Chapter 3
Alice smothered an agitated sigh as she descended the stairs to dinner, acutely aware that she was late.
It was hardly her fault that she had no time to prepare for dinner.
After all, how could one be expected to dress appropriately in only thirty minutes when the lady’s maid was running late and questioning her chosen attire?
What was it with the servants in this house?
They did not seem to know their place, and Alice was surprised Priscilla would allow such informal behavior from her staff.
Her aunt, Lady Wrexham, would certainly have never allowed it and surely impressed upon Priscilla the importance of leading her own household in the same manner.
And who could forget the audacity of the gardener?
Alice’s cheeks flamed when she recalled the grounds man she had encountered in the glasshouse.
She was almost certain it was the same man she’d observed working the grounds earlier, and hard as she had tried not to gaze at him in his dishabille, she couldn’t help but notice his forearms as they flexed and turned while he donned his jacket.
Regardless, the absolute impertinence of the man—leaving her to collect the lemons herself. Really, it was too much to be born.
Determined to have a word with her cousin and Hampton, Alice hastened to the dining room.
Once outside, however, she couldn’t bring herself to open the door and take the final step across the threshold.
Being late on the very first night of her cousin’s hospitality was not putting her best foot forward, and the last thing she wanted to do was disappoint someone she admired.
Absentmindedly rubbing the side of her nail through her glove as if she could reach the ragged cuticle there, Alice caught herself and had to force the hand down to her side.
Taking in a deep breath, she composed her face before gliding into the room as if she hadn’t a care in the world, believing everyone would wait for her presence.
Her father and aunt had taught her that a lady always acted as if she were in complete control, that everything was going in the exact manner she had intended.
She would not let them down now simply because she was running behind.
“Ah, there you are!” Hampton said with a smile, noting Alice’s presence.
Before she could look in the marquess’s direction, her gaze was caught on the artful display of greenery and early blooms she had cut and arranged only a few short hours before.
While in the glasshouse gathering lemons, she’d decided to also cut some flowers for her cousin in gratitude of her tutelage.
A genuine smile blossomed on Alice’s face at seeing the arrangement in a place of honor, centered on the dinner table.
Finally taking in the rest of the room, she acknowledged her hosts with a small bow.
“Oh, darling, I should have told you that we dress rather casually when it’s just family for dinner. Didn’t Emily mention anything?”
“Emily?” she said, only catching the end of Priscilla’s statement, still distracted by the pleasure of seeing her gift treated with such respect.
“Yes, Emily. My lady’s maid. Didn’t she tell you we usually don’t make a fuss over dressing for dinner?”
Alice’s blush returned as her faux pas began to sink in.
She thought the maid had been rude when suggesting other items Alice might wear to dinner, but in fact she’d only been trying to help, knowing the dress she had picked out herself would be much too elaborate to match Priscilla’s more relaxed attire.
And to make things worse, she hadn’t even thought to gather the woman’s name.
Her cheeks burned in shame, and she picked at the row of beads below her bustline, fidgeting in her distress.
Her new gown that felt like beautiful armor only a moment ago, giving her confidence, now made her conspicuous.
Alice felt incredibly foolish for not heeding Emily’s advice.
She had been so eager to put her best foot forward that she hadn’t listened, and now she found herself stumbling.
Alice dropped her head into her hands, fingers curling in on themselves, and once again started worrying at the hangnail on her thumb through the kid skin of her gloves.
Of course it was at that moment, when she was feeling the most uncertain, that a movement across the room caught her eye. Looking up, Alice suppressed a gasp upon recognizing the handsome groundsman from the glasshouse.
No.
No, it couldn’t possibly be. Yet there was no mistaking the sweep of sandy brown hair and the powerful arms pulling at his tailored dinner coat. But why was a gardener at supper? With a growing sense of dread, she realized Priscilla had referred to a family dinner.
Alice’s head was spinning. Family dinner? But then, why . . . That must mean . . .
“I . . . I . . .,” she stammered out around the lump in her throat, embarrassed and distracted by what she feared ‘family dinner’ meant when it came to the other man standing in the room.
“Never mind all that,” Hampton said, striding over to stand beside the man from the glasshouse. “Let me introduce you to my cousin, Mr. Ethan Beaumont. Ethan, this is Miss Alice Pembroke, Priscilla’s cousin who is staying with us for a while.”
Alice could barely force her eyes to meet his across the table. Hampton was grinning as he slapped the other man, Ethan, on the back.
“He’s just taken over as estate manager, and I couldn’t be more pleased.”
Alice prayed that the floor would open up and swallow her whole. She had most comprehensively misinterpreted everything since arriving at Hampton House only hours before.
“Mr. Beaumont,” she managed to squeeze out of a tight throat while giving him the briefest of polite glances.
She felt sure she was about to combust into flames from the heat of her cheeks.
Thankfully, it was at that moment the butler gave Priscilla a nod that the meal was ready, and everyone took their seats before they could fully dissect her reaction to Mr. Beaumont.
Shaking out her napkin, Alice took in her first full breath since entering the room.
She remained rather quiet during the meal, humiliated that the man she’d not only ogled in the garden, but whom she had also mistaken for a laborer on the estate was in fact West's cousin. Periodically, Mr. Beaumont would catch Alice’s eye from across the table and send her an impertinent grin as footmen cleared plates for the next course.
Her cheeks continued to burn every time their eyes met, even for the briefest of seconds.
As the meal concluded and all rose from the table, he hastened to her side.
"Come now, don't be cross with me. It appears we're all family here, even if we didn’t realize it." His voice was low so only she could hear, and Alice felt compelled to keep her voice quiet as well, even if it did come out as a muted shout.
"Don't be cross? Had I known who you were, I never would have spoken to you as I did." Alice noticed his eyebrows raise at her hostile tone. "Now I'm humiliated."
"But only because I'm related to the marquess?" he asked with a scowl.
"Yes, why else?"
"You should feel humiliated to talk to anyone that way, regardless of their station in society. Even if I were a common laborer as you supposed, I would still be a person and therefore worthy of being treated with a basic level of respect.” Shoving his hair off his forehead, Mr. Beaumont let out a burst of air and shook his head.
“I came over here to make nice and apologize for not knowing who you were. Priscilla had mentioned her cousin’s arrival, but it slipped my mind and I wanted to try and repair your opinion of me after a less than impressive first encounter. ”
Mr. Beaumont paused, and Alice hoped for a moment that they might be able to begin again. But he still looked supremely irritated, and she was stunned by the quick change in his tone from light and apologetic to accusatory.
“However, I’m not sure I care whether I have your regard if it’s only bestowed on those you deem worthy.”
With that astonishing final statement, he quickly left Alice's side. What on earth did he mean that she should treat an estate worker the same as a member of polite society?
Infuriating man! Nonetheless, he was West's cousin and would be around the estate during her stay, so she must get along with him for appearance’s sake, if nothing else.
She’d simply try and avoid him as much as possible, which shouldn’t prove difficult because he’d most likely be on the grounds while she stayed with Priscilla in the house.
Shaking off the unsettling encounter, Alice made her way to the settee across from her cousin as West handed them small glasses of champagne.
“What’s this for, darling?” Priscilla asked, unable to hide her smile for her husband.
“I decided we should celebrate having Alice with us. I appreciate being able to have family around,” he said, clapping a hand on his own cousin’s shoulder. Alice hardly saw the gesture, though, as she was studiously not looking at the man.
“And what exactly are you doing here?” Ethan asked, forcing her to look at him. She felt her cheeks coloring again, much to her chagrin.
“I’m . . .,” Alice started, clearing her throat that suddenly felt as if it were closing. How was she supposed to share her shame with this man who clearly already thought very little of her? “I’ll be . . .”
“She’ll be spending time with us until the season begins and making some connections,” Priscilla said warmly, stepping in to save her.
“In fact, tomorrow we’ll be venturing to Althorp House.
Lady Spencer is having a friendly, small gathering to show off her newly decorated parlor, and we’ve been invited. ”
“Be sure to take notes, I know you have more rooms on your list for refurbishment here,” West said with a smile. “But we’ll leave the two of you to plan while Ethan and I discuss business.”
As Hampton passed behind the settee, he paused and laid his hand on Priscilla’s shoulder. She leaned her head back to look at him as he bent down and pressed a soft kiss to her hairline. Priscilla smiled and closed her eyes, a look of bliss crossing her face at the tender gesture.
Alice was struck by their comfort with one another and how normal such an intimacy between them seemed.
For just a moment, she wished her future could be different.
But the reality was that she would have little choice in who she married—and she certainly couldn’t afford for love to be a consideration.
With the pressure of a second season, finding a match was imperative, as failure was out of the question.
Who she gained the interest of was less important than the fact she generate someone’s interest at all.
Maybe tomorrow would bring a new connection and allow her to forget her uncomfortable start, Alice thought, sipping her champagne while decidedly not looking at Mr. Beaumont as he left the room.