Chapter 23 #2
The sound of carriage wheels reached him at the same moment he reached the entrance hall.
Had it truly been so long that the party was already returning?
It would seem so, as two equipages now ambled up the road.
He crossed to the butler, looking out the window at the approaching group.
He handed over his letter and requested it be posted. The butler bowed.
“Did everyone attend the cliffs today?” Henry asked, watching the gravel drive.
The man looked down his nose at Henry. “No, sir.”
“Those that stayed—they just remained in the house?”
“I cannot rightly say, sir. Some, like yourself, did. Others chose to enjoy what the island has to offer.”
If he knew where Henry had been, then he had to have an idea of where others had been. He thought back to who he saw go out to the cliffs and who had remained. “I am trying to track down the lieutenants. I’d hoped for a card game. Do you know where they are?”
The man’s eyes cut to the small window beside the door. “Lieutenant Shelbourne, as I understand it, wished to enjoy himself in Dunsmore. I doubt he will return any earlier than dinner. Lieutenant Carruthers remained here, at the house.”
Henry nodded. The carriages were stopping now. “And Mr. Cardon?”
The butler’s eyes narrowed.
“Card game,” Henry said, by way of explanation.
“Hmm. He went to the cliffs with Mrs. Seymour’s group. He may now be returning.”
“Thank you, good man. Should I call for tea for the returning party?”
The butler sniffed. “You may, but the housekeeper will arrange for it when she is good and ready.”
Was that a hint of animosity Henry sensed? Toward himself or Mrs. Trumble?
“Oh? Should I not then?” he asked. The first carriage came to a stop.
The man’s lips pinched. “You certainly should, sir. I only mean that the housekeeper keeps her own counsel.”
Henry nodded, the action slow. Judging by the lack of using the woman’s name, and the slights against her timeliness, Henry took it that the butler did not much like Mrs. Trumble.
The servant opened the door as members of the party entered. None of them were their hostess or his sister.
“Did Mrs. Seymour not return?” he asked Mrs. Watts as she came into the hall.
“I imagine she will be along soon,” the woman responded with slow words. Henry looked at her, surprised to see how tired she appeared.
“Are you well?”
“Just a bit fatigued from the heat and excursion. Now where did my Sophia go?” Her eyes were glassy as she watched the retreating figures of the party.
Henry sent another glance out the door but not seeing the women he sought, he turned back to the older one. “Here, I will help you find her. Why don’t you have a seat in the parlor?”
“Yes, yes, perhaps I shall.”
Henry saw her settled, found Miss Watts, and brought both women a cool glass of soda water. Then Henry went back in search of Mrs. Seymour and his sister.
The sound of another carriage reached his ears as he was about to head for the kitchens. The butler opened the door, and Henry saw Mrs. Seymour alight. Julia and Lord Jennings followed her. Henry went out to meet them, and Mrs. Seymour’s face lit with a question as she came up the stairs.
“Are you well?” she asked.
“I am fine. I was only waiting for you. Why were you so far behind the others?”
Mrs. Seymour hesitated, and a pit settled in Henry’s stomach. Had Julia and Jennings done something to detain her? His mind easily recalled the situation he’d found them in on their last outing. If Jennings had been tip-toeing the line of propriety again, so help him.
The thought was followed by another rock to his midsection with the realization that his preoccupation with the piracy and smuggling might be keeping him from being the protective brother he ought to be.
Blast, Julia deserved better. But how could he be in multiple places at once?
“Your sister and Lord Jennings stayed behind to help me ensure everything was taken care of.”
Relief blanketed him. And a bit of surprise. “Well, that was thoughtful.”
Julia came up beside Mrs. Seymour then. “Where were you?” she asked Henry.
“I was required to remain here. I was sorry to miss the outing.”
Julia’s eyes narrowed on him, but it was Mrs. Seymour who spoke.
“It was immensely hot, so we returned early,” she said. “You did not miss a great deal.”
They walked into the entry together, and it was only a moment or two before Julia excused herself, with a lingering look at Mrs. Seymour and Henry, and Lord Jennings disappeared to his room. Henry touched the back of Mrs. Seymour’s arm to gain her attention as the others left.
“Do we need to finish the invitations?”
“I must go check that dinner is being prepared, but perhaps tomorrow?”
Henry shifted. “Might I join you now?”
She turned a questioning gaze on him. “In the kitchens?”
“Mm-hmm.” He’d missed his chance to spend time with her on the outing today, and their time in the study had been cut short. He felt pulled in a million directions, but most strongly toward her.
“If you wish it.”
“You know that I do.”
He watched as she tucked away a smile at that and took his offered arm. Together, they retraced his steps belowstairs.
Mrs. Seymour’s cook looked up from her work as they entered. Her gaze flitted between the both of them, her smile growing.
“Martha,” Mrs. Seymour said, slipping her hand from Henry’s arm. “I wanted to see that dinner was going on well.”
Martha shot another look to Henry before answering. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve only the rolls to finish.”
Mrs. Seymour also looked at Henry. He felt like an interloper and as if the two women were having a silent conversation between the stilted one they were presenting him. But then her shoulders relaxed somewhat.
“Can I help with the rolls?” she asked her cook.
The cook’s smile widened. “Yes. Yes, of course. Will your guest be . . . ”
Both Mrs. Seymour and her cook looked at him. “If you trust me with your rolls, I would love to help as well.”
Which is how Mrs. Seymour and Henry—him with his coat off and his shirtsleeves rolled back and her with an apron tied about her waist and a handkerchief over her hair—ended up side by side at a wooden work table.
Her slender hands kneaded the dough, forming it into beautifully uniform mounds. Henry’s hands did quite the opposite.
“No, no, stop stop.” Mrs. Seymour laughed, reaching for the mess he’d created. “If you fold it too many times they will become overly heavy. And you’ve too much dough here.”
Henry relinquished his mess, but half the sticky substance adhered to his hands. He tried to remove it, but it clung on stubbornly. He held them up in defeat. “How do I get it off?”
The cook looked over at both of them, shaking her head.
Mrs. Seymour coated her hands in flour before reaching for him. He jerked back. “You look rather menacing just now.”
Her expression was mischievous. “I am only trying to remove some of that dough.”
He narrowed his eyes, then moved his hands back within her reach. “Very well. I am trusting you with my life.”
She shook her head, but he could see the laugh she wished to release. With flour-coated hands, she covered his, pulling the dough from his palms with long sweeps of her own.
He wished he’d had more stuck there. Briefly, he considered plunging his back into the dough just for the sensation of having her run her hands across his again and again.
Her lashes were lowered, eyes focused on his hands. Slowly, he curled his around hers. She stilled, chest rising and falling.
He spoke quietly, his words for her ears alone.
“I quite like your world, Mrs. Seymour. This island, the kitchen . . . I think I should like to know it all.” He should not say it.
Was not at liberty to be so brazen, but he could not help himself.
When he was with Mrs. Seymour, it was as if the rest of the world did not exist. His debts, his past, his work for Carlton.
None of it was here now, with her hands in his.
He saw her swallow and urged her to look up at him, but instead she looked past, to the cook and other servants still bustling around them. Quickly, he released her.
“I apologize,” he murmured.
She shook her head, saying quietly, and as if she had to pull the words from herself, “I quite like my world with you in it.”
That brought a smile to his face that he was hard-pressed to remove even when she turned back to their task.
With capable movements, she hastily formed the rolls and toweled off her hands.
He watched, mesmerized, until she turned to him and nodded toward the door.
“Come with me,” she said. “I want to show you something.”