There’s nothing quite like going home for the holidays ... but first, you have to get there.
With The Year of No Summer about to come to a close, Milton Grandby decides it’s time he introduce his bride to his earldom’s ancestral hunting lodge in Northumberland. He needs an heir and figures time away from London's distractions can only help. Besides, with all the snow, they can go on sleigh rides!
Despite the cold, Adele agrees, figuring warm fires and a cozy library might be the perfect setting for her first Christmas as a countess. But what happens when the coach carrying their servants doesn’t make it to Torrington Park? The earl is more than happy to act as a lady’s maid for Adele.
Meanwhile, the lady’s maid may just find her chilly disposition thawing when she’s forced to spend a few nights in the company of a rather warm valet at a coaching inn. Is he only out for a quick tumble? Or is there more to his sudden interest?
Life back at the lodge tries a passionate couple’s patience as they discover a bit too much about each others’ past. And then there’s the misunderstanding that has forced a budding romance into deep freeze and threatens the tenure of loyal servants.
Will this first holiday away from London prove their undoing? Or will the hanging of the greens and the gift of giving allow love to prevail? The warmth of the holiday season may the best reminder of what’s important in “The Christmas of a Countess.”
The Christmas of a Countess
Linda Rae Sande
This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
The Christmas of a Countess
ISBN: 978-1-946271-06-8
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2017 Linda Rae Sande
V1.0
Cover photograph © PeriodImages.com
Background photograph © Dreamstime.com
Cover art by KGee Designs.
All rights reserved - used with permission.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Created with Vellum
To Jax, Michael, Sean, Nina, Yana, Alex, Samantha, Will, Angelica, Diana, Anastasia and all the other cover models who help make a book special
Contents
Other Regency Romances by Linda Rae Sande
1. An Earl Proposes a Trip
2. Pondering a Trip
3. A Valet and His Master Discuss a Certain Someone and a Situation
4. A Long Trip Requires Trunks
5. On the North Road
6. Aristocrats on Parade
7. A Servant Seeks Warmth
8. A Man’s Hunting Lodge is His Castle
9. A Bath at the Inn
10. The Servants are Missing
11. A Visit to the Taproom
12. Of Princes and Palaces
13. A Valet Returns
14. Remembering a Prior Life
15. In the Middle of the Night
16. A Widow in His Past
17. Preparing to Pay a Call
18. A Countess Learns Some History from a Housekeeper
19. The Prodigal Son Returns
20. A Melancholy Earl
21. A Manor Home Receives Another Guest
22. A Countess Encounters a Chambermaid
23. An Encounter in the Stables
24. A Moment Alone, a Night Together
25. A Maid Isn’t Missed One Bit
26. A Final Morning in Darlington
27. The Servants Arrive
28. A Conversation with a Valet
29. It’s Beginning to Feel…
30. A Conversation is Overheard
31. A Reverie Interrupted
32. Someone is Missing from the Servants’ Supper
33. A Dinner is Delivered
34. Getting Dressed for Dinner and Ready for Redress
35. A Countess Confronts Her Husband
36. An Earl Wonders What He Did Wrong
37. An Earl Eats Crow
38. Apologies Abound
39. It’s Beginning to Smell a Lot...
40. It’s Beginning to Look a Lot...
41. An Afternoon of Wonder
42. Then Comes a Question
43. Festivities of the Season
44. A Beau for a Ball
45. Mornings Are Best for Wickedness
46. Snow is Best for the Rest
Also by Linda Rae Sande
About the Author
Other Regency Romances by Linda Rae Sande
The Daughters of the Aristocracy
The Kiss of a Viscount
The Grace of a Duke
The Seduction of an Earl
The Sons of the Aristocracy
Tuesday Nights
The Widowed Countess
My Fair Groom
The Sisters of the Aristocracy
The Story of a Baron
The Passion of a Marquess
The Desire of a Lady
The Brothers of the Aristocracy
The Love of a Rake
The Caress of a Commander
The Epiphany of an Explorer
The Widows of the Aristocracy
The Gossip of an Earl
The Enigma of a Widow
The Secrets of a Viscount
The Cousins of the Aristocracy
The Promise of a Gentleman
The Pride of a Gentleman
The Holidays of the Aristocracy
The Christmas of a Countess
Chapter 1
An Earl Proposes a Trip
Late November, 1816, Worthington House in London
At precisely seven-fifty-seven in the evening, Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, entered the vestibule in Worthington House. A swirl of white followed him in, the large snowflakes quickly turning into tiny puddles on the marble floor. Those were joined by larger drips from the rivulets of melting snow that fell from his greatcoat.
The trip from White’s in the town coach had taken longer than usual. Although he could have blamed it on heavier-than-normal traffic—shoppers clogged the streets in Jermyn Street and St. James Street—it was probably the cold, wet weather that had him returning from his men’s club a few minutes later than usual. Dinner was served at eight o’clock, and he had no intention of being late for it.
He nodded to the Worthington House butler as Bernard gave him a bow. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen it snow so much in London,” Milton remarked as he allowed the other man to take his greatcoat and umbrella.
“I do believe her ladyship said the very same thing last December, milord,” Bernard commented, his brow arched in a manner suggesting he was in possession of information counter to the earl’s claims. “When there was snow coupled with lightning,” he added as a way to remind his fairly new master that he probably hadn’t even been in the capital the December prior. Or in February, when a storm had delivered over a foot of snow to the city.
Milton blinked, wondering if the butler was t
easing him. But he soon realized the rather dour servant was merely reminding him he wasn’t usually in London during the month around Christmastide. He was usually at Torrington Park, his earldom’s seat and old hunting lodge in Northumberland.
The reminder had him frowning.
He hadn’t yet made plans to travel there for this year’s Christmas, his first as a married man. The thought might have had other long-time bachelors wincing at the prospect of spending several weeks in the company of their wives—without the opportunity to escape to their favorite club—but Milton found he was looking forward to the holiday. Christmastide in Torrington Park was sometimes lonely, especially if other members of the Grandby family didn’t accept his invitation to spend their holiday in Northumberland.
He hadn’t issued any invitations this year. What with his recent wedding and days spent in Parliament, he simply hadn’t given a thought to Christmas.
Now that he considered the possibility of spending the holiday with only his countess, doing what they had been doing last night just before he fell into a deep and rather satisfying sleep, he decided he wouldn’t be issuing any invitations.
Except to his wife.
The thought had every one of his nerve endings firing in a thousand different directions. His manhood, suddenly reminded of the night before, followed suit as it attempted to escape the placket of his breeches.
Of all the places to experience an erection, the vestibule of Worthington House was probably one of the most inconvenient. He regarded the butler with a frown. “So glad I was in Kent at the time,” he remarked in response to the butler’s comment about the snow. “Huntington’s house party,” Milton added as he removed his top hat.
The fête in February had been the Duke of Huntington’s gift, a bachelor party of sorts for an earl who had waited until well past the usual age of marriage to finally find and take a wife. Milton had thought to do the same for the widower when Huntington finally remarried, but the duke had quietly married an earl’s daughter—one nearly half his age—the year before. Huntington didn’t join the others who celebrated Milton’s upcoming nuptials by taking advantage of the courtesans who joined the house party on the last night. Not even tempted by the painted ladies—he had already spent several months squiring his future wife to all the Society entertainments—Milton had instead challenged the duke to a game of billiards and managed to leave Huntinghurst with over a thousand pounds in his pockets.
Part of the winnings paid for a wedding ring as well as a necklace, matching earbobs, and a horse—all gifts for his bride.
“Dinner will be served shortly, milord,” Bernard remarked as he took the earl’s top hat.
“I was afraid I’d be late,” Milton murmured as he hurried out of the vestibule and into the great hall, his attention immediately captured by the regal woman who was descending the stairs from the first floor. Dressed in a deep red silk gown and wearing a necklace made of tiny rubies, her blonde hair swept into a smooth chignon outlined by spiral tendrils, his countess held herself as if to the manor born.
Which she was. Her father had been the Marquess of Devonville, a title now held by her brother, William Slater.
“You look like a goddess,” Milton said in awe as he gave a deep bow. “May I be your slave for the evening?”
Adele Slater Worthington Torrington angled her head as she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She couldn’t help but grin at her husband’s antics. “And you look as if you might have had more than your usual brandy this evening,” she countered with an arched brow. She leaned her head in the other direction so that he could buss her on the cheek, and when she was sure no one paid witness to his greeting, she allowed him a kiss on the lips.
Milton offered his arm as she took the last step down to the tiled marble floor. “Nonsense. I’m merely a victim of this awful weather.” He gave a shudder to emphasize how chilled he had been on the way back from his club.
Pausing in mid-step, Adele glanced back toward the vestibule, realizing Bernard was still fussing with the earl’s greatcoat. “I shouldn’t think a few sprinkles would have you looking quite so... disheveled.”
“Sprinkles?” he repeated, his eyes rounding. “It’s been snowing since I left for the club.” As for the comment about looking disheveled, he wondered what might be amiss. He wore his graying hair short to make it easier to don a periwig at Parliament, so he rather doubted any of it was out of place. Despite his boots having suffered a dusting of the white stuff, now melted into tiny droplets, they still displayed a bit of a shine. But a quick look in a hall mirror had him realizing his white cravat was crushed. He used a couple of fingers to lift it back into place, the motion causing the folds of fabric to reveal a sapphire-tipped cravat pin. Turning so Adele could reevaluate his appearance, he grinned when she said, “Much better.”
Milton led his wife into the dining room and to her seat at the end of the mahogany table. The gong hadn’t yet sounded, but given how close it must be to eight o’clock, he decided they could continue their conversation there just as easily as in the library where they usually met before dinner. “It was still snowing when I returned home,” he said, realizing she probably hadn’t noticed the snow given how dark it was beyond the window in her bedchamber.
Adele took the proffered chair, just then realizing she hadn’t taken a look out her window whilst her maid had helped her dress for dinner. “I hadn’t realized,” she replied. “But given how awful the weather has been this fall, I suppose I am not surprised.” With the incessant rains during July and colder than normal temperatures nearly every day since, London and most of England was suffering one of the worst years ever. Prices had risen several times as the effects of the weather took their toll. Some households were already rationing food, since the crop losses had been drastic. Others had let go of some household staff, unable to feed all their servants.
“I was hoping we had seen the last of the white stuff,” Adele murmured in dismay. “I hear such awful news during tea. Except for Gisborn, it seems not a single farmer had a successful crop this year, and everyone is suffering as a result.” The comment about the Earl of Gisborn was made with a hint of pride, for her niece, Hannah Slater, had married the farmer and inventor last spring and was now his countess. Henry Foster had built greenhouses and an irrigation system to irrigate as well as drain excess water from his farmlands in Oxfordshire. As a result, he had harvested a modest crop of wheat and beans and an impressive amount of hot house vegetables.
Rather surprised to hear that crops had been a topic of discussion during afternoon tea with her friends, Milton raised a brow. “I wasn’t aware the ladies of the ton concerned themselves with such serious issues,” he remarked as he took a seat in the carver at the other end of the table.
Adele’s eyes widened. “But we must! Being the mistress of a household requires we do so.” She paused a moment, suddenly uncomfortable with the topic of discussion. “Which reminds me that I must ask a rather delicate question of you.”
Milton blinked. Given they had been married less than a year, they were still considered newlyweds, but he rather hoped Adele felt comfortable enough with him to put voice to her concerns without seeking permission to do so. “What is it, my sweeting?”
Adele blinked, her face pinking up as a footman entered from the butler’s pantry at the exact moment her husband spoke the endearment. She waited until after the footman had filled their wine glasses and disappeared before asking, “Do you need to have Bernard let go of any of our servants?”
About to take a drink from his wine glass, Milton frowned. “No. Why ever do you ask?” He had a sudden thought that perhaps she suspected one of the servants of pilfering the silver. Or perhaps the randy footman assigned to the ground floor had finally tumbled the second floor maid and been caught in the act on the first floor.
Sighing, Adele leaned forward and said in a hoarse whisper, “Lady Pettigrew has had to let go of two of her footmen. She admitted there isn’t enough food
in the cellars to feed everyone who lives under Pettigrew’s roof for the rest of the winter, and apparently Pettigrew is loath to spend a fortune on food and coal to heat their house.”
Although he knew he should feel a bit alarmed at hearing her words, Milton Torrington could not, for he had heard similar comments from others whilst at White’s. Murmurs in the Chamber of Lords merely reinforced the fact that England had suffered one of its worst years for agriculture, as had most of Europe. Famine plagued Ireland, and it would not be long before smaller villages throughout England suffered the same fate. As a result, food prices had soared. Only those with a good deal of money—and greenhouses—would survive the winter unscathed.
“Worthington House shall be keeping all of its staff,” he announced just as the footman returned with the soup course. “And should you discover Worthington House is in need of any additional maids or footmen, please let me know, and I shall instruct the butler to see to their hire. I have it on good authority there are several qualified people available for hire.” He had half a mind to have the head groom hire another stable boy, but given how much the man disliked children, he thought better of it.
Adele’s eyes widened, and she was quite sure those of the footman did as well. “Truly?” She couldn’t help but notice the sudden spring in the step of the servant as he returned to the butler’s pantry, no doubt to spread the word to the rest of the household staff that they wouldn’t be suffering the same fate as so many servants in other houses in London.
The Christmas of a Countess (The Holidays of the Aristocracy Book 1) Page 1