Chapter 8 #3
The baron sniffed the contents of the tin. “Cinnamon. I came to the right kitchen. Talk to me, Alice. I offered you money yesterday, and you were not offended. I surmise Aunt Josephine has been terrorizing you, else you would have slapped my face. I meant you no insult. I want that understood.”
Alice rummaged in the tea drawer, measured out enough for a strong pot, and began assembling the humble, everyday wooden tea tray. The temptation to confide was nigh overpowering, and yet, the need to protect, to exercise caution won out.
“Your aunt terrorizes everybody. Times are hard. She mentions to one of the poorer tenant families that she might be able to find a domestic post in some parsonage up near Thirsk for their daughter, but then the son presumes to ask the wrong young lady to dance at the quarterly assembly, and no post is forthcoming. She’s a tyrant, and Bernard overlooks her behavior or excuses it as well intended, if he even notices it. ”
Alice had not discerned the tyranny behind the gracious words until much too late.
The baron gestured with half a biscuit. “How does she tyrannize you?”
The kettle began to whistle, and Alice grabbed it before the noise could wake Grandpapa. He would not be scandalized to find Alice offering the baron a cup of tea in the kitchen, but he’d be worried. Grandpapa had enough to worry about.
More than enough.
Alice poured the boiling water into the teapot and for one moment entertained the notion of telling the baron the truth. Such a relief that would be, assuming he wasn’t horrified.
“Her ladyship gently hammers on my destitution, my lack of a husband, my great and ever-increasing age. My precarious station, which is related to all of the above. How strong do you like your tea?”
“Strong, not bitter.”
Like his lordship. Alice put the honey pot on the tray and, in a fit of rebellion, poured out a small pot of cream from the clay dairy crock. She even put a few drops on the flagstone floor for the delectation of the cat and to blazes with what a lady must not do.
Cass readily agreed.
“I prefer strong tea myself,” Alice said, bringing the tray to the table and sitting opposite the baron. “You should look out of place here in the kitchen. You don’t.” He looked relaxed, not too overdressed, and very intent on his biscuits. “Save some for me.”
He held out the tin, and Alice took two, then a third.
“Tell me, Alice. Is there anybody you might consider marrying?”
She pretended to examine the tea, which was not yet strong enough.
The startling answer to his question was that, yes, she might consider marrying him.
He did not put on airs. He saw right through Lady Josephine.
He was generous to the point of causing awkwardness—at least with Alice—and he had no patience with hypocrisy.
To say nothing of a quick mind and an appetite for hard work.
And an excellent, robust physique, too, of course.
And yet, he was the baron. He would marry a woman who was a lady in every particular, rather than aspiring to the label under false colors.
“I am not contemplating matrimony to anybody at present,” Alice said, though the subject was none of his lordship’s business.
“Anybody ever?”
“You are no respecter of privacy, are you?” She arranged cups and saucers, grateful to have something to do with her hands.
“When negotiating, it helps all parties to reach a satisfactory conclusion if they are dealing from adequate, accurate information. If my opponent needs three ships to haul his cargo, and I have only the one available, we both need to acknowledge that.”
“I have never considered marrying anybody who might have entertained a reciprocal notion about me, so please desist from this line of inquiry. My prospects are not your concern.”
He demolished another biscuit. His fourth, and yes, Alice was counting. Also making a note to let Cook at the Hall know of his lordship’s fondness for cinnamon.
“I have in mind a little project,” he said, lifting the lid of the teapot and inspecting the contents, then pouring out two cups. “I’m thinking of sending Josephine to London to refurbish my town house.”
“Don’t. She will bankrupt your exchequer and festoon your parlors in gilt and silk.” Though the prospect of weeks free of Lady Josephine’s hovering presence… Nearly as attractive as having some means.
“A little gilt and silk for show might not go amiss.”
“My lord, heed me on this. Alexander had to forbid Lady Josephine, in writing, from making any changes to the Hall, and he told me he put that provision in his will. The problem is not her ladyship’s excessive taste, it’s that she will use the redecoration to spy on your staff, your neighbors, and you.
If you have ledgers that aren’t under lock and key, if you keep any sort of journals… ”
Alice fell silent before she said too much, though apparently she already had. The baron was regarding her over the last bite of his fourth biscuit.
“She has spied on you, hasn’t she?”
The tea and biscuits, the cat purring on the hearth, the rain pattering down, that note of quiet exasperation in the baron’s voice… The kitchen had become a confessional.
And yet, his lordship would return to London, while Lady Josephine would remain on her throne at the vicarage.
“She spies on everybody. One of those maids who so fiercely kept you from looking in on Mrs. Shorer will pass along to the housekeeper at the vicarage that Mrs. Shorer has taken to her bed. I’m surprised Lady Josephine was not on your doorstep this morning, bearing tisanes and insisting on bothering the patient herself. ”
The last bite of the fourth biscuit met its fate. “Did she spy on Alexander?”
“Tried to. I did what I could to protect his privacy, as did the rest of the household staff. A dying man should have a right to some dignity. We could not stop her from sorting through the mail on the sideboard or reviewing the household books with Mrs. Shorer.”
“Aunt has a nerve, prying into the ledgers like that.”
“She was doing her Christian duty, given the seriousness of the late baron’s indisposition.”
And now that Alice had a sympathetic ear, the enormity of Lady Josephine’s meddling took on its true proportions.
“She invites confidences,” Alice went on, “presents herself as the soul of understanding and sympathy. You are astonished that such a fine lady is actually so approachable and kindhearted. Perhaps you confide that you’re worried about your poor granny, who is going vague and lives all alone.
The next thing you know, the young man you were walking out with cools toward you.
Eventually, you learn that he became aware of raving insanity dangling a bit higher up on your family tree, though forgetfulness assails us all at times. ”
“You describe the fate of Mrs. Shorer’s understudy?”
“Lady Josephine is adamant that domestics must not be permitted to marry, even though in this case, the couple could have stepped into the respective shoes of Mrs. Shorer and Mr. Beaglemore. To their credit, they saw past Lady Josephine’s lies.
She’d told Maryanne not to fret over Henry’s defection, because a man with a wandering eye made a poor husband. ”
“Henry’s eye never wandered.”
“Of course not. The point of this parable is to admonish you to mind your back where your aunt is concerned. You underestimate her at your peril.”
The baron finished his tea, poured himself another half a cup, and topped up Alice’s serving as well.
“You have given me much to think about, Alice, and adroitly changed the subject from money and kisses. Of the two, I find—somewhat to my surprise—that the latter topic interests me more than the former.”
They had not been discussing kisses, though admittedly, Alice had been thinking of kisses. Near kisses.
“I was overly familiar with you yesterday,” Alice said, looking the baron straight in the eye. “I apologize for my presumption. Your generous proffer was unexpected, and my manners deserted me.”
He patted the fingers of his right hand against his left palm softly.
“Bravo, Alice. Nicely done. A fine apology for not much of a kiss. My turn.” He rose and moved toward the hearth, stooped to pet the cat, and stood again.
“Miss Singleton, I have been remiss. The lady ought never find it necessary to take the initiative when it comes to kissing, and if you would allow me this opportunity to remedy my oversight, I would be eternally in your debt.”
Was he being humorous? Daft? “I don’t understand, my lord. I got a bit above myself, I’ve apologized, and now…”
She rose, intent on putting the tea things away while the baron regarded her.
“I want to kiss you, Alice. If you are not of like mind, then simply say so, and we forget I ever presumed to make any overtures.”
Did he negotiate everything? But then, was it such a bad thing to be asked about one’s preferences? No, it was not. Not a bad thing at all.
“You are so matter of fact, as if we’re discussing bolts of cloth or barrels of pickled herring.” While Alice’s insides had gone widdershins in eight directions at once.
He stepped closer. “We are discussing my growing regard for you, my attraction to you, my interest in forging a closer bond with you, and—I hope—your reciprocal interest in me.”
Alice scrabbled mentally for any vestige of common sense. “You are returning to London as soon as possible.”
“I will always have obligations in London.”
That was a concession, but what sort of bargain were they striking?
“Alice, might I kiss you?”
No, no, no. The only possible, sensible, safe answer was no.
If Alice refused him, his offer of coin would not be rescinded.
She knew that as she knew every footpath on Lorne land.
If she refused him, Lady Josephine would not acquire one more potential increment of leverage over Alice’s dwindling sliver of happiness.
If Alice refused him… She would regret that cowardice for the rest of her life. She would concede some battle that hadn’t yet been entirely lost.
“I would like to be kissed by you,” Alice said. “But you mustn’t get untoward ideas.”
His smile lit up the gloomy kitchen with affection and glee. “Too late for that, but you can trust me, Alice. I have few friends in London, and no small store of competitors, but to a person, they would also say that my word is reliable.”
Alexander had said as much too. Camden was in trade, feckless fellow, but he was an honest tradesman.
“Don’t make me regret this,” Alice said, feeling at once determined and foolish. “And don’t be all day about it. Grandpapa’s naps tend to be short.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The baron wrapped her gently in his arms, and the fit was perfect. Alice, whose height had been the subject of many of Lady Josephine’s laments, rested her head on the baron’s shoulder, sighed, and tucked close.
Wonderfully, scandalously close.