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“That is quite all right. It wouldn’t do for gossip to spread around the neighborhood, but I am fairly certain the young lady already knows why Parsons has come to Carlaby.”
“They seem quite well-suited to one another,” Alice said, taking a sip of tea. At least, for the brief moment she’d seen the two together while standing below the mistletoe with Lord Brooks, they’d appeared to be made for one other. Then again, she’d been rather distracted at the time, so perhaps she’d missed something obvious.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Lord Brooks said, his smile growing sincere. “Miss Turner will be good for my friend, and I am confident he shall be good to her as well.”
“I’m happy to hear it.” At the thought of Lord Parsons and Miss Turner in love and looking forward to a cheerful life together, a sudden melancholy settled deep in her chest. Alice placed her teacup on the low table between her and Lord Brooks. “Do you ever wonder...what that would feel like?”
“Whatwhatwould feel like?”
“Marrying. For love.”
He didn’t respond, but neither did his gaze leave her face. He seemed to be studying her, trying to decipher if she was in earnest or not.
At the silence, Alice grew quite self-aware. Who talks about love with a man who can barely tolerate her presence? If she had been Mr. Allen, it would not have been so startlingly out of place. As it was, she was Lady Nightingale, and Lady Nightingale and Lord Brooks were not close enough friends for such a topic.
Alice glanced about for a change of topic. The room was filled with lovely pictures, a fine rug, and comfortable furniture. She’d never found the space lacking before. But now, the room seemed desperately lacking in topics of conversation. She continued to look over the room, fully aware that Lord Brooks still watched her, and her gaze fell upon the hearth. The fire had gone dreadfully low.
“Forgive me,” she said, hurriedly standing. “The room no doubt feels frightfully cold to you.”
Shecertainly didn’t feel cold. Embarrassment did a terribly good job of keeping a person warm. All the same, she’d hate for him to be uncomfortable.
Alice moved toward the fire, intent to stoke it up a bit.
“Surely it would be more fitting for a lady of your station to simply ring for a maid,” Lord Brooks said.
It was a relief he was willing to speak on something other than her bungled confession—but that didn’t mean she was willing to walk away from the hearth and give up her one diversion.
“I don’t mind,” she said over her shoulder. She kept talking, wishing to fill the space with something other than the memory of what she’d just voiced aloud. Alice grabbed a poker and jabbed it at the largest log in the fire. It sparked but didn’t roll over. “I chose not to bring many of the staff to Evergreen with me, which I’m afraid means those I have brought are quite busy.” She jabbed at the log again, this time lodging the poker in the wood and pushing hard against it. It was heavier than it looked, however, and Alice had to bend in low to get the right leverage. “I’d hate to pull a maid away from whatever she’s doing,” her words came out strained, “for something so simple as turning over the wood in the hearth.”
The log rolled over, sending a slew of sparks flying, showering around her. Several landed across her cheeks and eyes. Alice let out a small scream at the burning, dropped the poker, and shut her eyes. She angled her head away from the fire, but the burning would not stop.
“Lady Nightingale.” Lord Brooks was at her side, his hand on her arm. “Are you all right?”
She shook her head. Her eyes watered, but the pain did not subside. “Ashes,” she managed to get out. “In my eyes.”
A cloth was pressed against her face, but it was dry and only rubbed the hot ashes further into her skin.
Alice pulled away. “There’s water in the second teapot.”
She felt Lord Brooks leave her side. The ashes were not as hot as they’d originally been, but they still agitated and burned against her eyes.
The cloth, wet this time, pressed against her eyes once more. Lord Brooks held her chin softly in her hand as he worked. The relief was immediate. Alice relaxed as Lord Brooks brushed the ashes away from first one eye then the other. The water was no longer hot, and indeed it felt quite cool in contrast to the ashes of the fireplace.
Alice held quite still, the sensation of the cloth moving across her face holding all her attention. She could sit here for hours on end, the calming, rhythmic brush of cloth against her skin. Alice wasn’t a fool, however. It wasn’t just any cloth that would elicit such a reaction in her chest. No, it was Lord Brooks standing in front of her, seeing that she was all right, that caused such a response.
He didn’t stop with just her eyes; he wiped away any traces of ash across her cheek bones, then her nose, all while his hand stayed beneath her chin. Eventually, he stopped.
The burning had completely eased, and Alice blinked her eyes back open.
Lord Brooks was looking directly into her eyes—but it wasn’t a look of admiration, of longing, or even of desire...all emotions Alice recognized as her own.
Instead, he looked furious.
Alice rocked back slightly at the rage in his gaze.
He took hold of her hand and all but threw his wet handkerchief into it. “I might have known,” he muttered under his breath.
Alice opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but the words died atop her tongue. She had a sinking feeling she knew exactly what he meant.
