Chapter 17
This past spring Alice had tentatively taken the study for her own place of work.
Between estate upkeep, household affairs, and the simple fact that the morning room reminded her too much of failed social engagements, it was natural for her to set up an office of sorts in the study.
She had been tentative simply because it had belonged to George, though Martha had reminded her several times that he’d hardly ever been in there.
He’d far preferred the billiards room, the drawing room, or the ballroom to the study.
Unfortunately, the other servants were not as supportive as Martha.
Though only Trumble had said anything, making a stiff comment about usurping the late-master’s authority.
But Alice had steeled herself against the discord it may cause and settled in nonetheless, leaving everything as it was to appease her naysayers, and only taking a small corner of the bookshelf to store her things.
Perhaps with more time on the household accounts, the servants would see her worth.
She sat, making lists of all she would need for the masquerade at the end of the party, though it was weeks away, when the door creaked open. Her pen stilled as she looked up.
“Lieutenant Carruthers?” she asked.
The man had not even made it entirely into the room, but he now froze, eyes narrowing. “Mrs. Seymour.”
“Did you need something?” She stood, fingers resting on the polished surface of the desk.
Her husband’s old friend glanced to the side, eyes tracing the bookshelves that lined the east wall before returning to hers. “Yes, I was looking for you, in fact. Though, I admit to being surprised to find you here.”
Why then had he sought her in this particular room? “Well, here you find me. How can I be of service?” She fought to keep her gaze on his, rather than allowing hers to drop.
Some of the stiffness in the tall man’s shoulders lessened. Where Shelbourne often appeared half a second from falling asleep, Carruthers usually seemed the opposite: moments from action.
“I had hoped to open the billiards room this evening,” he asked, “but your housekeeper informed me you do not usually have it available to guests.”
Alice swallowed. Trumble had taken to deferring to her in this way, and it grated on her nerves.
The housekeeper could have simply told the lieutenant that the room was unavailable, rather than expounding in a way that made him come and find Alice instead.
At times it felt as though the housekeeper sent guests to Alice anytime the older woman disagreed with Alice’s own decisions.
To own the truth, that was likely exactly what was happening.
Was it time for another frank conversation with her housekeeper? Her last had not gone particularly well.
“It is not usually a part of the parties, no. I find it too small to be of use for such a large group,” she said, showing none of her internal ire.
“Oh good, that shan’t be a problem here. There are just a few of us men wishing for a billiards game.”
Alice saw her error immediately. In wanting to be amiable, she’d not turned him down flat, and now she’d opened up a door for him that she could not close in retrospect.
She knitted her fingers together behind her back.
“Very well. I shall see to it that Trumble readies the space. I hope this does not mean that you will miss our evening festivities. We are to have a portraitist to sketch anyone’s likeness who wishes it. ”
The lieutenant made a dismissive gesture. “I do not need a picture of myself. Thank you, though. I will tell Trumble she can have the room opened. You need not trouble yourself.”
Alice opened her mouth, but no words came out. She could say nothing to contradict her guest without being rude. But frustration flashed to be usurped in her authority yet again.
“Very well,” she managed, tamping down her feelings as she was so very accomplished at. “Is that all?”
“Unless you’ve hidden away some brandy in here?” he asked hopefully, a brow lifted lazily.
“No, lieutenant, I have not.” Her voice had only a hint of strain to it.
“You cannot blame me for asking,” he said with a wink.
She could, but she would not. She gave only a tight smile as the man offered the barest of bows and left the room.
She stared after him even when the door closed.
Her lips pursed to the side. Inch by inch, she had laid claim to this household.
Not just in how she viewed these parties or the decision she had made about removing alcohol from the premises, but also in attempting to befriend the staff and slowly increasing her acquaintances on the island.
She loved this home. Loved the island. But at times she wondered if the desire to make this place her own was worth the effort.
Except—guilt flooded her—she should not desire to take for herself what once belonged to her and George jointly.
Why did she feel so threatened when his friends or the staff he had installed in their home stepped beyond their authority?
She should be grateful for their help. Especially when it was common knowledge to them all how anxious these events made her.
But, heaven help her, she wished to be liked. Wished to stand on her own without George’s memory shadowing her every step.
Moving as though through honey, she sat, eyes unfocused. What did that mean? And why, after years, did the certainties she’d had regarding her late husband suddenly feel as though they were laid on a foundation of sand?
Suddenly stifled by the room, she crossed to the door and pulled it open, pacing down the hall to the front entry. She rounded the corner to the stairs. She would just change and go to the kitchen and—
“Mrs. Seymour, a pleasant surprise.”
Her head pulled up to take in the man halfway down the stairs. “Sir Henry. Are you passing an enjoyable day?” Her heart beat erratically, certainly for no reason other than her hasty flight from the study.
“I am. And yourself?” His stance was relaxed, his eyes on hers.
“Fine enough. Was everything well with your sister and . . . ” She left the sentence dangling, not certain if he would wish to expound on the near-scandal they’d witnessed at the ruins.
He grimaced, traversing the rest of the steps to stand beside her.
“Julia insists there was nothing untoward, and as Lord Jennings said much the same, I saw no reason to prolong the interrogations. I did learn that the man and I have very little in common, but that is no reason to dislike a fellow.”
“I have heard only good things about his conduct, if it helps. And he has a lovely estate by the coast.”
He smiled. “That does help, actually. You would find that I trust your opinion highly.”
Curious, as only the day before she’d had unkind things to say about him. It was a good indication of Sir Henry’s character, though, that he was able to take her criticisms so humbly and not hold it against her. It would seem that he was, as he had said, improving her opinion of him quite quickly.
Quickly indeed, as she’d shared far too much information with him about George the day before. But her mind was so muddled regarding her marriage these days that a modicum of her thoughts had simply spilled out.
“Are you headed out?” she asked. He had his hat on, and they now stood at the bottom of the stairs together.
“I had thought to. There is nothing planned until later this afternoon, is there?”
She shook her head. “No. Today is a day for leisure. You are welcome to a carriage, if you need it. Or horse.”
“That is very kind of you.” He hesitated, seeming to wish to say more. But in the end he just smiled. “I will leave you then.”
“Enjoy your afternoon.”
“You as well.” With a last look that left butterflies diving and twisting in her midsection, he left through the front door.