“Indeed. The countess will wish to buy some cheese in Stilton, so we’ll have to stop at the Bell,” Milton murmured. “Let’s be sure not to mention the Angel might be haunted. I’d hate to have the women in a twitter,” he added as he regarded his reflection in the mirror.
Frowning, Banks was about to ask for more information about the Angel Inn, but thought better of it.
“You may find yourself providing protection for a lady’s maid if she thinks there’s a ghost in her room,” the earl went on with a grin. “Oh, and I’m considering a change in how we celebrate Twelfth Night at Torrington Park,” he suddenly stated. “Depending on the weather, we may not stay until Epiphany, but I want the servants to enjoy a ball and the gifts I normally give out for Boxing Day. If you could see to it, procure six dozen Dutch biscuits and a good number of shortbread biscuits, and be sure they’re packed in tins. Oh, and have Cook make some Christmas cakes to take along as well.”
His brows furrowing with the instructions—just how did the earl expect to change the traditional servants’ ball?—Banks gave a nod. “Yes, milord.”
The earl regarded his valet for a moment. “If you’d like, you can plan an extra overnight stay or two in Darlington for yourself and the servants’ coach. In fact, you should.”
The valet stared at the earl a moment, his breath held as if he were waiting for the man to say something else. “Pardon?” he finally responded.
Sighing, Milton wondered how to admit he knew about the valet’s brother. About the textile mill. “My cousin, Gregory, is an investor in Banks Textiles. He told me last night about your brother,” he said in a soft voice. “I am very sorry. I know, too, you have a decision to make. That is, if you haven’t already.”
Banks finally gave a nod. “I haven’t had a chance to give the matter much thought, actually. I just received a letter from my mother yesterday with the news.”
The earl nodded. “I am a selfish bastard, so I’ll tell you right now I don’t wish to lose your services,” he stated. “That being said, you may be about to inherit your family’s textile mill, along with a fortune, no doubt.”
“I have made no decision, milord,” Banks replied with a shake of his head, hoping the earl wasn’t already making arrangements for a replacement. “My brother might yet recover from his latest malady and go on to live another forty years.”
He rather hoped Thelonius would recover. The very last thing he wanted to do was leave London and have to take over the family business. Especially at a time when the weather was making living so expensive in all of England.
“I’m sure my cousin would like to believe that,” Milton replied.
Deciding the comment didn’t require a response, Banks said, “If that’s all, I’ll see to sending out some letters. On what date would you like to leave London?”
Realizing there would be no further talk about Banks Textiles, the earl sighed. “Let’s plan on the seventeenth and hope the weather cooperates,” Milton replied. “I’ll tell the countess the date during dinner this evening. If you happen to see her lady’s maid, you might make a mention of it. Poor woman will probably have to start packing yesterday.” He suddenly sobered again as he turned to regard his valet. “Speaking of Mrs. Simpkins. Is there any chance you might be the least bit interested in her?” he wondered. He didn’t wait for a response from Banks, whose eyebrows shot up with the odd query. “I can’t help but think she just needs the attentions of a good man. Perhaps a tumble or two whilst we’re on the road? Or maybe at the hunting lodge?”
His eyes widening in shock, Banks wondered if his master was deep in his cups. But that wasn’t possible. It was nine o’clock in the morning! He dared a glance at his pocket watch, just to ensure it was nine o’clock.
In the morning.
It was.
“Are you quite sure that’s a good idea?” Banks finally asked, suddenly a bit unsteady on his feet. At no time in the past had Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, ever suggested he bed a woman.
Happy or not.
The earl gave his question a moment of thought and then shook his head. “Probably not. Forget I mentioned it,” he said with a wave of his hand.
Banks exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath, the idea of bedding the lady’s maid almost abhorrent. “Thank you, my lord. I’ll see to writing those letters now.”
Alonyius Banks gave a bow and took his leave of the master suite, his thoughts going back to the earl’s words and his quick dismissal of them. Why, the man had probably already forgotten he had said them.
Thank the gods.
The problem with having heard such a suggestion, however, was that Alonyius Banks couldn’t put it out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried.
At least it gave him something to think about besides his family’s textile business.
Chapter 4
A Long Trip Requires Trunks
Tuesday, December 17, 1816
Standing in the middle of three open Louis Vuitton trunks, Simpkins let out a sigh of satisfaction. She had managed to pack every winter gown and every carriage gown Adele Torrington owned as well as two riding habits, ten dinner gowns, and all the accoutrements to go with them. The matching slippers and boots accounted for half of one of the trunks, each pair carefully wrapped in Dutch cloths. A separate valise held two cases of jewelry below a layer of corsets, stockings, and two night rails.
Not that her ladyship would ever wear the night rails. But it could happen. Why, it might be so cold in Northumberland, the countess could elect to wear both of them.
At the same time.
Simpkins grinned. For the first time in a long time, she felt a hint of happiness. Although she didn’t look forward to six days in a coach (five, if one believed the boasts of Haversham, the groom scheduled to drive the servants’ coach), she did look forward to a change of scenery. London in winter was proving rather bleak this year.
“Oh, my goodness. Are all those for my clothes?” Adele asked a moment after she entered the mistress suite.
“They are, milady,” Simpkins replied as she dropped a curtsy. “There are a few redingotes and a mantle we should probably include as well, so I sent a footman to the attic for another trunk. He’ll take these out when he gets back.”
Adele sighed. “I suppose it’s a good thing these will be riding with you. Torrington has an old Besant he says makes an excellent coach for hauling trunks. Bernard says it’s already pulled up to the curb out front. It might be old, but according to my late husband, Besant made the very best coaches for traveling long distances.”
Simpkins frowned. “But which coach will you and his lordship be traveling in, my lady?”
Adele allowed a smile. “Why, my own Besant, of course. The driver said it’s just about ready.” She dared another glance around the bedchamber, noting how her vanity was nearly clear of its usual bottles and hair accessories. “About the jewelry...”
“In the case at the bottom of the valise,” Simpkins said as she pointed to it.
Adele gave a look of worry. “The real ones?”
Simpkins nodded. “Above the case of real jewels is the fake bottom his lordship’s valet delivered last night, and above that is the case with the jewels made of paste,” she explained.
Intrigued, Adele gave her maid a look of appreciation. “A fake bottom?” she repeated.
“It was his lordship’s idea, my lady. Said we might be set upon by highwaymen, seeing as how his coach has his crest painted on the door,” she said in a lowered voice.
The countess gave a wave of her hand. “I cannot imagine a highwayman laying in wait for us given the weather is so frightfully cold,” she replied with a shake of her head. “Now explain this contraption Torrington has devised.”
Adele lifted the valise onto the bed and opened it. “The fake bottom looks just like the real bottom of the valise. Fits like a glove, too. Mr. Banks borrowed the valise yesterday and made the piece himself out of an old valise he cut apart.” She pau
sed a moment as she pulled out the garments. “It’s a tight fit for good reason, of course, but he showed me the trick of how to get it out.” She slid a thumb down into one corner and gave it a slight jerk as Adele watched. “Now I’ll just have to be sure to keep the real jewels in the proper case,” she added as she returned the garments to the valise and closed it.
Adele furrowed her brows. “Which is which?”
“The black box has the real jewels. The wood one has the paste.”
Nodding her understanding, Adele allowed a sigh. “And the books? Where are they?” She had spent a good deal of time at Hatchard’s the day before, selecting a number of novels she could read whilst riding in the coach.
Simpkins pointed to another valise. “It’s rather heavy, but they’re all in there. I’ll have the footman load these into your coach, my lady,” she said as she indicated the two valises.
“Very good. And you? Are you all packed?”
Simpkins gave a tentative nod. “I am. At least, I think so. I wasn’t sure of the livery required for Torrington Park.”
Adele gave a wave. “What you’re wearing will do. But you needn’t wear it in the coach. Torrington said we may be on the road for as much as ten hours a day, so be sure to wear your warmest coat and plenty of warm stockings.”
Simpkins swallowed, suddenly not so excited about the thought of traveling to Northumberland. “Yes, milady,” she managed.
When the footmen appeared for the trunks, Adele took her leave of the mistress suite and went next door. Finding the door to her husband’s bedchamber wide open, she peeked in. Milton and his valet were finishing a discussion that had to be similar to the one she had just had with her maid. “Almost ready?” she asked. Her gaze went to the bed, where a stack of brightly wrapped boxes in a variety of sizes were festooned with ribbons and bows. She was about to ask about them when the valet turned and bowed. Milton hurried to give his wife a peck on her cheek. “Ready as we’ll ever be. And you?”
“The footmen are loading my trunks now,” she replied, her head nodding in the direction of the packages. “What, pray tell, are those?”
Milton grinned. “Gifts, my sweeting. For Christmas and for Boxing Day. I’ve been looking forward to this trip for a month.”
Adele blinked. She had shopped for him, of course, but not with the same fervor he had apparently employed when he shopped for her. A book about geology, his current interest, and an emerald cravat pin were the only gifts she had for him. Although they were wrapped in festive paper, neither package featured bows or ribbons. “Milton!” she scolded. “There won’t be room in the coach for us,” she claimed.
“Och, Banks is seeing to a trunk for those,” the earl replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.
As if on cue, Banks gave a bow and said, “Pardon me, sir.” He took his leave of the bedchamber, apparently to see to another trunk for the gifts.
“They’re not all for you,” he said in an apologetic tone as he gave her another peck, this time on the lips.
“I should hope not,” she murmured, returning the kiss with one of her own.
Milton purred, his arms moving to embrace his wife. “There’s my valet to consider, and your lady’s maid, and the Torrington House housekeeper, and the butler, and the cook,” he listed, separating each with a kiss. “Liquor for the drivers and footmen, and fruits and cakes and ribbons for the maids.”
Adele gave him a quelling glance at the mention of liquor but brightened at the mention of cakes. “You’re a good employer,” she said with a grin.
“I am, aren’t I?” he teased. He suddenly sobered, afraid the temperatures might have dropped considerably overnight. “Now let’s hope I still have a couple of coach drivers and grooms in my employ when we get to Torrington Park,” he added. “Or we may be stuck there.”
Chapter 5
On the North Road
An hour-and-a-half later
The problem with travel in London, especially in the winter, was simply getting out of the city. Between having to dodge costermongers and stop for cross-traffic, there was the wait for drayage carts, and horses and their riders, to clear off the skinny streets to allow the coaches to proceed.
Although only an hour or so had passed when snow-covered pastureland replaced the soot-soiled snow of London, Alice Simpkins felt as if it had taken an entire day! She spent most of the time gazing out the coach window to her right, taking in the sights of the world’s largest city as it prepared for a holiday. Shops featured the colors of the season, their elaborate window displays made more real by the snowflakes that clung to the glass panes. Although it was too early for members of the ton to be out shopping, the rest of London seemed to be on a quest to ensure the streets were clogged and the shops full.
The last time Alice had been in a coach on its way out of London was when her ladyship had traveled to Brighton for a summer with her brother’s family. Still in mourning, Adele had spent her days wearing widow’s weeds while pretending to mourn a husband she had come to realize had only wanted her for her connections to the ton. They had made the trip in just a day, the road to the popular holiday town having been improved. Despite a dozen invitations to various entertainments having arrived at the Devonfield townhouse before they did, her ladyship hadn’t accepted a single one. She preferred instead to spend her days on the beach under a rather large-brimmed hat and her nights ensconced in her brother’s small library reading Gothic novels. They’re ridiculous, really, Lady Worthington had said of the books at one point. But I enjoy them. Her brother, a widower, and her niece, Hannah, took in the sights and visited the palace upon invitation of Prinny himself.
Her ladyship had acted as if she didn’t care one whit.
Alice realized she probably didn’t. Lady Worthington had inherited a fortune, making it possible for her to do whatever she pleased when it came to Society.
Including allowing Milton to escort her to that fall’s events, despite knowing full well he chose a different widow every Season to squire about London. Had Lady Worthington known then the earl had marriage in mind? That he had always intended to marry the younger sister of one of his best friends?
Well, Alice only knew he intended to marry her because she had overhead his lordship speak of it with his valet one evening. She hadn’t intended to overhear the conversation—she was merely passing the master suite at the time, its door wide open—but his claim was said in a clear voice that suggested he hadn’t drunk too much at White’s that night.
I married her because I always intended to marry her. I just had to wait my turn, is all.
Alice rather wished the earl had arranged for Samuel Worthington to die a year or two earlier than he had. The pompous man had become almost impossible to live with once his fortune was secure and he had the attentions of the aristocracy.
Blinking away the odd thoughts of her mistress’ first husband, Alice was startled to discover the landscape out the coach window had changed dramatically. The snow barely covered the ground here. She almost put voice to a question as to where they might be—she hadn’t said more than a polite greeting to the valet since she had joined him in the coach—but a signpost appeared ahead on the road.
Highgate. Although she had never ventured this far north of London, she recognized the name as a staging post and wondered if they would stop to change horses. She was about to ask Banks if he knew, but the telltale signs of the slowing horses gave her the answer.
She was tempted to slide across the short bench to the other side of the coach and look out that window, but her knees would have grazed those belonging to Alonyius Banks.
When he first stepped foot into the coach that morning, the valet had settled into the squabs on the bench facing the rear of the coach, which allowed Alice to ride in the direction of travel. Alice thought it rather chivalrous of him to take that particular seat since he was the first to get into the coach. Perhaps she would offer to trade places with him after this first stop.
“I
rather imagine the earl and his countess will wish to stretch their legs and perhaps have a cup of tea whilst the horses are changed,” Banks said from his side of the coach, the news sheet he’d been reading set aside on the bench next to him. Alice could read well enough to know it was an issue of The Times from earlier in the week. “I can escort you inside if you’d like.”
Stunned at the invitation, Alice blinked. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Banks,” she replied. “I believe I will join you.” Hopefully the public room in the inn would be warmer than the coach. Alice could barely feel her toes.
When the coaches halted in the yard, a flurry of activity accompanied the flurry of snow that surrounded them as they stepped out of the coach. Alice watched as the Torringtons made their way to the tearoom, suppressing the urge to cry out in alarm when she paid witness to the earl picking up his countess and carrying her—apparently against her will—until they were well clear of the mud in the yard.
Banks pretended not to notice, although Alice knew he dared a glance in her direction. “He is an unusual earl, to be sure,” she said with a shake of her head. “But is he a good employer?” she wondered aloud, giving her companion a sideways glance. When he didn’t look in her direction, Alice thought perhaps he was ignoring her. But then Banks finally spoke.
“I am blessed to have worked for his father and now for him,” he stated, cold clouds of white surrounding him as he spoke. “Even if he is a bit... unconventional. I find it difficult to refer to him as ‘Grandby’, however, which he prefers, when he is and always shall be ‘Torrington’.” He held out an arm when they reached the wooden walkway that led to the front door of the coaching inn.
Alice dared a glance up at him before she rested her gloved hand on his arm. She hadn’t touched a man in over a year, and rather liked how solid his arm felt beneath the wool of his cape coat. “Her ladyship is most taken with him. Far fonder of him than of her first husband,” she remarked.
The Christmas of a Countess (The Holidays of the Aristocracy Book 1) Page 4