The Christmas of a Countess (The Holidays of the Aristocracy Book 1)

by Linda Rae Sande

  “Thank you again. Do have a good day,” Adele murmured before she continued on her way down the stairs.

  Now that she knew Milton was in the master suite—he hadn’t passed her and the housekeeper—she figured it was safe to go to the breakfast parlor. As to what she would do after breakfast, she had no idea. But there were at least a dozen rooms in which she could do it.

  And there was a library.

  Chapter 19

  The Prodigal Son Returns

  Meanwhile, at Mill House in Darlington

  Shedding his cape coat and leather gloves in the vestibule of Mill House, Alonyius called out a greeting. When no butler had appeared at his knock, he had let himself in. If the ancient servant was the same man who had served Mill House the last time he was in residence, Alonyius was quite sure the man was deaf and a bit slow.

  “Hullo,” he called out again as he moved to the bottom of the stairs.

  “Who’s there?”

  His mother, clad in a day gown of deep red Merino, her gray hair braided and wrapped into a coronet atop her head, suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs and angled her head. “Alonyius! You came!” she cried out in delight.

  Grinning broadly, Alonyius took the central stairs two at a time to meet her at the top. “Mum, you look positively radiant,” he said before giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  “And you look as if you walked all the way from the mail coach,” she scolded, one of her tiny hands moving to brush away some of the snowflakes from his hair.

  “The Black Swan, yes,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “After four days in a coach, I needed the exercise.”

  The hand moved to take his. “You mean being tumbled three ways to Thursday wasn’t enough exercise?” she countered, a gleam in her eye.

  Alonyius blinked. “Mother!” he scolded, suddenly wondering if she had spies at The Black Swan.

  “Well, it certainly looks like you were. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much color in your cheeks.”

  The valet rolled his eyes. “That would be because I’ve been out in the cold,” he countered with a nod, still rather shocked at her earlier comment.

  “I do hope it wasn’t with Mildred,” she said with a good deal of worry.

  Alonyius blinked again. “Mildred?” he repeated.

  “She’s one of the tavern maids at The Black Swan. Give you the clap, she will,” she warned with a raised finger.

  Not particularly sure he wanted to know how his mother knew such a thing, Alonyius sighed. “Then our coach driver will have that honor,” he stated in a lowered voice, realizing that with a simple wave of her crooked finger, she was about to take him on a tour of the first floor of the house. He knew she had been busy finishing the rooms along the north wing. They had never been furnished when his father first had the house built in 1768. While Alonyius was in residence, the family had always lived in the rooms in the south wing.

  He dutifully followed her from room to room, commenting on her choice of colors and on the furnishings. Despite her humble beginnings, he realized his mother had good taste. Expensive taste. Which could only mean the mill was still profitable.

  “So, what do you think? Could you see yourself living here again, darling?” Mrs. Banks asked in a voice filled with pleading.

  Alonyius couldn’t help the bit of uncertainty he felt at her query. “If I must,” he finally agreed, rather stunned by how she simply assumed he would be moving back to Mill House. Although he had been a bit concerned about what might have happened to the house in the year since he had last visited, Alonyius found it in the same condition or, in some cases, in even better shape. That meant that either the servants were doing their jobs better or there were more of them.

  Truth be told, he was rather surprised at how elegant everything seemed, the furnishings looking as if they had come straight from Chippendale’s studios, the carpets from Axminster, the draperies from...

  “I had your brother weave the draperies especially for each room,” she said proudly, as if she could overhear his thoughts. “Except for the sheers. Those are from Austria, of course.”

  Of course, he considered, not exactly familiar with where certain fabrics were sourced these days. He had been too long out of the family business to know such details, and he had no desire to learn unless it was absolutely necessary.

  “Come to my parlor for some tea. We’ll get you warmed up right quick. How long do you have before you must be on your way again?”

  Alonyius gave the question some thought before saying, “A couple of hours, I should think.” He didn’t want to leave Alice alone too long at the coaching inn. She probably had finished any sewing she had brought with her, and even if she used the coins he had left her to buy a luncheon at the public house he had mentioned, there were only a few shops within walking distance in which she could spend her afternoon.

  “Good. You can join us for luncheon,” Mrs. Banks said as she led him to a large chair in the parlor.

  “Your letter said Thel wasn’t doing well,” he said as his gaze took in the parlor, rather heartened to find the upholstery in good shape and a fire lit and crackling in the fireplace. A stack of split logs promised several days of warmth. Given the forest just beyond the backyard, there would be fuel for the Mill House fires for years to come. “Since I did not receive a notice of his passing, I have to assume he is recovering,” he said with a good deal of hope as he waited for his mother to take a seat in her favorite settee.

  She rang the bell on the side table and a maid appeared within seconds at the door. “Tea, dear, and biscuits and cakes, too. My youngest son has come for a visit, so be sure to tell cook there will be three for luncheon.”

  The maid curtsied, a slight smile showing on her face. “Yes, ma’am.” She disappeared as quickly as she had appeared.

  Alonyius watched as the girl performed her curtsy and wondered how long she had been in service. “Seems young,” he commented, one brow raised in question.

  His mother leaned forward. “She is. I’m training her, though. She’ll be a perfect lady’s maid by the time one of you boys finally decides to take a wife.”

  Alonyius stiffened. “Thel is still unwed?” he countered. Who the hell is supposed to take over Banks Textiles if Thel dies without issue?

  Well, the answer to that was him, of course, but he didn’t want to be thinking about changing professions so late in life. He was four-and-forty! He tried not to relive the past few weeks as he worried he might have to be the one to take over the reins of the company. He had been mortified to discover his master had learned of Thelonius Banks’ condition about the same time he had. His mother’s letter had probably been on the same coach as the one Gregory Grandby rode in to get back to London!

  Although he could learn the textile business again, it had been nearly a quarter of a century since Alonyius last stepped foot into the mill that produced some of the most beautiful woolens in all of England. His mother’s Merino gown was a testament to their creations.

  “Thel had an awful flu,” his mother said as she clasped her hands together in her lap. “Why, he was sick for at least a fortnight, and then right in the middle of it, when he was at his worst, and I was sure he was going to leave us, Mr. Grandby arrived for a meeting,” she explained with a wave of her tiny hand. “I’d had no idea he was coming, but if I had, I most assuredly would have sent him a letter to reschedule the appointment. I’m sure Mr. Grandby left here thinking his latest investment would fail.”

  Alonyius straightened, a bit alarmed at her words. “Latest investment?” What has my brother been arranging with my master’s cousin?

  “Why, yes. He helped your brother buy another loom. An investment, he called it. Makes the fabric in a larger width.” She held out her arms as wide as they could go. “An entire blanket without any seams. Can you imagine?” she gushed, her hands clapping together when the maid appeared with a silver salver topped with pots and cups and saucers. “I’ll do the pouring this tim
e,” she murmured, her comment directed to the maid. “But I’ll teach you how to do it the next time.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the maid said as she dipped another curtsy. Alonyius could swear she blushed before she started to take her leave of the parlor, but then she suddenly turned around.

  “What is it?” he asked when he realized his mother hadn’t noticed the maid’s delayed departure.

  “Pardon, sir. I don’t know that it’s my place to say anything, but when I passed by the front window on my way up the stairs, I couldn’t help but notice there are two sets of tracks in the snow leading up to the house. Sir,” she added as an afterthought. “Should I be seeing to another guest? In another room, perhaps?”

  Both Mrs. Banks and Alonyius stared at the maid before giving one another a glance.

  Another guest?

  Chapter 20

  A Melancholy Earl

  Later that morning

  Milton Grandby stared at his late breakfast and frowned. Although the cook had made his eggs the way he usually liked them, they stared back at him like two yellow suns in a cloudy sky. Next to them, the crisp rashers of bacon promised flavors of salt and smoke while the toast would taste of nuts and sweet butter.

  If only he felt like eating.

  He glanced over at the newly-ironed copy of the Hexham news sheet. The date at the top was at least a week in the past—he didn’t even know what day it was today—and he found he didn’t care.

  He mentally cursed Edith Harrington. Then he proceeded to curse every Harrington he knew, including Stanley, Earl of Mayfield, and his other sisters, Caroline, Helen, and Elizabeth. He decided not to curse Julia Harrington, the earl’s only daughter. She was one of Milton’s goddaughters, after all, and couldn’t have known what her Aunt Edith was busy doing over ten years ago.

  What she was probably doing last night.

  The woman was a Merry Widow, after all. And there were any number of men looking to keep her that way. All vying for her attention in bed in the hopes they would be the one to convince her it was time to take a husband and vow to only bed him.

  Except, why would she?

  She had a fortune. She had no reason to abide Society’s strictures. No reason to commit herself to just one lover when there were so many willing to keep her bed warm.

  Even if he had managed to get the woman to wed him, she would have kept a string of lovers on the side. She probably wouldn’t even have hidden them from him. He would have been the laughing stock of Parliament had he actually gained her hand in marriage.

  And for what?

  A willing bed partner who was far too willing? Why, they would have had the most crowded marriage bed in all of England!

  No. Far better for him to have loved her and left her when he did. Time had proven she would have kept her string of lovers. Time had proven she would never make a suitable Countess of Torrington.

  Not when he had the perfect countess.

  Adele.

  Milton sighed.

  “Would you like coffee, my lord?”

  Raising his head from where it hung on his chest, Milton regarded the footman who held a silver pot above his cup. “I suppose,” he finally answered. He watched as the dark liquid filled the cup, curls of steam swirling about above the edge. He recognized the cup and his plate as part of the pieces his mother had purchased for when she stayed at Torrington Park.

  It’s positively barbaric you don’t have good china here, she had said that first Christmas she stayed at Torrington Park. Within a month, a crate of Coalport China’s finest was delivered in the back of a dray cart. The servants who unpacked the dishes filled the cupboards in the butler’s pantry with the settings, probably snickering at the sight of the pattern whilst they did so.

  Blue Cairo Bird.

  Well, it was appropriate for a hunting lodge, he considered, rather hoping Adele had been served her breakfast on the china.

  “Did the countess come down for breakfast this morning?” he asked before the footman had taken his leave of the breakfast parlor.

  “She did, my lord, although she took her coffee in the library.” The man gave a bow and disappeared.

  The library.

  Well, he should have known Adele would be in the room with the books. He hadn’t paid a visit there for... well, since they had met there for coffee and walnuts before dinner the night before. When she straddled him whilst he sat in the divan, and he had his way with her.

  Or had she had her way with him?

  It was a wonder she was there! He thought she would loathe the library after what they had done in the room.

  Perhaps if he allowed her to spend most of the day there, she would read a few books and forget their awful morning. Forget and meet him in his bedchamber where they could kiss and make love until the wee hours of the morning.

  Or perhaps she would read some story about philandering husbands and believe he was one.

  Curse Edith Harrington. Curse all the Harringtons! He thought, just then remembering to exclude Julia. She was nearly of an age to be married, but she wasn’t yet, so she was innocent in all this. As far as he knew, Julia hadn’t been taking lessons from Aunt Edith.

  He could only hope.

  He dropped his head to his chest and sighed.

  “Would you like another serving of eggs, my lord? Or some more bacon, perhaps?”

  Jolted from his reverie, Milton stared at his plate, stunned to find he had cleaned it. He dared a glance around, expecting to find a dog or other creature who might have helped himself to the breakfast. A sudden burp reminded him that he had eaten it all despite his rather melancholy mood.

  “I have had quite enough,” he replied as he regarded the unfamiliar footman. “Have we met?”

  The footman shook his head. “Gabriel, my lord.”

  “Good to meet you,” Milton managed. He dared a glance inside his cup and realized that he had emptied it, too. “I do believe I’ll have more coffee, though,” he added.

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Within moments, his cup was refilled and his plate was taken from the table. Not sure what else to do, he drained his coffee, donned his greatcoat, and made his way to the stables.

  There were horses who would probably appreciate his attention.

  Chapter 21

  A Manor Home Receives Another Guest

  Back at Mill House

  Alonyius frowned, the maid’s words about there being another guest rather odd. He was about to tell her there wasn’t another guest because he was sure his tracks were the first and only in the fresh snow. But curiosity had him standing. He moved to the parlor window.

  Overlooking the Greek statue and fountain in the circle drive and positioned in the middle of the long manor house, the window gave the perfect vantage for the lane leading up to the house. He realized immediately the maid spoke the truth, for there was another set of footprints in the snow, the steps closer together and smaller of foot.

  He angled his gaze, even pressing his face against the cold glass in an attempt to make out where the steps led. One set followed the drive along the front of the house but circled around. He was so intent in studying the wing of the manor house closest to the carriage house, he was unaware of his mother as she stepped up to the window and gazed out in the other direction.

  “Why, there is someone else out there,” she murmured. “There on the bench,” she pointed. She suddenly pulled back her gnarled finger as if she just then remembered pointing was rude. “Why, the snow makes her look like a statue.”

  Alonyius followed her gaze and frowned. For a moment, he thought the shape looked like an old woman, what with the way her scarf-clad head and shoulders seemed hunched over. Then he let out a gasp when he realized he recognized that scarf.

  He had seen it every day for the past four days.

  “Oh, dear God. It’s Alice,” he murmured as he hurried from the window and out the parlor. “Get some blankets,” he yelled as he descended the stairs. What the
hell is Alice doing here? Had she followed him? Not possible, he thought, remembering no one had been behind him as he made his way down the lane.

  He didn’t bother with his coat but sailed out the front door to a blast of cold air that nearly took his breath away.

  Almost slipping on the icy drive, he slowed his steps and managed to make it to Alice without falling. “Alice,” he said with some urgency. He could see her eyes were closed, and when she didn’t respond, he pushed away the scarf and placed his hands on either side of her face. He winced when he saw her lips were nearly blue. Gathering her into his arms, he stutter-stepped his way back to the house, heartened to find another servant holding the door open.

  “We need a foot warmer. And blankets,” he said as he continued to carry Alice through the vestibule.

  “You can put her up here in the Blue Room, dear,” his mother called down to him as she waved from the top of the stairs. “This way. Regan is seeing to some more tea.”

  He hurried up the stairs, his worry increasing when Alice didn’t respond. She felt light in his arms, and he was reminded of how comfortable he had been with her covering half of his body only a couple of hours ago.

  His mother led him along the long hall and into one of the guest bedchambers, the mahogany furnishings smelling of lemon polish and fresh-cut wood.

  Alonyius paused in the doorway, realizing this bedchamber was next door to the one he had used when he lived at Mill House. If he remembered correctly, there was a connecting door between them.

  He was about to chide his mother—had she chosen this bedchamber deliberately?—but thought better of it when Alice finally moved in his arms.

  “Do you like it? I just had it redone last year. No one has even stayed here,” Mrs. Banks went on as if the situation was no more serious than an unexpected visitor.