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Why do you take so long to get ready? Really? Who do you have to impress? Grubble the Countess?

Lizaveta had long ago learned that it was better to not answer her questions. The Countess was looking for a fight and nothing more.

Come and read to me, I'm bored, the Countess demanded, but Lizaveta heard none of it. She was busy

writing the older woman for the ball, so they could both sit and watch the young people live while

they stirred with longing. The Countess for what she once was, Lizaveta for what she would never be.

At the ring of the bell, Lizaveta's skin crawled once, twice, then an incessant, unending dinghy that no matter how long

Lizaveta lived, she would always hear in her dreams. The Countess shot her at hard luck. Dear, we have so much time and you have so little to do.

All this print being makes no difference at all. She padded the cushion on the chair next to her. Read to her.

Please, they had time.

Lizaveta sighed and took a seat next to her employer. The book fell effortlessly open to the chapter from

earlier and she resumed reading aloud. It was slow going, but with having to feel the many criticisms of every

author the Countess blurted out every few sentences, it was always the same. At least the old woman was

too weak to hit her anymore. These days it felt more like being slapped with a wet noodle.

Two pages later the Countess gasped awake, scowled at Lizaveta and glanced at the clock.

What was the girl doing? Why wasn't she ready? They needed to leave. Now, Lizaveta tried to explain that was what she was

trying to tell the Countess all along. But the woman shook her head. Be in the carriage in five minutes where you'll miss both the ball and your monthly salary.

Lizaveta threw down the book and read it herself faster than she had ever before. She raced on the stairs, passed the drawing room and out the... Wait. Was that the Countess?

Sure enough, the older woman stood by the window, opening the drapes. What was it this time?

We'll stay in tonight, she said. It's too cold and windy. The Countess eyed Lizaveta's dress. Go and change. Then come back and read to me. Quickly now.

Lizaveta's shoulders slumped as she ascended to her room. She'd been so sure they would make it to the ball this time. There'd been no doubt.

On her knees, by the large chest at the end of her bed, Lizaveta rummaged until her fingertips felt the smooth outline of an envelope. The letters. She could recite the words from memory, but read them all the same. Her love, her hope, her man, as in Herman.

...