A Timeless Romance Anthology: Winter Collection

by Heather B. Moore

  She managed to smile at him, though her heart wasn’t in it. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Then, I’ll see ya on Saturday, I guess.”

  Alice knew in that moment she couldn’t endure another walk like she’d just had. Listening to him speak at length about his plans with Miss Kilchrest, hearing him tick off a list of how ideal she was, would be torture. Even making her walk in to Cavan alone would be better.

  “Actually, I need to make the walk early this next weekend. But I know ya can’t leave sooner than ya always do, what with yer chores and all. So ye’d best just make the walk and not wait about for me.”

  “But we always walk together.”

  That he would miss her, at least a little, was only small comfort. Her company was not dear enough to him to push Miss Kilchrest from his mind and plans. ’Twas best to make a clean cut.

  “If ye’re hopes for Miss Kilchrest come to be, ye’ll not need to make that walk at all.” She tried to look encouraging.

  He asked a few more times if she was absolutely certain she wished him to leave her there. He finally seemed to accept her insistence and continued down the road alone.

  In the silence he left behind, Alice sighed. She ought to have realized at some point in the last four months that Isaac was determined to continue with his courtship of Miss Kilchrest, and that no amount of wishing and caring on her part would turn his thoughts to courting her instead.

  Alice pulled the sowthistle from her hair, spinning it about between her fingers. He’d given his intended flowers, but the woman hadn’t cared. This tiny wildflower to Alice was a treasure. But it was also something of an arrow to the heart. He’d given it to her offhand, with no real meaning.

  She stepped up to the lake’s edge and set the flower in the water. It floated slowly away from shore. Alice watched it, wishing her heartache could drift away as easily.

  She’d leave early for Cavan on Saturday, and Sunday return early to the farm where she worked. She would make the walk on her own and maybe, in time, learn to push Isaac Dancy from her heart.

  And on that thought, she watched Isaac’s flower tip in the water and sink from sight.

  Chapter Four

  Alice didn’t come to their meeting spot that Saturday, and neither did she meet him on Farnham road for the walk back. To Isaac’s surprise, she didn’t make an appearance the next weekend, either.

  He had so many questions for her. Why, when he offered Miss Kilchrest another bouquet, one he thought was nice, didn’t she seem any more enthusiastic than she’d been with the first one? Had Miss Kilchrest’s collection of admirers diminished, or was he imagining it? Why did Mr. and Mrs. Kilchrest seem more inviting of late?

  More important than any of the other questions, he wanted to know where Alice had gone, why she didn’t walk with him anymore.

  Late November gave way to earliest December, and still he didn’t see Alice. She had to be avoiding him. They walked the same road twice a week. She knew exactly what time of day he’d be on that road. To not cross paths even once in weeks couldn’t be a coincidence.

  The maddening woman was clearly mad at him, though over what he couldn’t say. They’d never had an argument in the months they’d known each other. They didn’t always agree on everything, but those little disagreements never ended in anything other than smiles and continued friendship.

  He hated that she had disappeared so entirely.

  Walking down the streets of Cavan on the way to the Kilchrest home, Isaac stopped in his tracks. In the window of a small shop amongst a display of trinkets and jewelry and such sat a delicate lady’s pin watch. Flowers of inlaid gold stood in contrast to the deep blue of the perfectly circular case. It hung on a bow-shaped pin leafed in matching gold.

  Alice would love this. And, he thought with a smile, she’d not need to ask him for the time every weekend. He didn’t know if Alice could read a watch, but he’d happily teach her how, especially if it meant seeing her again.

  He slipped inside the shop and inquired after the price. ’Twas steep, more than he’d ever spent on a gift before. He made a comfortable living but wasn’t rich by any means. The watch would set him back quite a bit.

  I’d not have enough left to give Miss Kilchrest a Christmas gift. Not having a holiday offering for the lady he’d spent months courting made no sense whatsoever. And yet he wavered. Alice would love the watch. He knew she would.

  He left the shop and the watch behind, but the question of Christmas gifts remained in his mind all the way to the Kilchrests’ home. Odd that he knew precisely the present that would bring a smile to Alice’s face, but couldn’t begin to guess what Miss Kilchrest would like. He’d given her flowers on a few occasions, but the offerings hadn’t made her gleeful by any means. He simply hadn’t stumbled upon what she loved.

  A stern-faced servant opened the Kilchrests’ door. Isaac was not terribly accustomed to calling at a home where the owners didn’t answer their own door.

  “I’m Isaac Dancy. The Kilchrests invited me to call.” He felt he ought to explain why he’d come, when, if truth be told, his position in the world was far more equal to that of a housekeeper than a master of the house.

  He was ushered inside. Isaac had never been to the Kilchrest’s home. He glanced about the entryway, with its fine furnishings and paintings and fresh-cut flowers. A great many flowers, in fact. ’Twas no wonder Miss Kilchrest hadn’t been impressed with his offerings. She had no need of more flowers.

  As he followed the housekeeper into the formal parlor, Isaac began to suspect that Miss Kilchrest was not in need of much of anything. The room was elegant, fancy even. His own home, in comparison, would seem run-down and plain to the point of being ugly. But that was one of the reasons he’d first began pursuing Miss Kilchrest. He had worked very hard for many years to make a success of his farm, despite the lingering shadow of The Great Hunger still clinging to the land. He wanted that bit of prosperity to be reflected in his home. He wanted his neighbors to receive a warm welcome there.

  Who could do that better than a lady who’d grown up in refinement, learning from the cradle how to be sociable and genteel? The idea was a good one. He’d certainly spent enough months thinking on it.

  Yet standing in the pristine parlor, his hat in his hands, Isaac felt very out of place. Elegance, he was discovering, was not always welcoming. Surely the version of refinement Miss Kilchrest would bring to his more modest home would be a bit less overwhelming.

  The object of his matrimonial ambitions stepped inside a moment later. She wore the same smile she always did, content and calm.

  “Welcome, Isaac.” She motioned him to a white settee.

  He brushed at his trousers, not entirely certain they didn’t yet bear dust from the road. White was not the most practical color for furnishings.

  Mr. Kilchrest came inside and crossed to where he still stood.

  “I hear you took in a good profit on your crop this year.”

  Isaac nodded. Prices had been good.

  “Good, good.” Mr. Kilchrest took up a seat nearby and opened a newspaper. That was to be the end of their conversation, it seemed.

  Isaac didn’t know if such behavior was normal for Mr. Kilchrest, or if he simply didn’t have anything to say to him. He knew many of Miss Kilchrest’s suitors had been invited to call on her family over the months, but he’d never been among their number. Where were the others? He didn’t think the invitations were generally kept to one man at a time.

  “Is there to be no one else?” he asked.

  Miss Kilchrest’s smile tightened a bit. “Not this time.”

  None of the others could come? Or none of the others would come? He didn’t know where the uncharitable thought came from. He dismissed it immediately.

  Isaac sat on the edge of the settee, still clutching his hat. A person was afraid to breathe in a room like that one. Everything looked breakable and clean as new. If any of the other men felt half as uncomfortable as he did in that mom
ent, ’Twas little wonder they weren’t coming around any longer.

  He attempted to match Miss Kilchrest’s small talk but never had been one for conversations that felt pointless. She spoke of fashions and the weather and stories she’d heard about people Isaac didn’t know. He tried to discuss improvements to his land or difficulties he had about his home, but she only put on that everyday smile of hers and nodded without comment.

  They’d not had enough opportunities to become acquainted. Isaac didn’t think he’d do a very good job of it in her house. He simply couldn’t feel at ease there.

  Though he’d only been in the Kilchrests’ home a quarter of an hour, Isaac was ready to be on his way. But he hadn’t spent much time with Miss Kilchrest. He’d meant to further their connection, to make his case, to move closer to his goal of winning her regard.

  “I’d be honored if I could walk ya home from church tomorrow,” he said. An outdoor conversation would be far more enjoyable.

  “Of course.” “Of course you can?” Or, “Of course you would be honored to walk with me”?

  He stood and inched his way toward the door. “I’ll wait for ya outside the church, then.”

  She only smiled. He’d simply have to wait and see what happened the next morning.

  He was well on his way in a moment’s time. The finer houses gave way to smaller, plainer ones. For the first time all evening, Isaac felt like he could breathe.

  His feet carried him, not to his friend’s house where he’d be spending the night, but down the street where Alice’s grandparent’s lived. He wouldn’t actually call on her. Alice had made quite plain that she didn’t wish to see him. But he’d lost his footing at the Kilchrest home. He felt turned around and needed something familiar.

  The sounds of laughter and music met him as he walked. He followed the noise to the side garden of a house two or three doors removed from where Alice spent her weekends. He wandered over to the low stone wall.

  Quite a few people had gathered about, talking and playing music. There was chatting and dancing. Isaac smiled to see it. He’d attended many such gatherings as a child growing up in the countryside. His own neighbors gathered on occasion for traditional music and friendly chatter.

  Just as he made to find the gate so he might ask to join them, his eyes fell on an achingly familiar face. Alice, her mouth turned up in a grin as broad as any he’d seen her wear, was dancing about the grassy area with the same man Isaac had seen her with several weeks earlier. Billy, she’d said his name was, and a “dear friend.”

  A dear friend.

  A dear friend she was laughing with and dancing with. A dear friend she was smiling at. Isaac had enjoyed neither her laughter nor her smile in weeks. And he’d not ever danced with her.

  Isaac spun about on the instant. The party held little appeal to him any longer. He’d wondered at Alice’s absence, worried he’d offended her. All that time she’d simply found another whose company she preferred to his.

  His steps echoed hard and fast around him as he trudged back to his friend’s home. In all the months he’d watched Miss Kilchrest pay particular attention to any number of her suitors and not to him, he hadn’t felt the deep, crushing disappointment he did in that moment.

  Chapter Five

  Billy Kettle did best when given tasks that were simple. Equally important to his success was a taskmaster who treated him with patience and understanding. Thus, when Alice learned he’d been retained to help serve at the Kilchrests’ annual Christmastime party, she could not help a touch of anxiety. Mrs. Kilchrest didn’t know Billy, didn’t understand his struggles. Rumor had it the woman was a demanding employer.

  Alice fretted over the situation throughout the week leading up to the party on Christmas Eve. She thought about it as she saw to her chores, as she lay on her cot in the tiny maid’s room in the farmhouse where she worked. Isaac would have listened to her worries, would have sorted them out with her. But, she reminded herself, they weren’t entirely talking to each other. Not that they’d sworn off each other’s company. She simply couldn’t face hearing him speak odes to Miss Kilchrest. So Alice avoided him. And he hadn’t come by her grandparents’ place, though he knew where they lived.

  She’d simply have to find her own solution to the problem. By the time she arrived in Cavan late in the morning on Christmas Eve, she had settled on a course of action. She’d never warrant an invitation, and therefore couldn’t keep a protective eye out for Billy that way. But she’d wager the Kilchrests could use an extra set of hands.

  She spoke quickly with her cousin upon arriving in town then slipped over to the Kilchrests’ home to offer her expertise. She knew better than to knock at the front door. A harried-looking housekeeper opened the back door, impatience written in every line of her face.

  “I’ve no time for bothers just now,” the woman warned.

  “I’m not here to bother ya. I know ye’ve a party to put on tonight, and I came to see if ye’re looking to hire more help for the day.”

  One of her eyebrows shot up even as her mouth pulled tighter. “Ya know how to work?”

  Alice nodded. “I work at a large farm up the road toward Killeshandra during the week. I can cook, wash dishes, serve and clear tables—anything ye’re in need of.”

  The housekeeper’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll pay ya a shilling for the day.”

  Alice managed not to roll her eyes. An entire shilling? The housekeeper gave new weight to the term “pinch purse.” Still, Alice was taking the position so she could look after Billy, not to make her fortune.

  “I’ll take the work.”

  Without ceremony, Alice was ushered through the busy kitchen, up a flight of servants’ stairs, and deposited in the formal drawing room.

  “All the chairs and tables being brought in need polishing,” the housekeeper said. “I trust I don’t have to explain how that’s done.”

  Alice shook her head. She didn’t need the woman to hold her hand whilst she saw to basic household chores. In a moment’s time she’d been provided with rags and polish and left to her work.

  She’d not finished polishing a single chair before Billy came inside lugging a chair in each arm. He grinned when their eyes met.

  “Are ya working here, Alice?” he whispered.

  She nodded.

  “I get to carry heavy things about tonight. Just like a regular footman, I’ll be.”

  “Won’t ya be a fancy servant, then?” Alice smiled at his eagerness. Just like a little boy anticipating a game of imagining things.

  Billy set down his burden. “Da says I’m to wear m’ fine Sunday clothes so I’ll look respectable.”

  “Ye’ll look fine, Billy. Right fine.” She squeezed his arm.

  His pout grew by the moment. “Fine clothes aren’t very comfortable.”

  “No, they’re not. Necessary, but not comfortable.”

  He nodded slowly and with great emphasis.

  “You are not being paid to stand about talking.”

  Alice nearly jumped at the sudden voice, too refined to be any of the staff. She glanced toward the doorway. Mrs. Kilchrest stood there, looking at them with obvious disapproval.

  “Yes’m.” Alice gave a quick curtsey. To Billy’s look of confusion, she added under her breath, “Best get back to work, Billy, and keep yer mind on yer chores.”

  Mrs. Kilchrest watched every step Billy took as he made his way from the room. Alice pretended not to notice, but set to her polishing again. Mrs. Kilchrest made a slow circle of the room, brushing a finger over chairs and tables, inspecting them for dust. Alice didn’t voice her protest despite not having had a chance to polish anything in the room yet but the one chair.

  No scolding was made. Either Mrs. Kilchrest realized things hadn’t been attended to yet, or she was too distracted by the arrival of her daughter.

  “Must we do this every year, Mother? It is such a great deal of bother.” Miss Kilchrest leaned unladylike against the window frame, looking out
over the street below with such an expression of dissatisfaction as one might see on a petulant child.

  “It is expected of us, Sophia. And you will behave.”

  Miss Kilchrest gave a dainty shrug of her shoulder, pulling back on the white lace curtain for the briefest of moments, before letting it fall back into place.

  “Do not give me that dismissive face, young lady. This is the most sought-after invitation of the season, and I will not have you ruin it.”

  Miss Kilchrest crossed to a gilded mirror, turning her head about as she spoke. “We could serve them cold tea and stale cakes, and the entire county would still come in droves.”

  Mrs. Kilchrest tipped her chin upward, eying her daughter with reproof. Alice watched the exchange out of the corner of her eye, making a convincing display of polishing another chair.

  “One too many servings of your sharp tongue have driven away all your most promising suitors.” Mrs. Kilchrest speared her daughter with a scolding look. “Where have the wealthy suitors gone? What of those with influence and standing? They’ve seen your temper one too many times and have flown like birds before the winter. And what have you left now? Farmers and tradesmen.”

  Alice bristled at the distasteful tone with which Mrs. Kilchrest spoke of those “farmers.” Isaac was among their number, after all. He didn’t deserve to be spoken of so dismissively.

  Miss Kilchrest smiled vaguely at her mother as she flitted toward the door. “They’ll be back, Mother. They always come back.”

  Mrs. Kilchrest watched her daughter leave. ’Twas not an adoring look she wore.

  And this is the family Isaac hopes to be part of? Alice shook her head. He could do vastly better for himself.

  “Those chairs will not polish themselves.” Mrs. Kilchrest’s words snapped like a flag in a gale.

  Alice rubbed harder at the legs of the chair and muttered a quick, “Yes’m.”

  She spent the afternoon bringing a collection of mismatched chairs to polished perfection, her thoughts full of Isaac, drat the man. His empty-headed, single-minded pursuit of Sophia Kilchrest frustrated her to no end. That he’d not been by to see her fully broke her heart. She ought to be mad at him, ought to be leaving him to his stubbornness. But she could not, could not, leave him to certain misery in such an unhappy household.