to you.” She fell silent, suddenly shy. A glow lit her eyes as she looked at him.
 
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She laughed at that, a soft musical laugh, throwing her hands over her mouth to restrain the noise. “Disturb? Never. You…” her voice trailed off as she tried to think how to explain. “I think of you all the time. I want to be with you, talk with you.” She glanced over him, too shy to mention what all the dreams actually involved.
 
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Christopher blushed at her words. "You desire my company? But I am so...mundane." He said as he met her eyes again. His eyes twinkling blue as the light caught them. He understood why he could look upon her and feel such feelings, but fir her to feel the same...was different. "What else do you tldream of?"
 
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She faltered, turned red, and cast her eyes toward the door. “Hush. We must not talk too much now. Someone will come in soon.” She walked to the table and took some of the food. She took a few moments to compose herself. “Tell them they can come in now. We’ll talk more later.” She turned away, sipping at her drink daintily as she took a seat in the stone bench again.
 
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"Ofcourse my lady." He said as he smiled to her, leading her away from Christopher as he stood by. As the doors closed he frowned. "Pompous bastard." He said under his breath as he began to collect up the baskets and food. The team came back to help him clear things out and bring it back to the kitchens.
 
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Glancing back, Clara saw the dark look on Christopher’s face, and she had to suppress a smile, divining the reason.

The ride came to an end shortly afterward. Clara was polite with Cyril, trying to strike the line between not offending him and not encouraging his interests too much. She was never sure that she was quite getting it right, and she was glad she could make her excuse that she was tired and needed some space.
 
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Cyril brought her back to the front of her estate, first climbing from.the saddle and helping her do the same. "I do believe it would be approaching my time for the evening anyhow, I'm afraid I have some business to handle in the city." He said putting a hand over hers for a moment. "I shall see you again soon enough." He assured. If she had played too far into his interests it was tough to know, Cyril was quite bombastic in his methods, but it was clear he would be close by for quite some time.

He released her hands gently, turning to Claude as he was riding a carriage over to his lords. "Thank you for a wonderful day
" he added lightly.
 
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Clara gave a careful smile to Cyril, not drawing her hand away from his, but not moving to meet it in the least. “Thank you for attending me today. I’ll see you again the next time you attend.” She gave a chaste wave as his carriage tumbled out the driveway, then disappeared to her room, dodging the central library where her mother would surely ply her with questions about why they talked about, if she thought Cyril was interested, what a sensible match he was, and all of that. Arriving in her room safely, she picked up a book and sank into a window seat where she could hide herself behind a curtain with a good view of the outside.
 
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As she sat in her window, she could see their gardeners at work, manicuring their flowers and hedges, Cyrils carriage vanishing frim the edges of her walls, the distant tree lines of the woods. It was quite a trek by foot from city to the estate grounds, most of her Servants chose to stay on the grounds. Her father saw to that at least, he was a reasonable man, knowing when his workers could do with aid. And it kept them close by. Was Christopher one such servant? Could she sneak to him so easily as she pleased?

Christopher set away his last set of pots, wiping gis hands withba cloth as he inspected his work. He had been tasked to wash them all, and they shined all the better fir it. He looked to one of the baskets, full of left overs. He glanced about, to his comrades of culinary arts. "Perhaps a sampling?" He said as he reach for a snack. Aaron snorted slightly. "Aye, lads we should check our work if the lady hasn't taken her fill of us!" He agreed. The thin air if professionalism laced a notch a they crowded the baskets, to take in their brief delights. Soft bres, gentle cucumber flavors, pureed and whipped into a soft spread. Refreshing in the warm sun and warmer kitchens.
 
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Clara’s thoughts wondered to Christopher again. Her eyes scanned the workers outside on the off chance she would see him. She wanted to talk to him more. She could ring, but he was on kitchen duty and wouldn’t answer. She didn’t want to tell the housekeeper to send him up, that would just complicate things. A thought flashed through her head. She bounced down out of her seat, moved over to her writing desk, and sat down. She proceeded to write.

To Christopher,

I wish to speak with you, to pour out my heart, to rest in your eyes. I want to feel the touch of your fingers on my skin and hear the sound of your voice in my ears…

The letter continued on in a similar vein. She described dreaming of waking up in his arms. She didn’t have a plan on how to talk, so for now, it would suffice to write to him. She folded it carefully and placed it under her pillow. Her bed had already been made and there was not a risk of it being found. She could give it to him when he delivered breakfast in the morning.
 
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