Anna watched from across the table as Mr. Bates mended a pair of his socks, amazed at how quick his hands were with a needle and thread. It wasn't as if she was unaccustomed to seeing men sew—William and Thomas did their fair share of mending—but it was somehow different, watching Mr. Bates sew. It just didn't make sense, for some reason.
Seeing William sew as well as any woman she knew made sense to her, because he played piano with the same quick accuracy that sewing required. He was easily better than Thomas, though Thomas had the eye for small details that must come from being the son of a clockmaker, which resulted in him touching up any articles of clothing that required such a skill, instead of William. Mr. Bates, however, didn't have anything to explain his deft movements, at least that Anna knew, and she wasn't going to pry.
He's a valet, of course he knows how to sew well, she chided herself, hoping he didn't notice her staring at his hands and marveling at how deeply concentrated he seemed to be on the task of mending his socks.
Beside her, Gwen looked up from the mending that they'd decided to split, a strategy the two often employed to take advantage of the time it afforded them to be alone. Truth be told, Anna wanted to do the mending all by herself, so she would have an excuse to be in the same room with Mr. Bates for an extended period of time, just watching him in silence.
Oh stop that, won't you? He's probably got his heart set elsewhere, or nowhere at all.
She forced her attention back on the lace she'd been repairing—Gwen wasn't as good with lace as she was with fringes and beads, which Anna found a bit difficult. It was better if she got on with her work and didn't let herself get caught up with Mr. Bates. It was enough to be kind to him, to be his friend when he clearly needed one, and she didn't want to ruin their friendship by developing any other sort of affections towards him. He was a valet, practically indispensable to the staff, and she was nothing more than the head housemaid, and even though her post was one of influence, it wasn't as crucial, and she could easily be replaced. If she wasn't careful, her slight affection could spark an affair, and if they got caught, the fall would be taken by her, and she would leave for another household.
And what if he did fancy someone else?
There was no use in setting your heart on something you weren't ever going to get, no matter how hard you tried, now was there? She might as well dream to live the life she watched in passing on her way to clear the parlor of afternoon tea. No good came of unrequited love, and though it was all very romantic-sounding of a notion, it wasn't something she wanted to live with. She had no desire to torment herself over a man she'd never have outside of her dreams.
Just leave it. No good'll come of it, so you're best off letting it die before it can even grow in full.
Still, watching him darn his socks, the needle flashing in his finger, in out, in out, like a silver fish leaping in a stream, her heart fluttered in her chest. She was in love, she was sure. Against her better judgment, she'd fallen in love with him, and she wasn't sure if she'd regret it or not. Her more practical self—the self she thought was her only self—was telling her that she would, that it would bring her nothing but sorrow, but the part of her that clearly had little regard for practicality was urging her onward, telling her that it would be worth it, that this was her destiny, to be with him.
What happens happens, she thought, tying off the thread she was using. Don't lose sleep or ruin work over it.