Sorry that this took so long. Enjoy!

:)


I glare discreetly at Miss Gemma as she sits next to the finest young gentleman in England.

The Middleton family has been invited to the Doyle household for dinner in an attempt to fix the huge rift that was opened between them when Miss Gemma refused Simon's hand.

The two sit side by side, Simon being the more relaxed of the two. He seems completely ready to propose to Gemma once more, yet she remains unrecieving and cold. The message she conveys is obvious, but apparently Simon is not ready to give up just yet.

"So, Miss Doyle, how has your finishing school been treating you?"

"Fine, thank you."

He beams at her and she ignores the notion completely.

"I'm glad to hear it." I could swear that Gemma's lips move a little bit and a mutter escapes, but no one else notices and they continue with the dreadful conversation, which involves the marketing in London. I have no knowledge of these things, and so my gaze remains fixed on Gemma, who I hate more than anyone in the entire world.

Here she sits, a totally innocent facade sheltering her true nature from everyone but me. In truth, she is a horrid thief who specializes in the taking of men. I scowl at her openly, attracting an alarmed look from Mrs. Jones. She pinches my arm, hard. The painful contact jolts me back from my black thoughts and I glance at her with embarrassment.

My friend is tutting slowly and quietly, shaking her head and looking up as if to ask God what has gotten into me.

"Emily," she hisses, keeping her voice low and beneath the volume that could be heard by our English employers and their guests. "Put away that sour expression. You are a maid, not an exocutioner."

Harsh words bubble up, and I try to bite them off, to no avail.

"At this point, I would much rather be the latter."

I glare daggers at Miss Gemma, who is currently ignoring Simon's light-hearted jokes. She stares into space, no doubt fantasizing about the man I love. Mrs. Jones grasps my arm firmly and attempts to squeeze some sense into me.

"Emily! Stop this foolishness, now. You mustn't let whatever it is ruin your job. Do you hear me?" Reluctantly, I nod, and she shoots me a look that plainly states that I shall inform her of my problem immediately after supper. Then she steps forward to serve Lord Denby, and I find that Mr. Doyle needs an extra beverage.

Seeing that he wishes for a bottle of his drink, I opt for filling his glass with wine, praying that I he will not throw a fit or refuse it and order me to fetch him more of his poisoning spirits. Thankfully, he accepts the liquid that I pour into his glass, though I can clearly see the craving that ravages his face. As I move away from the table, Mr. Thomas and Mrs. Doyle both shoot me their own looks of gratitude.

I inevitably catch that Gemma is looking at me as well, and she even has the gall to smile at me. Her expression is innocent and charming, making me wrestle down the urge to spit at her. Instead, I return the wine to it's rack and go about bringing the fine folk their food and cutlery like a well-trained housemaid.

I stay out of their sights as much as possible, and fill my mind with wonderful ideas, mostly involving horrible accidents that happen to befall Miss Gemma and scar her beautiful body until Kartik cannot love her any longer.

Yet, does he truly love her, even now? Perhaps he is simply playing with the fine English girl, for I cannot imagine that he could truly love her, not with all of the rubbish about the English that he manages to slip into every conversation.

Dying hope springs forward in my chest, but then I look upon Gemma for a mere second and it crumbles into dust. She is perfect. Gemma is the vision of beauty, with a wild streak that has already attracted many suitors. For, if Simon Middleton has fallen for her, than an Indian could easily be entranced. As I watch she snubs Mr. Simon unendingly, causing a rather tense atmosphere to develop. The two families can hardly have decent conversation when she is so bluntly refusing every attempt at a joke or complement that is flung her way.

She answers some drab questions involving Spence, her finishing school, and I manage to catch that her grandmother had received a letter from the headmistress. I listen intently as she says politely that Spence's Academy for young ladies can hardly wait to receive Gemma when her short visiting time is done with. This clearly means that Gemma is expected back at her residential school quite soon, else she be released from her teaching.

I have suspected that she has been home too long. Not many days before I heard her pleading with her grandmother for another few days here, no doubt wanting more time with Kartik.

This information that she will soon leave is not much, but my heart leaps with joy. This means that one day soon, Miss Gemma Doyle will depart from this house, leaving Kartik here. With me.

I smile hesitantly as it all forms in my head. He will talk to me about how glad he is she has finally left him in peace, since he never wanted her company at all. We will share thoughts like before, and he will list all of the horrifying things about Gemma that make her so repulsive to him, and I will be none of those things. Then he will see this and sweep me into him with a spell-binding kiss.

I sigh at the thought of my first kiss. Kartik has always been the one I've imagined it with, and every time I see his full lips it's like I can already feel them on mine.

Pain shoots up my arm and I snap my eyes open, not even realizing that they had been closed. Mrs. Jones is glaring at me, her face set into stern lines. I feel a lecture coming on and move towards the table, where everyone has finished their meal. I clear away the plates as they drift into the luscious sitting room, chatting amiably, awkwardness forgotten.

I watch Gemma's back as she walks with Simon away from the group, see the eager expression that he wears, totally in vain. Or perhaps not.

If Gemma must leave, surely she will trade Kartik in for this fine gentleman. The tiny spark of hope that has been struck up in my chest grows once more to a long burning flame.

Kartik and I can still be together. It is a strange, thin hope, but hope nonetheless.

This time I bring the dishes away without even a wobble, and I am feeling quite well about myself until Mrs. Jones begins badgering me.

"What had you so sad earlier?" she asks sharply, though the answer was clear enough. "It's that Kartik, I know it."

I nod slightly and continue washing even though his name stirs something in my gut that makes my get a little dizzy. In a second I come crashing down from whatever wonderful place I had been in. Mrs. Jones has a look on her that bodes no good.

"I'll guess what it was. It's him and that no good English girl, sneakin' around like it's proper."

I blanch as she says it, realizing that she has known longer than I. She shakes her head and says wisely, "It won't come to no good, you can bet on that."

I nod again and fight the tears that are rising for no good reason.

"She's evil," I blurt suddenly. "Just evil!"

Mrs. Jones has another look now, and it's soaking with pity. I hate that look, and I turn away so I can't see it and she can't see my tears.

"She could have any man in London, and- and...."

A little sob tears itself out of my throat and I hate it passionately, how weak I am.

"I know. I hear them all the time, giggling and groaning away. I see 'em slinkin' about in those stables.... and once," she says with a heightened sense of importance, "I saw that wily boy climbin' up to her window, I did."

She pauses and nods sadly, enjoying her gossip like every other old maid.

"And you can imagine what happened after that. It's a wonder they didn't wake the whole house, with their moanin' and screamin' and-" "

"Stop it!!" I scream, whirling on her like a storm.

"Just stop! You're not helping one bit! I hate you, and I hate her, and I hate him!"

I drop the glass that I am holding into the sink carelessly, turning on my heel and nearly running out of the kitchen. I can hear her yelling after me, apologies mixed with orders to turn around immediately and finish my job. Heedless of the fact that this will most likely get me fired, I slow to a walk as I pass the room where the Doyle's and their guests converse.

They do not notice me anyway, but I struggle to compose myself all the same as I pass the door-less opening. Once I am clear of their gazes my feet refuse to be slowed, and I am sprinting through the house and out the back door. Tears blind me as I run to the stable, blurring my vision so much that I can hardly tell where I am stepping. They roll down my cheeks as I burst through the wooden door, breathing raggedly.

I am still for a moment, as calm comes over me temporarily. Then the hurt is back and I am crying once more, wiping uselessly at my face with the shabby dress that hangs off of my body.

I continue on to where I know Kartik will be, though how he can help me, I have no idea. Just as usual, he is sitting by Ginger, feeding her an apple from his own dinner. Love gushes out of my chest as I look upon him, then I remember Gemma, and the hot flow hardens into cold rock.

He looks up at me and smiles just as I feel my expression go from warm to broken to furious. Confusion flashes over his face, and then I am upon him.

"How can you love her?" I yell, feeling my voice crack midway through the accusation.

"Why..." I start, then fade off as he looks on me in alarm and total shock.

"Who, Emily?"

I clench my fists at my sides and wrestle down my heartbeat, which has skyrocketed until the thumping in my chest becomes fully audible.

"Her!" I say loudly, pointing a finger in the direction of the house.

"That rich, spoilt, English whore!"

His face is unreadable for a moment, though I can tell that he is still suspended in shock and wonder.

"Emily, why on earth are you so pent up about this? You've known for some time now." I glare at him, wondering how he could be so horribly cruel.

"I'm pent up because I've loved you for months, and you're to busy with that arrogant bitch to even spare me a second glance!"

Anger. I see it rising inevitably in him, and yet still I plough onwards.

"Wh- why can't you look at me as more than a stupid maid?!"

He swallows tightly and rises from the mound of hay. "Emily, I'm sorry. I never thought...."

He trails off, guilt shadowing the rage that I know he is holding back. "You never told me."

My shoulders are already slumping.

"Of course I never told you. You would have laughed it off."

Again he bows his head, and I know it is the truth.

"I'm so sorry, but- I love Gemma." A fire lights in his eyes, and I know that my insults were too bold. "You cannot say such things about her; you don't even know her."

Her swirling hair and emerald eyes enter my mind and my face is twisted into a scowl.

"I hate you," I whisper, and flee the stables as my heart shatters.