Chapter 27
If you knead any harder, you’ll turn that bread into the table beneath.”
Alice startled, looking down at the misshapen and clearly mistreated lump of dough. She pulled her hands back. “I apologize, Martha, I was not thinking.”
The older woman’s mouth curved into a smile. “I believe you were doing a great deal of thinking, actually, just perhaps not on a very favorable topic.” The woman left that observation hanging in the air, allowing Alice to answer it if she wished, or simply ignore it.
Alice’s lips twisted to the side. Four days had passed since Henry had been hurt.
Four days of continued confusion for her heart and mind.
Four days spent seeking him out in every room she walked into, and already finding his eyes on her.
Of him guessing what she had contributed to a given meal and of entertaining conversations with him and his sister. She had felt so at ease.
And yet, so very uneasy. “How can I know if I am making a good choice, Martha?”
Her cook took her time answering, reaching across the table and retrieving Alice’s bread, saving it with a few quick folds.
“Well, I think there is a lot that goes into a decision. But at the heart of it is how you feel in the end. When you think on the choice you have to make, consider how you’d feel if you went through with one or more options.
If you feel content and happy, it’s likely a good decision to make. ”
That was not very helpful. Whenever she thought on pursuing anything with Sir Henry, she felt only a mass of butterflies in her midsection. That was hardly contentedness.
Instead, these feelings Sir Henry pulled to the surface were odd. So different from anything she’d ever felt with her husband. Her mind seemed to need to figure out just what they were and what she should do with them.
“I take it that was not helpful?”
Alice wiped the disgruntled expression from her face. “I am only thinking it through.”
Martha nodded slowly, her hands gently shaping the bread.
She pursed her lips then shook her head at herself. “George always said I spent far too long considering and not enough time doing.”
Martha seemed hesitant to respond but said lightly, “There is nothing wrong with consideration. Not everybody makes decisions in the same way.”
Alice nodded. That was true enough. “Thank you, Martha.”
“Of course, ma’am. And . . . well, never you mind.”
“What is it?”
The older woman’s wrinkles seemed to deepen in thought, her mouth half open as she decided just what to say. “Commander Seymour was a wonderful man, but he was not perfect. And you are a wonderful woman in your own right . . . without trying to live up to any standard he may have set.”
Alice stilled as she took that in. She was not still trying to reach some standard.
Was she? In a way, she supposed she was.
But only because George had always seemed so sure, so confident.
And she was always anything but. Besides, she had thought he’d loved her.
He would not have told her to do anything that was not in her best interest.
Why, then, did she have to keep reminding herself of that?
Alice dipped her head. “Thank you again, Martha. I should go and see about my guests now. I appreciate your saving the bread too.”
The woman’s eyes crinkled. “I am always happy to help.”
Alice stepped from the table and pulled off her apron, hanging it on a hook beside the door.
“Ma’am—”
Alice turned back to Martha, who had not moved from the table. Her eyes were down, staring at the dough.
Alice’s brows knit together. “Yes?”
“Commander Seymour was my employer,” Martha said, placing flat hands on the table and meeting Alice’s eye. “I could not exactly—”
The door behind Alice opened. She turned to move out of the way but froze when she saw Sir Henry. His eyes found her immediately. “Ah, just the person I was looking for.”
Alice’s eyebrows were raised. “Do you need something?”
He held out his hand, beckoning her to him. “Only you.”
Immediately her heart jumped into activity, speeding up.
As if sensing her reaction, Sir Henry hurried to add, “You to come with me, that is. I have something I want to show you.”
It was not enough to slow her beating heart. She turned back to her cook, but before she could say anything, Martha waved a hand.
“We can finish our conversation another time,” she said, her hands gathering up the bread.
“Oh, forgive me, I did not mean to interrupt.” Sir Henry stepped partially back out of the kitchen, as though unsure what he should do.
“You have not interrupted anything,” Martha said, turning to put the bread in a pan. “You two go on ahead.” Her head looked over her shoulder, piercing Sir Henry with a look. “But keep our Mrs. Seymour safe.”
“Always,” he returned with a small bow.
Alice’s neck felt warm at the attention. When had she experienced two people seemingly discussing her care?
Never in recent memory.
In a flash, Sir Henry grasped her hand and pulled her through the door that led to the outside, then gestured for her to follow him up a path to the gardens.
But every move seemed almost furtive. And when he began leading her around the house, she could not help asking, “Just where are we going, if you do not mind my asking?”
He threw a mischievous grin over his shoulder, eyes sparking. “I am kidnapping you, of course.”