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B illy 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 Kilchrest’s 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 laid 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 talking to each other any longer.

They hadn't sworn off each other’s company.

She simply couldn’t face hearing him speak odes to Miss Kilchrest, so she 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 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 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.”

A mere shilling? Alice managed not to roll her eyes. 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 servant’s 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, 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.

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.

How, then, could she help him see what a mistake he was making?

***

Isaac slipped a finger under his collar, stretching his neck to fit better in his very best shirt.

Perhaps it wasn’t the sermons that made sitting in church so deucedly uncomfortable.

The staid and formal party he stepped into at the Kilchrests’ was worlds different from the cheerful, laughing gathering he’d spied on the weekend before.

Of course, at this gathering he’d not have to watch Alice smiling at another man.

That sight had haunted him all week. Enough, in fact, he’d gone by her grandparents’ house that afternoon, fully intending to ask her.

.. something. He didn’t even fully know what he would have said to her.

In the end, it hadn’t mattered. Alice wasn’t there, and wouldn’t be back all day.

If he hadn’t been expected at the Kilchrests’ Christmas celebration, he’d have simply sat himself down at the gate of Alice’s family home and waited.

Questions about her and Billy had plagued him all week.

He’d struggled to concentrate on his chores.

He’d nearly forgotten to put his finest suit and shirt in his bundle, despite bringing it along every weekend for church.

He’d walked the entire road from Killeshandra without noticing whether winter had stripped the trees bare, nor the color of the water. He’d thought only of Alice.

“Isaac.” Miss Kilchrest greeted him when he reached her side. The smile she always wore rubbed him wrong in that moment. ’Twas nothing like the brilliant smile Alice had give her dear friend. Miss Kilchrest’s smiles had never been like Alice’s.

“Good evening. Thank ye for the invitation.”

“Of course.”

Her tone never changed, now that he thought on it.

She always sounded as if she only half-listened to what he said and as if his compliments were her due.

Either he’d never noticed that about her before, or he was simply in a sour mood and attributing motives to her she didn’t deserve.

Either way, ’twould be best for everyone if he simply went about his business for the night.

“Isaac, have you met Mr. Byrne?” Miss Kilchrest indicated a man obviously very near Isaac’s age. The similarities ended there, though. Mr. Byrne’s clothes were not made of homespun nor did his shoes show signs of heavy use.

There were not many, in fact, in attendance who looked quite as humble as Isaac did. And not one of those from his walk of life, he further noted, were introduced as Mister Anything . ’Twas first names for the farmers and the tradesmen and the less affluent. Did they feel as out of place as he did?

He searched his mind for a quick and tidy means of excusing himself for the evening. As he’d been particularly invited, he wasn’t certain such a thing could be accomplished without giving offense.