Chapter 2
The party would begin in only a few hours. Only a few hours and Alice’s home would no longer be her own for the remainder of the summer.
She had brought the anxiety directly to her own door, yet no matter how often she reminded herself that this was her own doing, she could not seem to stop the panic from rising. She would be grateful when it was all over. Grateful the guests were gone, yes, but also that she had done it.
If only she could remind her nerves of that.
In through the nose.
Out through the mouth.
In through the nose.
Out through—Alice coughed. Her chest pinched, and she grasped the rough stone wall at her side as her lungs repeatedly seized up.
“Mrs. Seymour? Are you well?” Cook’s concerned voice preceded her head popping out the open kitchen door into the kitchen’s small garden courtyard.
Alice tried to wave her off, but Martha’s feet remained firmly planted on the ground, waiting. Once she had wheezed out a few last pitiful coughs, Alice straightened, awkwardly pushing her shoulders back in a show of confidence. “Yes. Yes, I am well. Just fine.”
One of Martha’s gray brows lifted, her thin lips pinching to the side. Alice gave her a broad smile that only felt marginally false now that she’d donned it so often.
Evidently unsatisfied, Cook wiped her hands on her apron and stepped more fully into the weak sunlight of morning with a determined air. She glanced over her shoulder as she pulled the door shut behind her.
Oh dear. Alice was about to get a motivational address. She’d better prepare her successfully bolstered expression.
“Alice, dear, I do not know why you worry. Your parties are always such a success.”
Alice gave a tight smile. “Thank you, Martha, but I suppose no one has reminded my nerves of that fact.”
“You need only remember that everything will be as it always is. The menu, the outings, even the ball. All the same and always perfect.”
Oh, to be someone who found solace in that sort of sameness.
She could plan a dinner or a ball while half asleep—she had, in fact—but it was the people that terrified her.
The people were unpredictable, and so she could not plan ahead for them.
Even though she’d hosted these parties with her husband for two years and on her own for another three, there was always far too much of a chance that her imperfections would show through and she would end up failing as a hostess.
Of a sudden, her chest started to pinch again, and she rubbed the heel of her hand across it.
It came away with flour from the kitchen, and she wiped it against her dress.
Why was she so intent on continuing these events?
At what point could she convince herself she’d done enough and could take a break?
She knew the answer. Never.
After all, Lady Russell had a nephew who would love an event such as Alice’s. And Lieutenant Carter still needed a wife. And Mrs. Clinton’s sister’s niece ought to be able to enjoy an outing on the Isle of Shalk.
There was probably someone’s dog in need of an island vacation as well.
Alice should have invited them. Her late husband would have.
Somehow, he’d seemed to know everyone, and he’d loved to have every last person of their acquaintance at every gathering.
Even with him gone, she still felt the pressure to perform to his standards.
She loved him. It was natural that such strong sensibilities would drive her to put herself through this level of anxiety summer after summer.
And she would be grateful she’d done it. When her guests settled in and enjoyed themselves, perhaps even making a new acquaintance or two that they would retain their whole lives. She enjoyed making others happy.
She only had to endure a little discomfort at first.
“You are certain I can do nothing to help?” Martha asked, peering at Alice from beneath her white cap.
Dear Martha. At times it felt she was the only servant at Windvale who accepted Alice as mistress, rather than some sort of proxy for her deceased husband.
Even still, the woman seemed to view her as more daughter than employer.
“Will you see to it that my bread is set aside?”
Martha nodded with a single dip of her head. “It is already covered and ready for dinner.”
Alice ought not to have questioned. Martha ran an efficient kitchen, and though she indulged in Alice’s propensity for cooking, she was the true rightful commander of the galley.
“Are you planning on a walk?” Martha asked.
Alice’s eyes darted to the lush green lawns and the wooded area beyond. Martha truly knew Alice well. The escape called to her. No one contested her decisions out there—and no guests arrived to unsettle her. A walk would calm her nerves; it always did.
And then she would be better prepared to face the party.
“Yes, I believe so. Just for a time.”
Martha nodded as if it all made perfect sense to her. She stepped closer to the kitchen door. “Only be sure to avoid the cove.”
Alice’s jaw tightened. She did not like reminders of the nefarious activities that occurred on their otherwise idyllic island. “Yes, thank you, Martha.”
Her cook crossed to Alice’s side, patting her cheek in a near-grandmotherly way.
She paused, looking with a critical eye at Alice’s sleeve before brushing more flour from it.
One would think after years passing time in the kitchen that Alice would have learned to be a tad more circumspect in her mess-making.
“Enjoy your walk, dear. It will all be well here.” Then Martha returned to the kitchen.
The moment she was gone, Alice pushed from the warm stone wall, feeling the indentations and points on her bare palms. She took a path not down to the beach, but to the shaded wood. The movement calmed her. Settled her mind.
She could do this. Her nerves would quiet after the initial greetings.
Most likely.
Stop that, mind. Your halfhearted logic is unwelcome here.
In the coming weeks, these lush green lawns would be filled with groups and couplings. The sounds of the sea would be dampened by murmured conversation. The sunlight and warm island breeze would be enjoyed by more than just herself and her staff.
Her home would be filled with happiness.
In through my nose. Out through my mouth.
Everything would go wonderfully.
Just before entering the cooler air under a canopy of leaves, she glanced behind her at the giant stone edifice that was her home.
She ignored the stab of guilt that said if she were a truly good hostess, she would not need to escape to find solace.
She would be inside that castle-like home, preparing for the influx of party members.
Her late husband’s two best friends were already here, and the first of her guests were due to arrive in the afternoon.
The housekeeper was likely looking for Alice, even now, to make some seemingly necessary adjustments to the itinerary.
Might this be the party where, finally, Alice would gain the staff’s allegiance?
Their respect? Much as she loved the island and her home, she was growing anxious to be appreciated in the same way George had been and still was.
He had been beloved by the staff and their neighbors with his good looks, humor, and commanding presence.
Commander Seymour’s death had been hard on them all, and they didn’t seem to know what exactly to do with Alice in the months following the surprising event.
Birdsong accompanied her thoughts, and already she felt better. Her mind was a little quieter. Her breath came more easily.
She might have planned every one of George’s grand events, but she far preferred to work in the background.
It was therefore understandable that her servants thought perhaps she was not capable and tried to step in where they felt she lacked.
But she was capable. She would have thought after these three years they would see that, and she might be accepted as mistress of Windvale.
It wore on a person to have even the maids recommending alterations to Alice’s commands.
And there were also the lieutenants who made her feel out of sorts. Her husband’s two closest friends. They had only known her through George, so something about being in their company made her feel even less up to the task of throwing these parties in his absence.
Her entire home was, at the moment, full to the brim with people who felt her a poor replacement for charming Commander George Seymour.
But she would continue to do her best; eventually, she would earn a true home here on the island.