The countess gave her a brilliant smile. “That’s the spirit.” She moved to stand behind Alice and undid the buttons down the back of her livery.
“What would you like to wear, milady? The green satin is rather festive,” Alice suggested.
“I thought of that, but I don’t wish to draw any attention from the tree or the other greenery. Everyone did such beautiful work today. I cannot believe how that great hall has been transformed. Why, when the candles are lit, we won’t even notice those gruesome animal heads.”
Alice grinned, turning around so she could address her mistress. “So the red satin?” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Or the gold silk?” she offered, realizing she had only packed three gowns suitable for a ball, and only those that seemed best suited for Christmastide. The only reason she had packed the turquoise and sarcenet gown was because her ladyship had requested she do so.
Adele held the turquoise gown over Alice’s head as the maid shed her livery. In another moment, the rich fabric had settled over her shoulders and fallen around her to reveal a near-perfect fit. Near-perfect because the bodice was rather loose. “I can pin it tighter,” she claimed as she pinched the sides between her thumbs and forefingers.
The countess blinked as she regarded her maid. “You look positively gorgeous,” she claimed, gripping the maid’s shoulders and turning her so her image was reflected in the cheval mirror. “And biddable, too.”
Alice couldn’t help her gasp of surprise. She had never tried on the elegant gown. Never given a thought to what she might look like in such a confection. She hadn’t dared.
And then she realized what the countess had said.
Biddable.
The maid stared at Adele, about to ask what the woman meant when Adele was suddenly searching through a valise.
“Which are the paste and which are the real jewels?” the countess asked, pulling out the boxes from the bottom of the valise.
“The ones at the very bottom are the real ones, milady,” Alice said. “The box beneath the fake bottom.”
The countess opened both boxes and contemplated the riot of jewels before her. “You shall wear gold, of course. And...” She glanced at her maid, apparently deciding what kind of jewel would look best with the gown.
“The topaz, milady?” Alice offered, realizing she would have to do her hair in a style that would allow the earbobs to show to their best effect. Before she knew quite what was happening, Adele had threaded the earbobs through her piercings and was already going back for the matching necklace.
“I don’t know that I want to outshine the other maids, milady,” she said as Adele secured the gold and jewel necklace around her neck.
“On this night, it is a necessity,” Adele countered, as if she knew something Alice didn’t know. She gave a sigh as she regarded her lady’s maid. “Can you do something less severe with your hair? I rather like what you’ve done with the front, dear, but...” She stopped and allowed a sigh.
Alice smiled. “I can, milady. But in the meantime, what will you wear? The red or the gold?”
Pretending to ponder, Adele was tempted to simply wear what she had on—she’d had Alice help her change back into the red Merino wool gown she had worn that morning—because it seemed appropriate for the season and because of how Mr. Banks had stared at her. But she reconsidered when she remembered she was trying to impress her husband. Seduce him, really, but impressions were so important. “The gold,” she murmured. “With the gold and ruby earbobs and this necklace,” she said as she fingered the holly pendant that hung just below the hollow of her throat.
“You’ll be resplendent, milady,” Alice said as she moved to the dressing room and gathered the gold silk gown in her arms. She passed by the cheval mirror, nearly pausing when she didn’t recognize her own reflection.
“As are you,” Adele murmured, giving her lady’s maid an arched brow coupled with a grin. She turned to allow her maid to undo the fastenings of the red wool gown. “Torrington said the fabric of my gown is from Banks Textiles,” she added in a conversational tone.
Alice slowed her movements. “It’s Mrs. Banks favorite color in this wool,” she replied. “She was wearing a similar gown when I visited Mill House.”
The countess considered her lady’s maid’s comment for a moment. “How did you find Mrs. Banks?” she asked as she stepped into the gold gown, wincing when she realized Alice had to kneel down in order to hold open the silk. The turquoise silk and gold sarcenet billowed out in a cloud around her maid as she did so.
“She’s a very amenable woman,” Alice said as she lifted the gold gown and helped Adele thread her arms into the long sleeves. She started to do up the few fastenings in the back. “I never would have guessed she was a lady’s maid before her marriage to Mr. Banks. To the valet’s father,” she quickly amended. “Although she is ever so humble. And rather... batty.” She didn’t add that the woman was still hoping one or both of her sons would bless her with a grandchild she could spoil rotten.
Adele let out a titter. “I know of her story, of course,” she admitted. “Which is why I’ll allow you to marry your Mr. Banks.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized the valet probably hadn’t yet proposed.
“Milady?” Alice took a step back, rather stunned at the comment.
Turning around to regard her maid, Adele rolled her eyes. “Should Mr. Banks propose, of course,” she added with an arched brow. She allowed a sigh, as if she realized her gaffe. “If he doesn’t propose after seeing you in that gown, then you shall be better off without him,” she announced, moving to take a seat at the vanity.
Alice pretended ambivalence as she removed several pins from her ladyship’s hair and worked to create a slightly more elaborate styling from the way she had done it earlier that day. There wasn’t another maid in Park Lane who could style hair as well as she could. She wondered then if it was the reason the countess continued to employ her despite her sour countenance these past few months.
“Could you see yourself married to the man?” Adele asked, watching in the looking glass as Alice repinned several locks of her hair into a chain of curls atop her head.
“I have not allowed myself such a luxury, milady,” Alice replied. “After my rather unfortunate misunderstanding yesterday, I cannot imagine Mr. Banks would tolerate me for anything other than an occasional tum...” She stopped, stunned she was about to admit she would carry on an affaire with the valet and not expect an offer of marriage in return.
Adele regarded her maid’s reflection in the mirror. “Even if what you say is true, perhaps Mr. Banks is in want of a wife for just such a purpose.”
Blinking, Alice continued her work on Adele’s coiffure. “Would that be an acceptable reason to wed, do you suppose?” she asked. “Merely for the purpose of sharing a bed?”
Adele nearly rolled her eyes again. “My dear, I do believe most men marry for that reason and only that reason,” she countered.
Given how enjoyable their times in bed together had been, Alice had to think the same could be said for some women.
Including me.
“I shall consider your words should Mr. Banks put voice to a proposal,” she allowed, hoping her ladyship hadn’t placed any bets on the matter.
But why would Alonyius propose when he knew damn well she would bed him without such a formal arrangement?
Such a permanent arrangement?
Determined not to allow the thought to lessen her enjoyment of the evening, Alice completed her mistress’ hair styling and watched as the countess made her way through the dressing room and into her husband’s bedchamber.
Then she set about doing her own hair.
When she was done, she was quite sure she could have passed for any older woman of the ton.
Chapter 44
A Beau for a Ball
A few minutes later
Several servants had already gathered in the great hall, all of them dressed in their Sunday best and similarly
coiffed for the Christmas Eve event. Those who had been in service to the Torrington earldom for more than a year or two knew what to expect on this night—an enjoyable evening of dancing and merriment, of games and gifts, of randy footmen and reluctant maids.
And a rather insatiable cook who seemed to have her sights set on the grooms from Worthington House. More than one footman was relieved to be relieved of that particular duty.
A quintet of musicians had set up in the only corner not already occupied by the tree or a door or the stairs to the first story. Having seen to appropriate chairs for the group, Trasker waited a moment before hurrying off to the fireplace. Two footmen had rolled the Yule log to just in front of the massive opening where a bright fire already crackled. Later that evening, after everyone who considered it good luck to sit on the log before it was burned had a chance to do so, the tree trunk would be rolled into the fireplace.
He glanced around before taking an experimental seat on the massive log, just to be sure it didn’t roll too easily. He didn’t want a housemaid to be accidentally unseated while taking her turn.
Although custom claimed a log of this size would burn until Epiphany, the butler expected more wood would be required after only a few days. He’d done this before. Many times.
As the musicians tuned their instruments, Alonyius Banks made his way into the hall and to the only man in the group who was standing. He bowed and introduced himself to the familiar man—the quintet had performed for last year’s Twelfth Night ball—and said, “Thank you again for agreeing to such an unusual request.” He held out a pile of coins as payment for their services.
The viola player gave a nod. “Got nothin’ else to do on such a cold night,” he replied. “Seein’ as how three of us are widowers and the other two haven’t yet taken a wife.”
Alonyius frowned, just then giving the other musicians a glance. Indeed, three were older gentlemen while the other two looked as if they were barely out of school. “I doubt we’ll keep you too late,” he said with a nod. “But I’m sure we can find you rooms should you wish to spend the night.”
The group seemed amenable to the arrangement. “When would you like us to start the dancing music?”
Knowing his master was ready to come down at any moment, Alonyius said, “When Lord Torrington makes an appearance, I should think. A country dance, perhaps. Longways, to start, of course. Something... festive.”
“Anyone here allowed to waltz?” asked the man with a French horn.
Alonyius allowed a grin. “I shouldn’t think there would be any complaints if you played at least two,” he replied, his gaze going back to the main entrance from the stairs. A few more servants had joined the growing crowd, such as it was, although the woman for whom he was waiting hadn’t yet made an appearance. Neither had her mistress, though.
Probably still doing the countess’ hair, he thought, his anxiousness growing with every minute. I’ve never been this nervous, he thought with a bit of annoyance. This was simply a servants’ ball. Nothing more. Just because he might decide to bestow a ring on one of Alice Simpkins’ fingers shouldn’t have him so discombobulated.
Why, he might change his mind and decide to propose at another time. A different place.
Coward, he chided himself, his thumb and forefinger gripping the gold band through the fabric of his waistcoat. He had slid the ring into a pocket and wanted to ensure he hadn’t lost it.
Glancing about the great hall, he wondered just where he might give her the ring. Or perhaps he would save it for later. Although they hadn’t discussed in which room they would be spending the night, he rather doubted they would go to his. Ever since Alice had gone after his valise the night before last, he hadn’t stepped foot in the quarters assigned to him.
As for how he might broach the subject of marriage, he had an idea for how he would ensure her cooperation. He would simply tell her his plan for them and then not give her an option to accept or reject it.
We shall marry, he thought to say, and then realized it didn’t seem right to simply state the fact. But he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—allow her a moment to think on the subject. He didn’t want her taking a week or a month or more making a decision he was quite sure she would make in his favor.
Would she turn him down if given the chance?
The thought had him frowning. She had never been married. She might prefer her bit of independence. Might prefer their arrangement remain exactly as it was.
Although they hadn’t really spoken of a formal arrangement. An affaire.
Or an informal one, for that matter. He had simply seen to joining her in whatever bed she was in.
A brief thought that perhaps she would prefer to sleep alone was quickly dismissed. She wanted him in bed with her, he was sure. At least for the warmth.
I have become nothing better than a blanket.
Shaking the thought from his head—he was an excellent bedmate—he thought to ask Alice her opinion of the matter. How he would broach such a subject might prove a challenge. When would he ask such a question? Certainly not on a night when he simply held her body against his. Better he do it on one of those nights when he was sure he had satisfied her carnal needs.
Such as this night. He had every intention of bedding her. Every intention of leaving her boneless and breathless. Of leaving her with no doubt with whom she would be spending the rest of her life.
His quiet confidence faltered a bit as he surveyed the great hall. Some of his nervousness had to do with Lady Torrington. This was her first Christmastide at Torrington Park—her first Christmas Eve—and he found he wanted her to enjoy it. Wanted her to be impressed with what the servants had accomplished since she and the earl had disappeared after their sleigh ride that afternoon.
Wanted her to return for every Christmastide hence.
That last thought had him frowning, realizing his wish was rather selfish. If the Torringtons returned to the hunting lodge, he would have the opportunity to visit Mill House again. His lordship would insist on it.
“Your face will freeze like that if you’re not careful, Mr. Banks.”
Alonyius gave his head a shake, stunned to find Mrs. Watson regarding him. He almost didn’t recognize the cook. She looked most elegant wearing a green velvet panniered gown—even if it was of a style from the last century, and her ever-present mob cap had been replaced with a rather jaunty red ribbon. “I rather doubt that, Mrs. Watson. Happy Christmas, by the way.”
“You could have warned me we’d be doing this tonight instead of a fortnight from now,” she scolded.
“Believe me when I say I would have if I had known,” the valet replied defensively. “Still, from my brief visit to your kitchens a few moments ago, you appear to have outdone yourself with the refreshments. Indeed, everyone has done a remarkable job of it.”
The woman beamed. “Because I didn’t have to bake biscuits! I take it you helped in that regard?”
Alonyius straightened, remembering the rather odd request he’d had from the earl the month before. Procure six dozen Dutch biscuits and be sure they’re packed in tins. Oh, and have Cook make some Christmas cakes as well. At the time, he could only guess what the earl intended to do with the sweets.
“I merely followed the earl’s orders,” he replied, his hands clasping together behind his back.
“When did you marry the lady’s maid?”
Taking a careful breath—his first reaction was to gasp—Alonyius wondered at the cook’s query. Not when will you marry the lady’s maid?
Did all the servants at Torrington Park think they were married?
“You needn’t deny it,” Watson went on, a quick shake of her head threatening to dislodge the mountain of red and gray curls mounted atop her head. “I just wanted you to know it’s why I haven’t expected you to pay a call on me in my quarters, is all,” she said in a hoarse whisper, one eye winking. Her attention was suddenly on someone else—Haversham appeared on the stairs—and she hurried off, leaving t
he valet a bit discombobulated.
Alonyius had never paid a visit to the cook’s bedchamber in the past, nor did he have any plans to do so.
Suddenly rather glad Haversham had taken up with the cook, Alonyius took a deep breath and regarded the great hall.
All the trestles had been pushed to the tapestried walls and were dressed in red linen tablecloths. The kissing bough, hastily finished once the small dolls had been located in one of the storage rooms, had been hung just inside the front doors. Although no one was expected to come through those doors now that the musicians were in residence, Alonyius knew that particular location would become more popular as the evening progressed.
He intended to have a certain woman under the ball of greenery at least once before taking her upstairs.
Several maids, already dressed for the evening’s entertainments, appeared from the kitchens. Their arms were laden with large salvers of sweetmeats, sugared plums, and cakes. On one silver tray, Dutch biscuits had been arranged in decorative spirals.
Having seen to the purchase of most of that evening’s refreshments, Alonyius was relieved to see they still appeared edible.
Following the maids, a footman carried a pail filled with snow and several bottles of champagne. Another maid, dressed in a velvet gown of deep red with a matching turban, appeared with a cart of stemmed glasses. The trestles were soon filled with the evening’s refreshments.
“Anything we may have forgotten?” Trasker asked as he joined the valet. Although he looked much like he did during the day, the portly butler had replaced his cravat with a black equivalent.
My senses, Alonyius nearly answered. “If so, I couldn’t begin to guess. Devlin did a fine job locating that Yule log,” he commented.
“Yes. Let’s hope we can get it into the fireplace when it’s time,” the butler replied, remembering how many servants it had taken to get the thing into the hall. “What are they waiting for?” he asked as he motioned towards the musicians. The quiet strains of tuning instruments hadn’t yet segued to music.
The Christmas of a Countess (The Holidays of the Aristocracy Book 1) Page 30