Chapter Text
The social hierarchy of life, as you came to learn, was superficial. It was an easy ladder to climb and an even easier task to keep up an appearance to have climbed it. You were skilled in many things that made you appear that you were brought up well—that you were brought up far above the station put in. Lady Kent, the mistress of the household you worked for, was not without a compliment to you, as well as suspicion. When asked about your background, you attempted to remain as obscure as possible so as not to throw the light sway you had in the household.
You were very skilled in your job, which made it impossible to remove you from the home when Jon, the child you were to look after, grew too old to be nannied. From a young age you were employed to care for little Jonathan Kent, the youngest child of the Kent family, and sometime between his start of attending lessons with his tutors, you managed your way into other positions.
In some cases you were Lady Kent’s handmaid, picking up the slack that Ms. Lang, the one who really held the title, left behind. Then, there were times when Sir Kent utilized your skills in finance, using you as secretary to double-check that the house and property were in order. Sometimes you would be on loan to Sir Kent’s lady mother, Mrs. Kent, who often just required your company since she was frequently by herself.
While this afforded you great care in the house, it also left you in an odd position that not many—if any—had found themselves in before. You were too high in the household to dine with the other servants like the head butler Mr. White or Ms. Lang, and, on some occasions where guests were involved, too low to dine with the rest of the family.
Fortunately, with this odd, lonesome position was freedom. You could attend parties with the Kents and be able to socialize on your own as long as you were able to get permission from Sir and Lady Kent, which their desire and love for you in the home seldom let them say no.
You were careful with this freedom of yours, knowing if you drew too near the line it would break completely, and you would be turned away from the home. So, most often, you took the liberty of acting as a nanny to Jon at the parties they attended to ease your need for conversation. One evening, as the need for a different face to talk to had started to sprout in your mind, Mr. White entered the drawing room with a letter.
Sir Kent, sitting with his wife on the sofa opposite you and Jon, took the letter from him. For a few seconds, he was silent, and you attempted to ease your wanting to know of its contents by pointing out to Jon that you had taken his knight.
“Hm,” Sir Kent said. “Ms. Thompkins has invited us, and you,” He paused to smile and nod at you, “To a ball, she is hosting.”
“How wonderful,” Lady Kent exclaimed. “I have been longing for a ball!”
“I am afraid we cannot go, my dear,” Said Sir Kent. “We will have to leave town that week for business.”
Lady Kent groaned, “My darling, can we not put it off for once?”
“I find myself not willing to budge on the subject, my love.”
You felt disappointment rise in your chest that you would miss it, but kept it to yourself. Then, Sir Kent turned back to you and Jon. “Connor and Jon can go in our stead. You will attend with them? To keep an eye on the two of them, it will be Jon’s first ball without us present.”
“Of course, Sir, if you wish,” You said as politely as you could. “I am most thankful for the opportunity.”
Lady Kent peered over at the letter in her husband’s hand, reading it on fully before gasping aloud. “And the Waynes will be there. You left that out on purpose, Sir Kent!”
He smiled. “I did, indeed, my dear. It is of no matter if we meet them on the day of the ball or at a later date. I have already called on Mr. Wayne to join us for dinner one evening.”
Lady Kent seemed ecstatic by the news, saying that Mr. Wayne had beautiful daughters that could be married off to either of their sons. You and Sir Kent exchanged a knowing glance that would more than likely never happen, yet it would appease her to believe it.
The rest of the afternoon went without interruption, except for the usual visit from Barbara Gordon, a friend of yours for many years who lived with her father not far from the Kents. Barbara came over with the latest knowledge of the ball and the new acquaintances in town. From the limited knowledge she had, she could tell that Mr. Wayne was an extremely wealthy man with kindness not usually found with his type of old money. He was agreeable through and through, she had assured you.
“And,” Barbara said as the two of you took a turn about the gardens. “He has five sons and two daughters. His two eldest sons are still unmarried, though they are well past the age of needing a wife.”
“Let us hope they are handsome and remain single, Barbara, for your fortunes may be turning up soon,” You giggled.
She smiled in return. “And yours, too, my friend! Do not forget that I said two sons.”
You shook your head. “And risk such a nice station I have been put in? Incredibly inane, dear Barbara.”
“Take my advice, my dear,” said she. “It will be well worth the follies of love when you have ten times your salary and mistress of a great estate.”
It would not, but you dared not disagree with Barbara for she was more than willing to fight her point till it seemed to be useless. It would be likely that one of them would catch your fancy, though it would be mute since there were so many eligible young ladies in Gotham.