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

by Linda Rae Sande

  She had just the day before, in fact.

  “I heard my name, you see, otherwise I wouldn’t have paused. But it seems Mr. Banks only showed me attention because Lord Torrington asked him to do so,” Alice whispered, tears once again spilling from the corners of her eyes. “Paid him, too. He must have known I was unhappy and thought I was in need of a tumb...” She stopped, realizing what she was about to say.

  And just why it was that Lord Torrington knew she was unhappy in the first place.

  Because her mistress had told him.

  Had Lady Torrington asked her husband to arrange a liaison with his valet? To provide a tumble in an attempt to lighten her mood and make her more pleasant?

  Alice turned her attention onto Adele, her eyes widening in alarm. “Did you...?”

  Having allowed her thoughts to come to the same conclusion as her maid, Adele shook her head. Several times. “I said nothing,” she claimed. And then she remembered the brief—very brief—conversation she’d had with him that night when Milton had told her about his plans to travel to Northumberland. “Or rather, very little,” she whispered as her attention seemed to settle onto a wood carving of a deer on the nearest table. “I did mention I found your countenance rather disturbing of late.” At Simpkins’ gasp, she added, “Well, you have been rather difficult these past few months. You complain all the time—”

  “I have been unhappy, I admit,” Alice agreed.

  “You’ve been derelict in some of your duties... ”

  “Because I was trying to see to the new scullery maid’s duties.” The answer came out in a whisper interrupted by a sob. She repeated the words in an attempt to be understood.

  Adele stilled herself. She frowned. “Wot?”

  Alice allowed another sigh, this one free of sobs. “She doesn’t yet know all her duties. She’s so young. A bit slow, too,” she added with a finger waving in a circle next to her head. “I started my years in service in the kitchens, you see, so I know what’s required to keep the cook happy. I’ve been trying to perform some of her duties in an attempt to help. But it’s not doing any good, and I’ve become impatient and angry and... rather bitter,” she admitted in a whisper surrounded by several sobs. “She just doesn’t learn.”

  Rolling her eyes, Adele made a mental note to take up the issue with the housekeeper. She’d had no idea the new scullery maid wasn’t up to snuff. But then she remembered her husband’s edict that no servant would lose their position, and she sighed. “I don’t suppose there might be a different task she is better suited to do?” Adele asked, her voice full of doubt.

  Sniffling, Alice nodded. “She would make an adequate household maid, my lady. The kitchens are just beyond her ken.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me any of this when the poor girl was first hired?” Adele wondered in a whisper.

  Alice considered the question and allowed a sigh. “Because the earl was right. I have been... unhappy. I missed having a man in my life. I am nearly forty, and I have no hope of a husband. No hope of having children. I am alone...”

  Adele’s arms were around her shoulders, pulling her hard against the side of her body. “Nonsense,” she murmured. “I’m nearly your age. Younger than Queen Charlotte, and she’s still giving birth to babies.”

  Sniffling again, Alice nodded. “Except I rather doubt his lordship’s valet will be marrying me just because his lordship asks it of him,” she countered with a sob.

  Nor would she agree to such a union. The very last thing she wanted was a man who bedded her only because his master required it of him.

  True, Adele thought for a moment, rather wishing she had never told her husband of her frustration with Simpkins. Why, she hadn’t even brought up the issue with the maid first. She might have discovered the problem with the scullery maid before they took their leave of Worthington House and made arrangements for Libby to be repurposed somewhere else.

  Another thought had her frown changing to a look of contemplation.

  What if Alonyius Banks did feel some affection for her maid? Men were usually terrible actors, especially for longer than an hour or two at a time. They could be compelled to do things against their will—money was always a suitable motive, as was revenge, or a dare—but after a time, they returned to their usual demeanor. She’d had enough men in her life to know first hand, after all.

  Mr. Banks didn’t strike her as a man who would do something against his training. Against his upbringing. He was the son of a lady’s maid, after all. A woman who had defied convention and married the owner of a woolen mill because he said he fell in love with her at first sight. All because he had shown up at the Torrington townhouse in London and announced to Lady Torrington that he was taking the maid with him to marry her.

  What lady’s maid wouldn’t jump at the chance at a life in the middle class?

  Except, as Adele remembered the story, the lady’s maid hadn’t immediately agreed to the union. She had instead made several requests of Marcus Banks, not the least of which was a period of courting and assurances she could run the man’s household as she saw fit.

  Apparently, Marcus Banks accommodated her wishes.

  “Is there a chance Mr. Banks wasn’t acting on the earl’s suggestion?”

  Alice sniffled. “The words were quite clear, my lady.”

  Disappointed, Adele tried a different tactic. “What does your heart tell you?” she asked in a quiet voice. “Although there are men who can act well—I’ve seen a few on the stage at the Royal Theatre—I find that most men cannot. They wear their hearts on their sleeves, and they are obvious in their affections.”

  Alice considered her mistress’ words and finally nodded. “I appreciate your attempt to console me, my lady, but I do not believe Mr. Banks holds any true affection for me,” she whispered. The last of her words were nearly lost in the sob she tried hard to suppress.

  Really—Mr. Banks wasn’t worth her tears, nor another moment of her time. So why was she so upset? She had duties to perform. Laundry to fold and put away. A lady to dress in... she dared a glance at the clock over the fireplace... only an hour.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned to Adele and asked, “So, what gown would you like to wear for dinner this evening, milady?”

  Managing to keep from blushing—she had worn no gown at all for the past few dinners—Adele gave the question some thought. All the clothes Alice had packed for the trip were now in her dressing room. “The blue sapphire silk, I should think,” she replied after a time. “With the diamonds.” She didn’t smile as she suggested the gown, though. There was a certain earl with whom she needed to have a rather pointed conversation, and she wanted to be fully clothed and look the part of his countess when she did so.

  Besides, after all this time of thinking her maid an old maid, she finally understood just why Alice Simpkins was bitter.

  And she found she couldn’t blame the maid one bit.

  Chapter 32

  Someone is Missing from the Servants’ Supper

  A few minutes later

  Although three trestles usually provided enough space to feed the household staff of Torrington Park, the afternoon arrival of four servants from Worthington House required another one be set up in the dining area off the kitchens. Banks was assisting one of the footmen with the trestle when a blast of cold air had them directing their attention to the kitchen’s only exterior door.

  Haversham appeared in the opening, hat in hand. He looked a bit lost.

  He had managed to unhitch the horses from the traveling coach and see to getting them settled into their stalls, but there was no sign of a groom or stableboy to show him where he would be staying. Giving the short, round cook a nod, he said, “Smells mighty good in here, Mrs. Watson.” Indeed, the scent of fresh-baked bread mingled with roast beef and several vegetables had his stomach growling in anticipation.

  The apple-cheeked woman regarded the driver a moment, obviously recognizing him from his prior visits to the hunting lod
ge. A pleasant expression appeared before her nose suddenly wrinkled. “It did before you arrived, Mr. Haversham. You, sir, are in need of a bath.”

  Taken aback by the cook’s claim, Haversham frowned. “That bad, huh?” he asked as he took an experimental sniff of his forearm. “If I take a bath, do you suppose—?”

  “It’s Miss Watson, but Watson will do,” she interrupted, not about to allow the man to proposition her in the presence of the two kitchen maids who had been hired since the man’s last visit. She pretended not to know the man. “You must be Haversham. Mighty tall, you are.” She turned and lifted a mug from a counter, thrusting it in his direction. “Chocolate was hot a while ago. Thought you’d be in well before now,” she stated, one eyebrow arching up as if to indicate he should have come straight to the kitchens before seeing to the horses. “I got some pots of hot water on the stove for your bath.” She indicated several stock pots on the large stove while she stirred what looked like soup in another. “Figured at least one of ye from London would need a bath.”

  She whirled about and led him to a small room just off the kitchen. A metal tub was set up, ready for water and a bather. “Linens are there are on the shelf. Hope you have some clean clothes. Or at least some that don’t smell so bad,” she added with an animated wave of her hand in front of her face. She hurried back to the soup. “Mary can see to your laundry,” she added as she pointed to a young girl who was adding coal to the stove. “Please tell me you have some that don’t smell of horse.”

  Haversham was about to admit that he didn’t—he only had two shirts to his name.

  Mary waved in the groom’s direction, giving him a quick curtsy, but she hurried off to another task before he could acknowledge her.

  “A bit slow, but she’s catchin’ on,” the cook murmured. “Mrs. Miller—if you remember, she’s the housekeeper—has a room all ready for you on the second floor.”

  The driver gave a shake of his head. “Second floor? Of the house?” he asked in disbelief. He usually had to stay in a room above the stables

  “Of course, in the house. You’re not a beast,” she countered impatiently. Her expression suddenly changed, though, and she regarded the driver with a very different gaze. One that suggested she regarded him in an entirely different light. “Or are you?”

  Blinking at the question, Haversham’s face suddenly reddened. “I’m not, but... I suppose I could be,” he stuttered, not sure if she was propositioning him or teasing him. Just the moment before, she had acted as if she didn’t remember what they had been doing the last time he was at Torrington Park.

  The cook rolled her eyes. “Go on now. Servants’ tea is served at six.”

  Haversham blinked again, rather amazed at how the chubby cook could move about the kitchen so quickly, all the while keeping up an almost one-sided conversation and tending to her soup.

  He caught sight of Banks as the valet assisted in setting up the trestle and moved in that direction.

  “You heard the cook,” Banks said before Haversham could say anything. He did lean in a bit, though, and whispered, “Sounds like you still have another willing bedmate.” The tavern wenches at The Black Swan had obviously kept the large man occupied whilst they were stranded there.

  Pausing in his approach, the groom gave him a quelling glance. “I spend the past few hours freezing to get you here, and this is the greeting I get?” he complained, although his words were followed with a grin.

  “Your expertise in driving is much appreciated, Mr. Haversham,” Banks replied with a nod. “It’s merely the odor about you that is not.”

  With that, Haversham pulled on his gloves and helped himself to two of the pots of water on the stove. Once in the bathing room, he decided to simply keep his clothes on whilst bathing.

  He had no clean clothes to change into, after all.

  When the chimes of the butler’s clock indicated it was six o’clock, several servants rushed to fill the trestles as Mary set steaming bowls and platters in the middle of each. Banks held back a moment, deciding to wait until Simpkins made an appearance. He hadn’t seen her since they departed the coach earlier that afternoon, and as they were two of only five upper servants in the household, he hoped they might sit across from one another.

  “Do join us, Mr. Banks,” Watson said as she waved him to one of the seats at the third trestle.

  Banks dared a glance back to the kitchen entrance, and when it was apparent no one else from the household staff would be joining them, he reluctantly took a seat.

  “Something wrong, Mr. Banks?” Mrs. Miller asked as she passed him a plate of sliced beef. He took it and gave a shake of his head.

  “I was just waiting for Simpkins, is all.”

  “You’ll be waiting all night then,” the housekeeper replied as she piled several sliced carrots onto her plate.

  Besides being shocked at the number of available vegetables displayed on the trestles—they were sometimes rationed during dinners at Worthington House—Banks blinked at her comment. “Has something happened?” he wondered, realizing he had to be careful in how he put voice to his concern.

  “Says she’s not feeling well and won’t be joining us, is all,” Mrs. Miller commented. “Poor thing’s insides are probably all jumbled up after all that traveling,” she added lightly.

  The valet considered the words, tamping down the worry he felt just then. After having spent the last two nights in bed with the lady’s maid and having enjoyed their conversations as well as their quiet time in the traveling coach, he was wondering how he might manage to continue their tryst at Torrington Park.

  His reverie was interrupted by a question from one of the footmen curious about the news from London. For the next half-hour, he, Haversham and Higgins took turns answering queries while the staff members ate. When most stood up to see to the set up and serving for the formal dinner for the earl and countess, Banks conferred with the cook.

  “Might I be allowed to take a tray up to Simpkins’ room? In the event she’s feeling better?” he asked in a whisper.

  Involved in removing the leftover food from the trestles, Watson gave him a sidelong glance. “Promise you’re not just keeping it for a midnight snack for yourself?” she half-asked in a teasing voice. “’Cuz around here, you can just come down directly and help yourself,” she added when she noticed his look of confusion.

  “I promise, it’s not for me,” he assured her with a shake of his head. “If I wasn’t so stuffed, I might consider your offer, though,” he added, hoping she hadn’t taken offense at his refusal.

  Without a word, the cook removed a tea tray from a cupboard where it looked as if there were dozens. She dished up several foods onto a plate, added some utensils and presented the tray to him. “Wait a moment, and I’ll get some soup,” she said as she hurried off. A moment later, the tray held more food than any one of them had eaten that evening, including Haversham. “Hope she’s feeling better,” she murmured before turning her attention to the foods for the formal dinner.

  “I do, too,” Banks replied as he regarded the generous helpings. He made his way to the nearest staircase and found he looked forward to surprising the lady’s maid.

  With any luck, he’d be allowed to surprise her in other ways later that night.

  Chapter 33

  A Dinner is Delivered

  A few minutes later

  Fairly sure he knew which room Alice Simpkins had been assigned to, Banks made his way down the corridor along which most of the servants had their rooms. Given the poor state of what had passed for servants quarters back when the lodge was first built, those rooms in a different wing had been abandoned long ago in favor of what might have been guest bedchambers along the east wall of the lodge. Although the rooms were generous in size, the single fireplace in each meant that most of the furniture was positioned at the end closest to the warmth. Banks had thought there was enough space remaining to host a small soirée in the room to which he had been assigned.

/>   Aware he would need to report to Lord Torrington’s bedchamber by half-past seven, he figured he had at least thirty minutes to spend with Alice.

  Tapping the back of his knuckles against the door, he listened intently.

  “Yes?” The muffled voice was an indication of just how thick the doors were, a bit of assurance they wouldn’t be heard should he spend the night in her room instead of his.

  Banks balanced the tray on one arm while he opened the door with the other. Peeking around the edge, his gaze went to the window. Leaning a shoulder against the tapestry-covered stone wall, Alice stared out the uneven glass, her attention on something apparently far away. Banks thought she looked ten years younger, what with her hair wound up into a different bun and her new bangs swept off to one side.

  “The housekeeper said you wouldn’t be down for tea, so I brought it to you,” Alonyius said in a quiet voice as he stepped in and pushed the heavy door shut behind him.

  Startled out of her reverie, Alice stared at him before blinking a few times. “Tea?” she repeated.

  The valet set the tray on the room’s only table and hurried in her direction, intending to take her into his arms. When she suddenly gave a start away from him, her back pressed against an ancient tapestry, he noticed her reddened eyes. “What’s wrong, Alice? When you didn’t come down for tea, I got worried... ”

  “Get out,” Alice whispered, the words urgent. “How dare you?”

  Banks blinked and paused in his approach, his expression turning to one of hurt. He supposed she was rather shocked to find him in her bedchamber. “I dare because I care about you,” he countered, rather stunned by her curt words. “When you didn’t come down for tea, I got worried.”