AN: This story has become my baby. I've been working on it for over a month now, and have just worked up the nerve to start posting it on here.

It was early morning, and the sun shone down over Ravensbrook Manor. Another glorious June day. Life was good, Emma Fletcher decided.

"Good morning, my lady." She knocked on the bedroom door, then entered, setting her tray down on a table. The figure in the bed rolled over and sat up, reluctantly.

"Good morning, Emma."

Lady Rosalie Harte, eighteen years of age. Blonde, beautiful, and much sought after by the young gentlemen in the area. Emma considered herself fortunate to have found a position as Lady Rosalie's maid. She'd been working here for four years now, since her mother had thrown her out of the house in a fit of rage, saying that Emma was old enough to look after herself.

While her mistress ate breakfast from the tray Emma had brought, Emma herself was sorting out clothes to be worn that day. Lady Rosalie would be expected to dress up for dinner, that evening, which meant a different outfit and probably a corset. For the morning, though, it wasn't necessary.

"I'll wear the green one this morning, Emma, and the blue velvet tonight."

"Yes, my lady."

Once the dress was on, Rosalie say down in front of the mirror to have her hair arranged. This was Emma's favourite part of the job. As the brush ran through silky hair, Rosalie smiled. "Tell me, Emma, what do you see in my future?"

Emma concentrated for a moment, eyes closing briefly. "An offer of marriage will be put to you tonight, my lady."

"Please, say it is not the intolerable William. That I could not bear."

"It is not Sir William."

"But do I accept? No doubt that is what my father would wish, is it not?"

"My lady, I cannot tell you what your answer is. That is for you to decide."

"Please, Emma."

"I am sorry, my lady."

"Well, no matter. I shall find out soon enough. Emma, I would like you to collect my necklace today, if it has been repaired." Emma nodded, then returned to her task of arranging Rosalie's hair. Nothing too complicated, for the morning, it was swept up and away from her face, secured with pins and a ribbon. "That will be all for now, thank you, Emma."

Emma curtsied quickly, picked up the breakfast tray and left the room. Making her way down the servant's staircase to the kitchen, she passed nobody except a maid, polishing the stair rail. Emma greeted her, but the girl drew back, fear in her eyes. Used to this kind of reaction, she paid it no attention, and simply continued on her way.

In the kitchen, she deposited the tray on the counter, then retrieved her coat and boots from the cupboard where they were stored. Quickly, she pulled off the shoes she wore inside the house and laced up her boots, then shrugged the coat on. One of the benefits of working at Ravensbrook Manor was the supply of clothes - servants there didn't have to buy clothes and shoes, it was all provided for them. Sir George, Rosalie's father, couldn't bear to have any member of his household looking untidy.

"Where are you off to, gypsy girl?"

"The village, for Lady Rosalie."

The cook sniffed disapprovingly. Emma Fletcher, in her opinion, was getting ideas above her station. Just because she was a lady's maid. With her parents, the girl should be no more than a scullery drudge. "Don't be taking all day about it, now."

"I won't."

Setting off on the path to the village, Emma permitted herself a smile. Cook would dearly have loved to order her back to work, but that would involve overruling Lady Rosalie. Even Cook wouldn't dare to try that.

It was about a mile to the village of Ravensbrook, a busy, bustling place despite its size. Emma enjoyed the trips there, running errands for her ladyship, becayse it gave her time to be alone, and to think. In the manor, she didn't have the luxury of such time. The vision she'd had that morning, of a marriage proposal, worried her. If Rosalie accepted, which she wasn't certain to do, she might have to find a new job. Jobs were scarce, hard to come by. Still, she'd deal with it when and if the time came.

Reaching the village, Emma's first call was the man who was suppsoed to be mending Lady Rosalie's necklace. He recognised her as soon as she entered. "It's all ready for her ladyship. I'll just find it for you."

He extracted a leather pouch from a drawer, opened it and allowed the necklace to spill out onto the counter. Dark blue sapphires glittered in the light, the same colour as Emma's eyes. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"It certainly is." Emma picked up the necklace and checked the clasp. "Lady Rosalie will be pleased."

"Any more problems, just bring it back." He returned the necklace to the pouch and passed it to Emma.

Errand complete, Emma continued along the row of shops, pausing to look through a pile of books. She hadn't been able to read when she'd started working at the manor, but Sir George had insisted she learn. "It is appropriate for my daughter's maid to know how to read and write." Lady Rosalie herself had been the one to teach her, and even now encouraged her to read aloud, when the rest of her work was complete. She'd been given permission to use the manor's library, but always felt awkward doing so.

The chiming of the church bells, informing the village that it was ten o'clock, roused Emma from her thoughts. It was time she returned; Lady Rosalie would be wondering what had happened to her. A brisk walk, and she was soon stomping the mud from her boots at the kitchen door.

"Took you long enough."

"I had to make sure Lady Rosalie's jewellery was mended properly."

"Trying it on, you mean? Impudent little madam."

Emma simply changed her shoes, hung up her coat and left. It didn't matter what she said, Cook would disapprove.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"Is it mended?" Rosalie couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice. "Please say it is, it would go so well with the blue velvet, tonight."

Smiling, Emma pulled the pouch from her pocket. "It is here, my lady."

"It was my mother's, and her mother's before that." The voice was tinged with sadness, and Emma knew why. Rosalie had told her the story once, how her mother, the dearly loved and much mourned Lady Isabelle, had died in childbirth. The child, Rosalie's brother Daniel, had survived, barely. Rosalie still resented him for causing her mother's death, and even more so for the fact that his mere existence prevented her from inheriting the manor. Her father had practically ignored her since the day Daniel was born, so pleased was he to have a male heir. Oh, she had everything she needed, in a purely material sense, but she'd led a lonely life. Emma Fletcher was her closest companion, and had been for the last four years. It helped, Rosalie thought, that they were the same age.

"Are you certain, Emma, about the proposal?"

"I am, my lady. Though I cannot see what your response will be."

"Oh, I wonder who it is." Rosalie twisted a ribbon around her fingers. "How does it work, this gift of yours?"

"My lady knows my father was a gypsy?"

"It is somewhat obvious, with your hair and skin."

"Gypsy women, not all, but some, have the ability to foretell the future. It is said that the talent runs in families, but I never knew my grandmother."

"She had the gift, I'm sure of it."

"As am I."