Is this a good beginning?

I scurry in, keeping my head bowed. His mother is shouting commands at me, her blue skirts swirling around her like sea spray. She twists this way and that, pointing and making demands. "Oh, do clean the windows. You've let them get awfully dirty," she says in an accusatory tone, as if to say I haven't been working hard enough. I peek out meekly from beneath my stringy hair. I haven't washed in a few days, because the Missus has important guests coming over and hasn't let me rest at all. "Yes, I will get right to it," I squeak. "Don't say! Do!" she yells, her alabaster face turning red with rage.

I hurry over to get the pail, soap, and washrag, and set to work. I'm sponging down the stained glass windows, my arms aching, when he comes in. He, being my mistress's son. He, being the boy who is the handsomest boy in the country, quite possibly the world. He, who all the girls titter about at the balls and parties. He, who I am hopelessly and utterly in love with, though I myself don't even get why. He paces around the room, his eyes lowered, muttering something to himself. I continue my work, pretending I don't notice him. Pretending I'm not listening to what ever he's saying. Pretending I'm not noticing the way the sun hits his hair, turning it an almost preternatural shade of yellow. All of a sudden, he straightens and says my name. "Rosalie," he says, the name sounding so beautiful as it rolls off his tongue. At the sound of my name, I immediately stop my work, surprised. He rarely talks to me, except to tell me what's expected of him and me at parties and the occasional shallow chat when no one is around. "Yes, Master Alexander?" He snorts. "Don't call me master, you silly girl. I'm the same age as you," he says with a chuckle. I hesitate, annoyed that he called me silly, then ask, "What do you need?" "I need some help with my mother," he replies, looking left and right to make sure no one else is around. I want to be "disrespectful", and ask what he thinks I could do about it. But instead I just ask, "What do you need help with, Alexander?"

He smiles a smile that if I didn't know better, I might say was sinister. He leans in close. At this point, I'm really hoping he doesn't realize how fast my heart is beating. "Nowadays, it is the fashion to get married early. Mother is already trying to set me up with someone high-class. There's just one problem: None of those girls, with their preening and vanities, interest me. But don't worry, I've got a plan. And it involves you," he says, lightly pressing a finger to my nose.