Page 14 of Scars of a Passionate Revenge
But Alice hoped that Clara and the viscount would at least have the chance to further their acquaintance soon, so that they could decide if they really were a good match after all.
“And Alice, did you dance with any young gentlemen? I do hope so,” the baron said, buttering a piece of bread and setting it on his plate as he spoke.
Alice blushed a little. She did not feel ready, still, to talk about Benedict, so she was not sure what to say.
Clara looked at her a little curiously, as if she did not understand her hesitation.
“Um, I danced once with a young man who is new in society. A Mr. Fletcher. He is recently returned from travel overseas.” Alice was relieved as she said his name out loud that his family name was so common; there was little chance that her father would associate the name with his runaway estate manager of many years ago.
“Indeed, overseas travel? How fascinating.” The baron coughed, then wheezed a little. “My travelling days are long gone, but I do like to hear of young men’s adventures, when I get the chance. Perhaps we should invite him over for tea? What do you think, Alice?”
She shook her head fervently. “Oh no, Father, that would not be proper at all! I hardly know him.” The lie fell off her tongue without her even thinking about it, and she looked away, not wanting to meet her father’s eye.
They ate their breakfasts together, amicably chatting about nothing in particular, before Alice steered the conversation gently towards her father’s health. “You look much better today, Father,” she said cautiously. She was conscious that her stepmother was not present, and her father might be more inclined to speak honestly with her, when Dorothea was not around.
He nodded. “You know, I am feeling a lot brighter. Perhaps you and I could go for a walk together later on? I am desperately in need of some fresh air. I feel like I have been confined to my chamber for an age.”
Alice nodded happily. “I would be delighted, Father. We can walk around the gardens. The roses have bloomed most magnificently since you last saw them.”
At that moment, the door to the breakfast room flew open and Dorothea entered. She surveyed the scene before her with a rather stern look on her face, then seemed to make something of an effort to soften her features before greeting everyone.
“My Lord, how nice to see you up and about,” she said to the baron, then turned to Alice and Clara. “And girls, I trust you are recovered from last night’s exertions?”
Alice and Clara nodded, but neither spoke, both sensing that there was probably not much to gain from entering into conversation with Dorothea.
Alice noticed, then, that one of the kitchen maids was standing behind Dorothea, holding a tray with a pot of tea on it.
“My Lord, you should not be drinking coffee!” Dorothea exclaimed, when she saw what was in the baron’s cup. “It is far too strong for you. Pray, have some tea with me instead.”
The baron looked at her rather benignly. “Whatever you say, my dear,” he replied, pushing the half empty mug of coffee away from him. “I have rather missed my morning coffee, I must confess, but if you think that tea is a better choice for my health, then who am I to argue?”
Dorothea let out a little huff as she poured the tea. “It is not about what I think, it is what the doctor said, as you well know,” she said. “He said you were to avoid strong substances and anything that might stimulate your nerves too much. And coffee—well, I do not know what you were thinking.” She turned to glare at Alice. “Unless this was your doing?”
Alice flinched under her piercing gaze. “No, Madam, it was not,” she said quietly.
“Indeed,” the baron said firmly. “It is entirely my fault. I am the one who should be scolded, not dear Alice.”
Alice felt a surge of happiness that her father had defended her for once, and then took a rather guilty sip of her own coffee, enjoying the strong flavor as it hit her taste buds, and the sensation of the hot liquid slipping down her throat.
“Now, Alice, we shall go for that walk before dinner, what do you say?” the baron said, looking across the table at her and smiling. “Work up an appetite, maybe.”
Alice was just about to reply, when Dorothea cut in. “A walk? I am not sure you are up to that, My Lord.”
The baron shook his head. “I am quite determined to take a walk with my daughter today,” he declared.
Alice smiled and took another sip of her coffee.
***
It was a little later in the day, after Clara had gone home, that Alice had taken herself off to her favorite corner of the garden to be alone for a while.
It was warm and balmy outside, and she was enjoying the feeling of the cool breeze on her skin as she leafed through a volume of poetry, smiling to herself as she came upon one of Shakespeare’s sonnets.
Her mind wandered once again to her encounter with Benedict in the gardens. How wonderful it had been to talk with him so freely, about things that really mattered. She had never been able to talk to anyone like that, except for perhaps Clara, but of course it was different talking to a gentleman.
She could not help but remember that long hot summer, all those years ago, even though she had been trying to push the memories from her mind.
After her father had remarried when she was six years old, her stepmother had preferred it if Alice did not spend too much time at her ancestral home with her father and herself. Indeed, Dorothea did not much like having Alice around, and made no secret of it. Instead, Alice was sent to live with her aunt, Felicity, who lived in the north, while the baron and his new wife enjoyed their countryside estate in Hampshire.
