Borrowed Feathers

20260214

Written for Bradley Ramsey’s “Flash Fiction February Day 14”.

“Clara, don’t dawdle!”
“Sorry, Ms Beverly.” Clara tore her gaze away from the crowd of nobles and hurried after the rest of the Baron’s staff. Doing her best to similarly turn her thoughts to her work, where it belonged.
Besides, she should be happy she’d never seen him again. That names hadn’t been exchanged, and he was unlikely to recognise her. His warm attentions had been because he thought her his equal, fooled by her borrowed finery. If he found out he’d been fawning over a common-born maid…
Still, that night was the dearest of her life. She’d forever be grateful to whoever dropped Lady Katherine’s trunk and left her beautiful feather dress a mess everyone thought beyond repair. Lady Katherine had been inconsolable. Refusing to even attend the Prince’s party at all, if she couldn’t wear her specially commissioned gown!
Desperation led Clara to try steaming the crumpled feathers - and when it worked, Lady Katherine’s relief and joy was immense. She’d immediately insisted that Clara accompany her to the ball, and had thrown her wardrobe open so the other girl wouldn’t stand out amongst the illustrious company.
And so, Clara had spent the night pretending to be a noble lady. She’d kept to the edges of the party, not wishing to attract attention, enjoying the music and the fine food and the fact nobody was demanding she do something useful.
Until she bumped into him.
Cutting a fine figure in a leaf-green velvet suit embroidered with the crest of House Bramley. A man who’d usually never give the likes of her a second glance. Yet he’d sat on the bench where she’d been admiring the lamp-lit gardens and coyly bid her good evening.
They spoke of everything and nothing - he was so very charming! And, to her relief, did not press her for personal details. Instead they discussed literature and music, topics she was thankfully fairly well versed in. When it turned out he was knowledgable about the plants around them she eagerly professed ignorance and he waxed lyrical until his voice grew hoarse. Then he begged her accompany him inside.
Walking the halls with someone made it far less intimidating. And his attentions were… deeply flattering, yet unthreatening. Entirely unlike the grabby blokes she was used to, who viewed a sly pass or saucy whistle as the highest compliment. Was this how noble ladies were treated? So pleasant!
Together the tasted the whole table, happily wittering the whole time. Until he shyly asked her to dance and she, tipsy from fine wine, agreed. But she insisted they dance out on the terrace, where those who were less confident in their skills or more sensitive to the crowds gathered, and he readily took her arm and led her out.
Oh, she’d been so clumsy! Entirely unused to these fancy dances. Hopefully he thought that was the wine. And he himself was not a fine dancer, so perhaps it was alright.
They danced until they were quite out of breath, drank an entire jug of mint cordial between them, then took a turn around the gardens. But, Lady Katherine being prone to turning in early, and not wanting to linger without her patron, Clara reluctantly excused herself.
Kissing him had been utterly improper. That was definitely the wine. She was fortunate that he had merely returned the kiss and stepped back! If they’d been seen even Lady Katherine would have trouble saving Clara from such scandal.
Next day the Baron’s entourage had packed up and headed home. So of course she never saw that mysterious man again. At least she could enjoy the memory-
Clara jumped as a hand tapped her elbow and jolted her out of her pleasant woolgathering.
“Excuse me? Miss? Would, ah, do you need help carrying that?”
“Oh, no, thank you-” Clara looked up, blinking, and froze.
His voice had been vaguely familiar. His face, particularly those strong brows and delicate freckles, was immediately recognisable.
The rest of the group looked back, perplexed to see Clara gawping up and down a stablehand. A comely lad, certainly, but hardly calling for such shock.
“Are you sure?” He asked softly. Searching her face.
“Oh! Um. Y-yes, thank you!” Clara shoved one of the baskets she was carrying into his hands, giving him the perfect excuse to walk beside her. “I would… love your help.”
He relaxed, that heart-fluttering grin covering his face, and matched his steps to hers. For a moment neither of them said anything. Then he murmured “So.”
“My name’s Clara Brown. I was at the ball as a reward from Lady Katherine, for saving her feather gown after it was mussed in transit.”
“Oh! I saw it. A masterpiece. And looked entirely unmussed. Well done.”
Clara blushed and demurred “Oh, it was nothing much. Just a trick from my mam.”
She shot him a curious glance, and he readily said “Mike Heath. The Duke’s second nephew got odiously drunk before the party even started, and not wishing to embarrass the family before Their Majesties the Duke hastily sought someone he could stuff into his errant nephew’s suit. I was deemed the closest match.”
“Ahh.” Clara smiled to herself.
“So… were you planning on attending this year’s Royal Ball?”
“Pff, no! And I dare say you’re not - unless His Grace needs a cover again?”
He winked. “Thankfully the boozy nephew is on a very short leash this time. So I happen to be free this evening.”
“You too, hm?” Clara watched him through her lashes. Enjoying the way he was looking at her - and the fact that his behaviour was just as respectful and charming even after finding out her true status. “I must be present before and after to assist Lady Katherine - but I happen to know where the servants’ party is. Shall I see you there?”
He beamed, his fingers brushing against hers as he returned the basket. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. We have a great deal to catch up on.”

Prompt was “Years ago, two people connected for one amazing night. The next day, due to circumstances beyond their control, they got separated. Now, years later, they’ve somehow run into each other again. Write a story or poem about what happens next…”