Chapter One
2689, the region formerly known as the United States of America.
600 years after the lights went out.
Faith
The frigid wind pelts my face. Clouds hover low in the sky, and the trees lining the road sway in tune with the harsh gusts. The clean crispness of the swirling air, along with the overcast day, promise impending snowfall. I clutch my cloak tighter around my trembling body. Inside my worn leather slippers, my toes have already gone numb.
I climb the steps of the Ashlor Estate, an intimidating brick mansion that’s situated on the most affluent street in Gerrardsville. My heart does a nervous flip as I stare at the golden door knocker. I smooth down my skirt and tuck errant locks behind my ears. After retrieving my letter of recommendation from my pocket, I lift the knocker to rap on the door. Boom boom boom. The noise seems to echo outward from within the house, an eerie sound that sends a chill down my spine.
A blast of welcome heat hits me seconds later. The smartly dressed butler glares down at me and clears his throat in an impatient manner. In my nervousness, I clamor to find my voice.
“Good afternoon, sir,” I finally say. “My name is Faith, and I’m here about the maid position. I have a letter of recommendation from Mrs. Hawthorne.”
The butler’s critical gaze sweeps up and down my body. My stomach twists in a knot. I need this job. Badly. I must vacate my bed at the orphanage in a week. Whenever the orphanage becomes too crowded, the oldest girls are asked to leave. Well, not really asked. More like kicked out on the street.
At least I had the good fortune to live there until the age of twenty. Thanks to my petite stature and a well-intentioned fib I told years ago, Mrs. Hawthorne and the other ladies who run the orphanage believe I’m much younger than my twenty years, and I’ve been smart enough not to give them cause to think otherwise.
“I don’t believe you’re what we’re looking for, miss.” He starts to shut me out, but I’m quick to wedge my foot between the door and the frame.
“I have a letter of recommendation,” I repeat firmly. “You can at least allow me to interview with the master of the house.”
He sighs and rolls his eyes, but he steps back and opens the door wide, while gesturing for me to pass the threshold with exaggerated movements. I eagerly walk inside, and it’s all I can do to stifle a gasp. Bold colored oriental rugs are strewn all over the floors, expensive looking paintings decorate the walls, stylish furniture is placed throughout the open floorplan, and a massive chandelier hangs from a high ceiling.
I’ve never felt more out of place in my life.
For a moment, my step falters, and I freeze in the foyer.
The butler gives me another dirty glance, his eyes narrowing in disapproval. But the urge to prove myself lends me the strength to lift my chin and follow him further into the house. He leads me into a large study. The faint scent of cigar smoke tickles my nose.
Thousands of books line the shelves, and my heart leaps at the sight. What I wouldn’t give to borrow a few. But I push such thoughts aside because I’m here for an interview. If I don’t secure this job, my only other prospect for employment and housing—working in a house of ill-repute—makes my stomach turn.
“Wait here,” the butler says in a clipped tone.
I stand in front of the large polished desk, marveling at how neat and clean everything looks. And how pleasantly quiet it is compared to the orphanage. There’s no yelling or crying. No murmur of voices at all. Aside from the cigar smoke, there are no foul stenches, either. I shut my eyes and imagine I’m living in this house, with my own little bed in the servants’ quarters. I picture myself donning a crisp black maid’s uniform with a pressed white apron, my hair drawn up in a neat twist.
A sense of longing reverberates in my chest. I want this. I haven’t met the master or lady of the house yet, but I want this job more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. This house represents all the calm and safety I’ve longed for my whole life.
Footsteps resound in the hallway. I grow tense and run my hands through my hair, hoping the master of the house deems me acceptable.
“Turn around, young lady.” The shrill, feminine voice catches me off-guard.
I obey, slowing turning to stare at a dour-faced middle-aged woman, who I deduce is the lady of the house. She’s wearing pearls and a purple silk gown, her hair in an elegant up-do. She appears as if she’s on her way to a fancy dinner party, or perhaps a ball. I offer her a polite smile, but to my dismay, she does not return it.
Even worse, her eyes harden with more disapproval than the butler’s. I open my mouth and take a breath, preparing to introduce myself and offer my coveted letter of recommendation, but before I can utter a word, she holds up a bejeweled hand to silence me. I stare at the glittering rings on her fingers, fearing her next words.
“No, no, no.” She shakes her head, and the scent of her heavy floral perfume wafts toward me. “Absolutely not. You must leave at once. We are looking for a more experienced maid. Someone…older.” Her gaze flickers with sadness for the briefest instant, then she blinks hard and steps aside, motioning for me to exit the study.
Crestfallen and a bit confounded by the woman’s overt emotional reaction, I tuck the letter into the pocket of my raggedy dress and attempt to depart the room with as much dignity as I can muster. But deep down I’m hurting and scared. I’d pinned all my hopes on this job and this house, and now I don’t know what the future holds. I have a place to rest my head for one more week before I’m out on the streets.
Alone. With winter fast approaching. Only weeks before Christmas.
What will I do and where will I go?
I don’t know of any other available jobs, as this is currently the only suitable job posted in the town square. The other advertised positions are for hard labor or factory jobs, and those are reserved solely for the men of Gerrardsville.
As I approach the foyer, a male voice booms down from the landing above.
“Oh, Mabel, for God’s sake, don’t send the girl away. What’s your name, girl?”
Unease creeps through me. I glance up as the large elderly man ambles down the staircase. Perspiration glistens on his face, and by the time he reaches the landing, he’s practically sweating through his fine tailored suit.
His leering gaze makes my skin crawl. When he gets closer, his pale blue eyes bore into me with an eagerness that puts me further on edge. Now standing directly in front of me, he smiles to reveal crooked yellow teeth.
“My, my, you’re a pretty little thing,” he says. “Now tell me, what’s your name, girl?”
“Who cares what her name is!” The lady of the house strides up to her husband and whacks him on the back of the head. “She is far too young, Harold, and you have proven time and time again that you cannot be trusted. I won’t stand by while you diddle yet another maid.”
The man’s face turns red and he starts screaming at his wife, cursing and issuing violent threats. Stunned, I take a few steps away from the spectacle.
Maybe I don’t want this job so much, after all.
A blast of cold air hits me, with an almost violent force, and I turn to find the butler is holding the door open and signaling for my departure.
“I’d say it’s time you took your leave, miss,” he says, his voice barely audible over the ruckus of the Ashlors’ increasingly volatile marital dispute.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Gathering my threadbare cloak tight around my arms, I hurry outside as the screams in the house grow louder.
The wind is blowing harder and clouds are even darker than when I first arrived. Puffs of white escape from between my chattering teeth. Shivering, I rush down the street in the direction of the main road, but in my haste, I stumble over a rock and start tumbling forward.
Before I can untangle my hands from my cloak, I’ve already fallen flat on my face.
Pain slices through me, and all the air leaves my chest in a whoosh of agony.
* * *
Kingston
She’s beautiful.
It’s the first thing I notice, before I realize she appears frightened. Her large blue eyes are filled with tears. She’s running too fast in her long skirts, and before I can reach her, she’s tripped and fallen on her face. I don’t know the pretty young lady’s name or what has her so upset, but there’s something sweet and innocent about her that calls up my protective instincts. Perhaps it’s her eyes. I’ve never seen a woman with eyes such a stunning, light shade of blue.
I kneel beside her and help her into a sitting position. She clutches her right cheek, and her lips are swollen and trembling, the bottom one split open. Her eyes land on me and widen further. She tries to scoot away, but I grasp her shoulders and keep her still, forcing her to continue holding my gaze.
“Shh,” I say in the most soothing tone I can summon. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I cast a quick glance down the street before returning my stare to the frightened young woman. “Was someone chasing you? You look as though you were running from the devil himself.”
“No one’s chasing me,” she replies in a small voice, almost a whisper. “I, um, had an interview for a maid position at the Ashlor Estate. It-it didn’t go so well.”
Understanding dawns. I tense and glare at the brick mansion at the end of the street. Dark rumors have swirled around that particular house for years, and it’s no secret that maids are always coming and going from the Ashlor Estate, their employment never lasting more than a few short weeks at a time. “Did Mr. Ashlor hurt you?”
When she shakes her head, her wavy golden tresses sway over her shoulders and brush upon the backs of my hands. I realize I’m still holding her, and I loosen my grip and then help her rise to her feet. She accepts my assistance and keeps shooting me curious looks. Her eyes no longer glimmer with tears, but I sense the turmoil surging through her. Whatever happened at the Ashlor Estate has left her shaken.
“What is your name, sweetness?” The endearment rolls off my tongue before I can stop it, and it’s then that I realize she looks vaguely familiar. I continue staring, trying to pinpoint how I know her.
She flushes. “My-my na-name is Faith.”
When I fail to place how I know her, I decide perhaps I’ve only seen her in passing on the street. Her name doesn’t ring any bells, so I likely haven’t ever been properly introduced to her.
If I had, I most certainly couldn’t have forgotten.
Faith. God, she’s so adorable. I want to pick her up and carry her home, clean the dirt off her pretty face, and cuddle her in my lap until she calms down. My groin tightens at the prospect of having her close and in my arms. I tense again, my own thoughts taking me by surprise.
“Faith,” I finally repeat. “A pretty name for an even prettier girl.” I reach for her and brush the leaves out of her hair. Her eyes flutter shut and a soft sigh escapes her lips. I marvel at how she melts under my touch. But as quickly as she seems to lose herself in the hands of a stranger, her eyes shoot open and she takes a swift step back.
“Thank you for helping me, sir, but I must be on my way.” She tries to veer around me, but I grasp her hand and pull her closer. Our white breath intertwines, and my heart races to have her body so flush against mine. I’m careful to gentle my expression as I stare into her questioning gaze.
There’s a pull between us that I can’t explain.
The very air around us is electrified with tension.
For a reason I can’t fathom, I want her to feel safe with me, and I want to chase away every last worry and fear she harbors in her gentle heart. When I first glimpsed her rushing down the street, I was drawn to her, and I’m not about to allow her to run away while she’s bruised and bleeding.
Not if I can make it better.
She holds my gaze, unblinking.
There’s a storm in her bottomless blue depths that guts me. Though she’s told me nothing about herself, besides her name, I surmise she’s led a difficult life. I also suspect she’s in some sort of trouble at the moment that may or may not be related to Mr. Ashlor.
I guide her to the white stone walkway that leads to my house.
“What are you doing, sir? I-I re-really must be on my way.” Her steps slow and she tries to pull her hand from mine, but I tighten my grasp and shoot her a concerned look.
“You’re hurt and you’re freezing, Faith. I’d like to help you. This is my house,” I say, gesturing at the three-story stone house that has been in my family for three generations. “Please come inside and let me tend to you. I promise you have nothing to fear, sweetness. I won’t visit any harm upon you.”
Indecision flickers in her gaze. She peers at the front door and the storm in her eyes deepens, raging with an intensity that only strengthens my desire to help her.
Lost. She looks utterly lost.
I wonder if she’s homeless. Her dress and cloak are faded and threadbare, and one of her slippers has a hole in the toe. I imagine outfitting her in the finest dresses and the warmest cloaks, custom made just for her. Shoes, too. As many as she wants. I imagine spoiling her and showering her with all the comforts and luxuries she’s never known.
Odd, these thoughts I’m having.
I’m a stranger to her, and, judging by the indecision in her eyes, she likely worries I am planning to hurt her.
“Faith, I give you my word that I mean you no harm. My name is Kingston Freemont.” I offer her a brief gentlemanly bow, before drawing up to my full height.
Recognition lights on her face. “Oh. I know you. Of course. I thought you looked familiar. You deliver medicine to the girls’ orphanage every year. I remember watching you unload the boxes from the wagon a few times. It’s not often anyone brings supplies, especially medicine, to the orphanage, and I try to remember every face who has shown us kindness.”
“Ah, you just solved the mystery. I was also thinking that you looked familiar, but I was having trouble placing you.”
Her sudden bright smile warms my heart, and for the first time in years, the crushing loneliness that weighs me down lifts from my chest. For a long moment, I forget all my sorrows and the world seems more vibrant with color. I stare at her in awe, swept away by the power this pretty little creature holds over me.
“How old are you, Faith?” I ask, not caring if the question is inappropriate. I guess her to be eighteen or nineteen, but I must know for certain.
“I…” Her voice trails off and an alarmed look consumes her. “I am a grown woman.” She lifts her chin.
“You’re over eighteen?”
She nods. “Yes, sir. I am too old to remain at the orphanage any longer, which is why I’m on this side of town today, looking for a maid position in a household. Unfortunately, the only job posting I could find was for the Ashlor Estate, and the lady of the house did not like me very much.”
“Gerrardsville is going through a depression at the moment, and it’s affected many of the wealthy residents too. Many of my neighbors on this street have recently had to let some of their staff go. I’m afraid you will probably have difficulty finding employment.”
She swallows hard and presses her lips together. Tears glimmer in her eyes, but she’s quick to blink the moisture away. My resolve to aid her deepens.
“Please don’t fret. I will help you. Come inside with me, Faith.”