Chapter 10
Dear, you’ve got a bit of flour just there.”
Alice looked up from the dough she was kneading and blew a stray hair from her eyes. “Where exactly do you mean? Here?” She pointed at her flour-covered hands. “Here?” She gestured to her apron, sending more flour floating through the air.
Martha laughed. “Your face, ma’am.”
“Oh well, there isn’t much I can do about that just now, is there?” Alice grinned.
Martha shook her head, though her smile remained. “I would dearly love for one of your guests to walk in just now.”
“Then they would not fault you for however misshapen the luncheon rolls are.”
Martha snorted, then clucked her tongue. “Commander Seymour would not approve.”
Alice’s hands stilled for half a second, but then she continued, though the action felt a bit awkward now. She admired a great deal about her late husband, but his constant worry over her appearance was not one of those things.
Martha did not add anything else, taking to humming instead.
They worked side by side in the warm, sunlit kitchen for several minutes, the occasional footman or maid crossing through the room on their way about their duties.
Alice did her best to ignore the lingering looks her staff sent her way.
She could not give up the kitchen, no matter how much the servants might judge her.
Neither woman noticed when the door opened again, but Alice froze at the polite “Excuse me?”
Martha lifted her head, and morbid curiosity forced Alice to swivel in her seat.
Miss Ainsley was in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her stomach. “Mrs. Trumble said you might be able to provide me with a tisane for a headache—Oh. Mrs. Seymour, I hadn’t expected to see you here.”
Alice’s mind instantly cataloged each of the places that flour was clinging to her person in an unladylike way. But then Miss Ainsley asked, “Do you work in the kitchen often? I used to do the same, only I was a horrible cook.”
Alice’s shoulders relaxed, and she returned the smile. “I am not terribly good either. If the rolls are horrid at lunch, you can blame me. But perhaps do not share the blame openly.”
Understanding lit Miss Ainsley’s eyes. “I will tell no one.”
Martha cleaned up her workspace as the women spoke, but she said lightly, “Mrs. Seymour sells herself short—she is an excellent cook. You have likely sampled her wares a time or two already.”
Miss Ainsley swung her gaze from the cook to the mistress. Alice swallowed back a desire to temper the young woman’s expectations.
“Truly? What have you prepared? Always the rolls?”
“I made the soup last night,” Alice responded, moving a lump of dough to the tray. It was hard not to be uncomfortable between the questions and Martha’s praise.
“It was delightful! What a talent that is.”
Alice smiled, dipping her chin. “Thank you. You said you needed a tisane? Is your head ailing you?”
A rather cross look settled on Miss Ainsley’s brow. “Not mine. My brother’s.”
Alice came to her feet, brushing some of the excess flour from her hands. Martha was already bustling to the room at the back of the kitchen that held Mrs. Trumble’s tinctures and medicaments. “Is he unwell?”
The young woman scoffed lightly. “Only in that he is a fool.”
Alice raised her brows, unsure how to respond.
“I am sorry. I promise I love my brother. He just causes me a great deal of grief at times. You know how siblings can be.”
“I do not actually. I have never had one.” For years, it was just Alice and her mother, after Papa died. Though, she supposed Mother had caused Alice grief in her way. Always strict and ever unsatisfied.
Miss Ainsley pushed out a breath. “Consider yourself blessed then. My brother likes to play father when it pleases him and absentee guardian the rest of the time.” She sneezed, then apologized.
“And that is why he has a headache?” Well then, good. If the man was experiencing a bit of grief for negligence toward his sister, perhaps he would not be so negligent in the future.
Oh dear, that was not a very charitable thought.
But Alice found that any flaw she saw in Sir Henry offended her for some reason.
Likely because he affected her in the strangest manner and left her wishing to continue any conversation they had while simultaneously fleeing his company. It was unsettling.
Miss Ainsley sneezed again and sniffled. A maid fished out a handkerchief for her. “My apologies. Perhaps I am coming down with something.”
Alice gestured her to a stool. Heedless of the flour dusting the surface, Miss Ainsley sat and brought the handkerchief to her nose.
“Perhaps Martha can get you a tincture as well?” She tried to brush flour from her face and likely made the situation worse.
Miss Ainsley hesitated. Alice took that as a yes.
“Martha?” she called. The cook popped her head out of Mrs. Trumble’s apothecary room. “Will you make up a tisane for a head cold as well?”
With a nod, Alice’s cook went back to work.
“Why don’t you head back up to bed, and I will bring the tinctures up when they are ready?”
Miss Ainsley shot a glance at Martha’s back. “I do not mind waiting.” She sneezed again.
“And I do not mind bringing the tisanes to you. I need to change regardless.” She gestured to her flour-streaked apron.
The younger woman smiled. “Very well. Thank you. I will meet you soon then.”
The siblings were absent through lunch, and somehow, by not being there, they held more of her attention than if they had been. She’d sent trays for the meals to each of them but could think of nothing else to help.
Even now as she surveyed the group before her, an upended feeling rested in a layer of thought that was nearly subconscious.
She did her utmost to ignore it. Several guests had left for the library or to rest in their chambers, but the majority were in the drawing room, where tables had been laid out for a few card games.
She twisted her hands behind her back to steady herself.
Already, the nerves had begun to subside.
Her fingers did not tremble at the thought of meeting with the members of this party, as they’d become known to her.
Their presence in her home had become customary.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the door to the room open.
Miss Ainsley entered, glanced around, then headed for Alice.
“I am sorry that I am late,” the woman murmured. Her golden hair was swept up simply.
“Do not worry. We have only begun a few games. And you needed the rest. You’re looking better now. Are you feeling improved?”
“I still sneeze every now and again, but I do not believe it is anything serious.”
“I hope it is not a sensitivity to some plants we have on the island or something of the sort.” Why did that feel like her fault? As if Alice could control the naturally occurring flora and fauna.
The younger woman shook her head. “I am not overly concerned. As of now, it is not bothering me much.”
“Good. Do you have a preferred card game?”
“I think tonight I will just watch.” She looked around. “Is Henry not here?”
“I have not seen him.”
“Hmm.” Her lips pinched to the side.
Mrs. Watts suddenly called to them. “Miss Ainsley, would you care to take my place? I find my wizened mind cannot keep up with these young ones.”
“Wizened?” Mr. Warren questioned from the woman’s side. “I doubt you are a day over forty, ma’am.”
“Oh, posh all that,” Mrs. Watts replied, her voice stern. But a smile graced her wrinkled face as she pushed from the table. Lord Jennings stood to help her up. “Miss Ainsley, would you?”
Alice lifted her brows at Miss Ainsley, who simply shrugged. “I suppose I will not be observing, then. We shall see if that rest did its work, or if I play poorer than a child.”
Lord Jennings remained standing until Miss Ainsley was at his side. Then, with a smile, he held the back of her chair as she sat. Alice watched him closely. The night before the man had shown a marked interest in Sir Henry’s sister. Would he turn her head?
Mrs. Watts had a similarly pleased smile as she approached Alice. “There we go,” she said happily, glancing back at the table that now held her niece, the two gentlemen, and Miss Ainsley.
“Mrs. Watts,” Alice teased, “you are a truly impressive matchmaker.”
The older woman stood a little taller and winked. “Well, I have learned from the best.” She heaved a breath, then continued toward the door. “I think I shall lie down for the afternoon. Good day, Mrs. Seymour.”
Alice curtsied and bid her farewell, returning to watching the room.
When she could meld into the background and just watch was her preferred state.
Mr. Warren and Miss Watts would make a lovely pairing.
Both were quiet but sincere and near the same age.
If Miss Ainsley had any interest in Lord Jennings, he might make her a fine husband.
Alice did not know him personally, but he’d long been a friend of her late husband’s.
His mother was evidently overbearing, but if Miss Ainsley could manage such a mother-in-law, the man’s funds would make up for the Ainsleys’ evident lack.
But the rest of the party was not yet paired off in a satisfactory way.
Lord Danbury was paying special attention to Miss Fawcet, who in turn seemed to prefer the company of the younger Mr. Warren.
But of course, the young lady’s mother would wish her to choose the viscount over the gentleman.
Perhaps Alice would need to distract Mrs. Fawcet so her daughter could make her own choice.
Then there were the lieutenants, the twin daughters of Alice’s closest neighbor, and Lady Hemmersley, who had come with only a maid, as her grandfather had deemed himself too busy.
Alice pursed her lips, considering it all. She was grateful for the size of the group. It was not so overwhelming as they had been in the past. That first house party they’d hosted had been far larger than the ones she had now. And George had managed it all during one of his naval leaves.
Likely because he’d passed off the organizing to her. But she never minded. She worked in the background while he was the actor on stage.
Now she had to do both.
Thoughts of George always came in waves, and more memories followed now.
The night they’d met at the masquerade, when she’d accidentally given his dance to the lion-masked man.
Mother’s insistence that he was perfect for Alice.
The day they’d come to the island, and he’d stood up in the gig as he led the horses around a bend, Windvale coming into view.
A week later, when he’d kissed her goodbye on the steps leading to his carriage before leaving for duty.
The pride in his eyes when she’d made her first matchmaking success—another of Mrs. Watts’s nieces.
But inevitably, recollections of his drinking came too. The man could drink longer and stronger than anyone Alice knew.
She shuddered at the reminder, but pushed it away. George was a good man, and she would remember the good parts of their marriage.