Chapter 30
That evening, Alice found herself sneaking through her own house, hoping she would not encounter any of her guests. When at last she reached her room, she slipped inside, letting out a breath of relief.
A knock sounded at her back, and she jumped away from the door, heart pounding. She pressed a hand to her chest and called for whomever it was to enter.
Mrs. Trumble entered, but her nose immediately crumpled. “Dear me, it smells horribly of smoke in here.”
Alice gave her a tight smile. It would smell of smoke; she had just ruined dessert. “Yes. I will need you to have a bath drawn. But what did you need?”
Mrs. Trumble dipped her head. “Very well. I had hoped to speak with you about a day off this month.”
“Yes, of course. What day?” Alice would be happy to provide her with a small vacation. Perhaps it would endear the woman to Alice. Was she imagining it, or had Mrs. Trumble’s disapproving looks lessened during this party?
“The day of the masquerade, ma’am.”
Alice frowned. That was rather a difficult day to be without her housekeeper. “Is there something you need to see to?”
The woman nodded. “My brother is coming to visit. I would not ask, but he will not be here long.”
Alice pressed her lips together. It would require her to lean more heavily on some of the maids. And to take on more herself. But she could not turn down the request when the woman asked so infrequently. “Very well then, you may have the day.”
The housekeeper smiled. “Thank you, ma’am. I will see to that bath.”
Alice closed the door behind the woman, unable to keep the stress from pulling at her emotions. It would be difficult to handle the masquerade without Trumble. She and the household were capable, but the change in plans unsettled her.
She pulled pins from her hair, the acrid smell of smoke wafting ever stronger around her, bringing her focus from the masquerade a few weeks away to the here and now, and the fact that she had no dessert for dinner that night.
Martha had assured her it would be fine, but those words belied the fact that she’d followed them by shooing Alice out of the kitchen and probably would have liked to snap her with a towel while at it.
Alice oughtn’t to have tried to help at all, with how distracted her mind was, but she’d been craving the comfort of Martha and the kitchens after the tumultuous morning she’d had.
Not unpleasant, just disarming. Disruptive because of the joy it had brought her.
Since she was a child, Alice had naturally gravitated toward the warmth of the kitchen and the merry cook her parents kept.
Martha was the first of the servants in this new home to welcome her wholeheartedly.
She was the first who had seemed to defer to Alice rather than George, and that feeling of acceptance was easily coupled with a love of cooking.
Plus, the air felt heavier there, in a good way. It was easier to breathe in the excess.
And she’d needed to breathe after that morning with Henry.
Henry.
Her fingers lifted to her lips. He’d kissed and talked with her as though he truly cared.
And it was his fault she’d burned dessert. It was hard to bake and keep the thought of Henry Ainsley’s lips on hers from her mind.
Therefore, she’d overfilled the pie, caught it on fire in the stove, and left the household with a scorched heap of pie crust and filling, a smoke-filled kitchen, and no dessert for the meal.
No dessert meant a ruined dinner—and there was nothing Alice could do about it this near to the time of the meal.
Martha would be hard-pressed to let Alice back in after that.
And Alice smelled terribly of smoke.
A quick bath and change of clothes remedied that issue, but her concern that the evening would only get worse remained like a dull ache in the back of her mind. Did not bad things come in threes? That had often been her experience.
And how would Henry act? Would he already regret kissing her?
She arrived in the drawing room just in time for them to go into dinner. Lord Danbury offered to escort her, even as her eyes sought out Henry. They went in casually, with no specified seating arrangements, though individuals had naturally begun to pair off.
And then she saw him. He weaved around Danbury and held the back of her chair, gently pushing it in as she sat, then situated himself beside her with a flick of his napkin and a grin sent her way.
“Will you give me any hint on what you added to our meal tonight?” he asked, voice quiet as he leaned close. Her skin prickled with awareness.
“Nothing, actually,” Alice hedged.
His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “But you went to the kitchens.”
“How can you be so sure I made anything?”
“I came down to find you, but you were busy rolling something out and looked so contented with your task that I did not want to bother you.”
At least he hadn’t arrived when smoke had been billowing from the oven.
But he’d come to find her? Even after they’d spent all the morning together?
“So? What is it that you’ve made?”
Alice screwed up her face, whispering, “A big mess.”
He quirked a brow.
She leaned closer as people began to eat. “I burned the pie.”
He stifled a chuckle. “I’m sure it will still taste just fine.”
“No, I apologize, I was not entirely clear. I set the pie on fire.”
A full laugh burst from him. Alice straightened, trying to pretend she had not been the one to cause such mirth.
“Sorry.” Henry lifted a hand to the party. “Forgive that display.”
Everyone accepted his apology easily and returned to their meals. Henry’s dancing eyes slid to hers. “It sounds as if I missed the best part. If only I’d come a bit later.”
“I was mortified.”
“I am sure no one blames you.”
“I do not think Martha will allow me back in.”
“Well, perhaps that is wise for a bit.” He winked at her, and she refrained from hitting him with her spoon. “I jest. She will let you back in. She adores you.”
“And you know that how, exactly?”
He lifted his fork. “Oh, she told me.”
“How often are you in my kitchen?”
He neatly sliced a piece of venison. “I have a sweet tooth.”
“So you’ve been pilfering sweets?”
He feigned offense. “I cannot believe you would say such a thing. I descend to the kitchen, request a biscuit or two, and then fawn over your cook. She really is marvelous.”
She pursed her lips. “Yes, she is.”
His quick glance her way turned into a more searching look. “I hope that is all right. I would not want to overstep.”
“No, it is more than fine. I simply do not want her to like you more than me.”
His lips curved into a devastating smile. “Impossible.”
She found herself quite fixated on his mouth.
“Now,” he said, returning his attention to his food, “am I to understand that we won’t be having any dessert tonight?”
“I cannot imagine my cook was able to salvage my mess, nor would she have had time to create something new.”
“All’s the pity.” But he softened his disappointed words with another grin.
For a time, they each conversed with those on their other sides. Alice caught snatches of Henry’s conversation with Miss Fawcet; they evidently had mutual connections.
A pang of jealousy made her chest tight. She ignored it. Henry had not taken Miss Fawcet to the beach today, nor kissed her speechless.
Drat. Her face was certainly matching her hair.
Soon, the dishes were removed to make room for what would usually be the dessert.
Alice braced herself to stand and lead the ladies to the drawing room.
Hopefully no great concern would be had over the lack of something sweet.
The humiliation of it was threatening to warm Alice’s cheeks through, so she ought to do something now.
She began to rise, but stopped at a hand on her elbow. She turned to see Sir Henry watching the door.
Lo and behold, there came one of the footmen carrying a serving tray laden with a delicious-looking peach compote. Alice heaved a sigh of shocked relief. Bless Martha. Beautiful, wonderful woman. She must have worked ceaselessly to make up for Alice’s failure.
“And not a scorched piece in sight,” Henry murmured at her side.
Her shoulders shook with a silent laugh as heady relief settled over her. “We are saved!” she returned just as quietly.
The group ate, adjourned to the drawing room—the men never stayed long in the dining room due to the obvious lack of port—and Alice settled in for a relaxing evening.
Now that the concern over burning her guests’ dessert had passed, she wished for nothing more to sit with Henry while the rest entertained themselves.
It was as if all her energy for the day had been siphoned into her anxious thoughts.
“Might we have some dancing, Mrs. Seymour?” Miss Watts asked from beside the pianoforte. Several other guests gave their hearty agreement.
She felt her relaxing dreams slipping away. “Certainly,” she said, sitting forward. “I will play for you all.” She heaved herself from her chair.
The couples positioned themselves in an informal reel. Several chaperones joined them. Nearly everyone seemed thrilled with the thought of a bit of dancing. Alice mustered a smile and some excitement herself. She really was happy to bring them entertainment.
She found the piece she’d like to play and lifted her hands to the keys.
A warmth at her back told her someone had approached. She turned to see Henry. He nodded at her. “I will turn for you.”
“Thank you.” Though his presence made it rather harder to focus on the notes. And she was no great musician already.
Slowly, she began the piece, picking up pace as she became more familiar with the notes.
The dancers were evidently enjoying themselves as they bounded about, laughter and happy conversation flowing through the room.
Once they’d established a rhythm, Henry sat beside her, turning the pages at a perfect rate.
She could not afford to even glance over at him, but she felt him there all the while—occasionally brushing his arm as she reached for a higher note.
The focus rejuvenated her, her energy increasing as she poured herself into the music with what little skill she had.
After a quarter of an hour, the piece came to an end, and the dancers called for another. Alice was happy to oblige, but Mrs. Watts interrupted her search for another composition.
“Come, dear, join the dancers. I will play.”
“I do not mind,” Alice said, still rifling through the pages.
“But I insist.”
Alice paused, looking at Mrs. Watts, who was smiling a bit too widely. What was the woman up to?
And then Alice’s gaze shifted to Henry’s. He did not miss a beat before standing and bowing elaborately. “Might I have this dance?”
Something in that bow tugged at a memory. A strange feeling that she’d been in this moment before.
“Go on, dear,” Mrs. Watts said. Her tone was sly, and Alice felt that she might need to set the older woman straight at a later time. Clearly she believed there was something between Henry and her.
Though, she was not wrong. Oh dear. Did everyone notice the growing relationship between them? Her gaze flitted around the room. Nearly all the inhabitants were watching them. The attention made her wish to shift in her seat.
“If you do not wish it, we need not dance,” Sir Henry said in an undertone meant only for her.
That would probably create more of a scene.
And, she did wish it. She just wished her heart would calm itself.
“No,” she said, “I would love to dance. Thank you, Mrs. Watts.”
They joined the group, Henry across from her.
His eyes remained steady on hers even while everyone shifted and conversed as they waited for Mrs. Watts to choose a piece.
His attention felt wholly different than just moments before when the entire room had focused on her.
But his eyes did not make her feel uncomfortable. They made her feel important.
How could just a look do that?
The dance began, and they followed the figures. Alice was soon caught up in the fun of it all, weaving between the party members, holding and releasing Henry’s hands. Each touch, each look enlivened her.
The music about them became a blur, and she felt she could only see him. His eyes were strangely serious as they studied her. His mouth lacked its usual smile. But he did not appear unhappy. Not in the least.
The music ended and another song was called for. Lord Danbury petitioned Alice to dance, and she regretfully stepped aside. The look in Sir Henry’s eyes as he retreated to seek another partner gave her that same sense of being in this moment at another time.
The evening was rowdy and enjoyable. Nearly everyone stayed up far later than usual, save for Lord Jennings and Mrs. Watts, who claimed exhaustion, and Alice went to bed tired but contented.
To own the truth, she was not sure she’d ever ended an evening feeling such a way. Except perhaps that masquerade ball during her first Season. That night a thoughtful young man had coaxed her out of her shell and made her feel important.
Much as Sir Henry had done tonight.