So, why exactly had they received such odd service at the past few inns?
Milton’s eyes widened as he realized just what was different from his past visits.
“You,” he said out loud, his attention on his countess. Adele was riding in the direction of travel, a book held up in her gloved hands.
“Me?” she repeated, her brows furrowing in confusion as she regarded her husband .
“I’ve never had a lady in my company whilst I’ve made the trek to Torrington Park before,” he stated with a shake of his head.
Adele dropped the book in her lap and angled her head to one side. “Are you saying we’re being treated differently because of me?” she asked in alarm.
Milton was about to agree, but realized he shouldn’t agree. Otherwise, he might not enjoy the benefit of her wakefulness at midnight. “Not exactly,” he replied with a shake of his head. “It’s just that, when I’ve made this trip before, it’s always just been my valet and me,” he explained. “I suppose they’re not used to me having a wife on my arm.”
Angling her head to one side, Adele asked, “Are you sure they know I’m your wife? And not some... courtesan?” she asked in annoyance.
Milton furrowed his bushy eyebrows, realizing he needed to be very careful in how he answered. “Banks is very clear when he announces our arrival,” he stated with a nod.
Perhaps he hadn’t been so clear when he sent out the letters of arrangement, though. Milton hadn’t bothered to read the missives, merely signing his name to the notices of his intent to patronize their establishments. He trusted his valet to represent him appropriately.
Adele merely sighed, still rather bothered by the cut direct she suffered in the parlor at the last inn. She had never traveled this far north before, and now she was wondering if it might be her last to this part of England.
Was she being too sensitive?
“Do you think I’m overreacting?” she asked, deciding to put her husband on the spot just a bit. The inns they had visited were his choices, after all.
Milton knew when he was being baited. “Not at all. I shall see to it you are treated as the countess you are,” he replied, his head lifting in a manner that suggested he might even lift a fist or two in her defense. “At every stop from here to Torrington Park,” he added.
Adele grinned, and not because she agreed with his claims. She just liked seeing him act like an earl on occasion.
“I look forward to it,” she said with a teasing grin. “And in the future, we shall never again stop at that particular coaching inn.”
Her husband nodded. “Agreed,” he replied, making a mental note to tell Banks.
At least things would go better at their next stop. The Bell Inn sold Stilton cheese, and Stilton cheese was his wife’s favorite.
Chapter 7
A Servant Seeks Warmth
December 21, 1816 at The George in Piercebridge
Despite the gray gloom and the snow flurries that danced about her face, Alice gave Mr. Haversham a tentative smile as he assisted her into the traveling coach. “How much longer, do you suppose?” she wondered as she took a seat in the direction of travel. The trip had already taken far longer than any she had been on before, and the farther north they went, the colder it seemed to get.
“At least today, maybe tomorrow,” the driver replied. “Got you a hot brick in the brazier, though. That should help until the coals get hot.” He had positioned the foot warmer so it didn’t interfere with where the two servants were seated, but allowed them both to benefit from its warmth.
Alice gave him a nod. “It’s much appreciated.” Although the heat from the brick, and later the lumps of coal just beginning to turn gray at the edges, wouldn’t last long, they would keep the coach warm until the driver stopped for a change of horses and luncheon. If they stopped for luncheon.
She regarded her traveling partner with a curt nod. “Good morning, Mr. Banks.” As usual, the earl’s valet was impeccably dressed. His gray wool traveling suit had been pressed, and his black cape coat brushed. Given the man’s aristocratic bearing and proper speech, the clerk at the coaching inn, The Crown, in Boroughbridge, where they had stayed Thursday night, originally thought Mr. Banks was the earl rather than the jovial man who followed them into the inn a few minutes later.
Then, yesterday, the Torrington coach had allowed the servants’ coach to pass at some point so that Mr. Banks could see to confirming his arrangement of the rooms at The George prior to the arrival of the earl and countess. The proprietor of The George apologized profusely to the valet, informing him that although they could accommodate ‘his party’ for just the one night, they would be closing for Christmas and would be unable to provide rooms for the following night.
When Banks had informed them he only required rooms for the one night, the owner seemed rather surprised and then said something about how difficult it would be to travel north given the drifts that had formed over the road.
But The Black Swan in Darlington is open, the man said.
Standing behind and to the right of Mr. Banks, Alice had wondered at the mention of snowdrifts covering the road. She was thinking of it now as Alonyius Banks tipped his hat and gave her a nod. “Mrs. Simpkins. Rather sporting of you to be ready to depart so early. You probably had far more to do than I did.”
Alice had half a mind to put voice to a complaint about just how early it was—the earl had insisted her ladyship be ready to leave the coaching inn just after dawn—but she thought better of it.
Lately, it seemed as if she had been complaining about everything. And she had done so to other members of the household staff as well as to her mistress. She might not have noticed but for having overheard one of the kitchen maids complaining about her complaint of that night’s meal. And then there had been her complaint to the housekeeper about the earl’s tendency to barge into the mistress suite before Alice had managed to comb out and braid Lady Torrington’s hair, let alone get the woman into a night rail.
She sincerely hoped the earl helped in that regard, for otherwise her ladyship was forced to sleep wearing nothing at all!
Alice shuddered at the thought. The nights were entirely too cold to sleep in the nude. Besides, no self-respecting countess would sleep in the nude.
Would she?
The kitchen maid’s overheard comment had occurred the night before they departed London. What was she saying about Alice now? What were the other servants saying about her? They were probably glad she was gone. Relieved they were no longer subjected to her bouts of bitterness. Her words of complaint. Her scowling face.
What is wrong with me?
She used to find joy in her position as a lady’s maid, her skills with Lady Torrington’s hair garnering well-received compliments, her ability to mend and press gowns unmatched by the other maids in Park Lane. She socialized with the servants next door and managed a walk in the park across the street when her mistress was out shopping or attending a charity event and didn’t require her presence.
From the smallest of tasks to the largest responsibilities of everyday life as a lady’s maid, she found nothing in which to take satisfaction these days. Something was missing, and yet she couldn’t determine just what it might be.
One thing she knew for certain. Her melancholy had started about the same time her mistress had married Lord Torrington. Although he was a far better match for Adele Slater Worthington than Samuel Worthington had been—the late husband was all about showing off his wealth and good fortune—Alice couldn’t help but wonder if he was a better man. Time would tell, of course, but she expected the earl to take a mistress, or develop a sudden gambling habit, or say something to earn him the wrath of others in Parliament.
She didn’t know quite why she expected such an uncharacteristic event. Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, had done nothing in his past to suggest he might do something stupid now that he was married. And yet...
Alice blinked. Perhaps her unease with the new
order at Worthington House had nothing at all to do with the earl, but rather his servants. He had brought a few with him upon his move into the townhouse, including the rather handsome man who sat across from her. There was also a young footman who seemed competent, even if he was almost mute. The poor man never said a word during the servants’ dinner, so intent on eating he was. Despite his height—he was nearly six feet tall!—he could certainly bow better than most. Otherwise, he was barely noticeable among the staff. Then there was a kitchen maid. She had replaced the young girl who had succumbed to the ague the year before and had a rather pleasant demeanor despite her rank among the servants.
“Did you sleep well?”
Alice blinked, the question pulling her out of her reverie. She regarded Banks for a moment before realizing he had been the one to ask the simple question. No one had ever asked if she had slept well.
“I did. The bed was very comfortable,” she replied with a nod. After a moment, she realized she really should keep up her end of the conversation. “And you? Did you sleep well?”
Banks angled his head to one side and then the other. “I found the accommodations more than adequate for a coaching inn so far from the city. I do believe they would have served an excellent luncheon had we been allowed to stay a bit later.”
Nodding her agreement, Alice brightened. “Oh, yes. Last night’s dinner was most unexpected. Why, they must have had a prolific garden this past summer, despite the rain and cold,” she offered in reply. Before she had even finished the comment, Alice realized it was the first time in months she had spoken at such length without putting voice to a complaint.
There was another reason the inn had served them so well, though. The George would not be accepting any more guests until after the holiday, so they had probably cleaned out their stores in preparation for closing.
“Indeed. Those were my thoughts exactly,” Banks said with a nod. He took a breath as if he was about to say something more and then thought better of it.
Alice noticed.
“And?” she prompted, allowing a teasing grin to appear. It felt so good to grin again!
“Do you think your husband would share your good opinion of The George?”
Blinking in alarm, Alice shook her head. Why ever would the valet think she was married? And then she remembered how he had addressed her. Mrs. Simpkins. Most just called her ‘Simpkins’. Few in the household even knew her forename. “Oh, I don’t have a husband, Mr. Banks.”
The comment seemed to surprise the valet until he suddenly angled his head again. “I apologize. I didn’t realize you were a widow.”
Alice shook her head, realizing why Banks was confused. “I’ve actually never been married,” she explained quietly.
His brows furrowing into a frown, Banks seemed to think on this bit of information for a moment. “Then why is it that some of the servants refer to you as ‘Mrs. Simpkins’?” he countered, emphasizing the ‘Mrs.’ as he did so. It was true that housekeepers were always addressed as ‘Mrs.’—even if they weren’t married. But lady’s maids?
He had little in the way of experience with the creatures whilst in service—he had been valet to a bachelor for so many years.
Managing to lift one shoulder in a shrug, Alice allowed an audible sigh. “Some servants simply think I have a husband, or that I am a widow, and I’ve never let them know otherwise,” she replied, realizing just then how lame her excuse sounded.
She never left the house in the late evenings as a few other servants did. Those who were married to servants from other households tended to pay conjugal visits to their spouses on occasion.
“But you’re being courted by someone, certainly,” Banks stated, as if Alice would be a catch for any man.
Alice blinked again, stunned by the man’s assumption. “Why, not at all,” she replied with a shake of her head. Never, in fact, but she decided not to put voice to that particular thought.
The comment seemed to bother the valet. His eyes suddenly widened. “You minx. You have a secret lover,” he accused in a hoarse whisper, his body leaning forward as a teasing smile displayed his perfect white teeth.
Alice gave a thought to fainting just then. No one had ever accused her of being a minx. Not even the footman who had flirted with her back when Samuel Worthington still ruled Worthington House. The first floor footman who had since taken a shine to the second floor maid and was seeing to her carnal happiness at least two times a week on the third floor.
Probably because I never flirted in return, Alice realized just then. Faith! Had she missed out on an opportunity for love—or at least a bit of affection—because she hadn’t returned the man’s attentions?
“Actually, I truly do not have a lover,” Alice finally replied. “Although I suppose I would be amenable to such an arrangement should one present itself.”
The words were out of her mouth before she realized just how scandalous they sounded.
What is wrong with me?
Or what was it about Banks that had her...?
Flirting!
There could be no other word to describe what she was doing with the earl’s valet.
“Indeed?” Banks whispered, apparently as shocked as she was by her words. “Should the opportunity present itself from someone such as... me,” he replied in a quiet voice. “Do you suppose you would be... amenable?”
Alice inhaled sharply, stunned by how his words had her insides taking a tumble at the thought of a tumble.
It had been a year since her last encounter with a randy under butler. Both tipsy from having imbibed too much wine during the Christmas dinner, they had fallen into his bed and made love several times during a night of revels and revelation. The night she had decided she couldn’t abide a marriage to an overbearing under butler. His proposal the following morning, although probably heartfelt, had been met with a polite, “Thank you, but not if you were the last man on the planet,” kind of response.
She might have ended up with his pension, though. The man died the following spring whilst in the kitchen maid’s bed.
Probably died of the same ague that took the kitchen maid, she realized just then.
“I haven’t entertained a man in my bed for some time, Mr. Banks,” she stated boldly, rather shocked she could put voice to the claim. Suddenly embarrassed, she sighed and whispered, “I’m left wondering if I would remember how.”
The valet’s eyes narrowed just then, the pupils dilating so their black seemed to swallow up the blue of the irises. “I’m quite sure I could... remind you,” he whispered.
Her breasts suddenly swelling at the thought of Mr. Banks bedding her, Alice inhaled sharply. She might have scolded him. Probably should have scolded him. But a scold would only sound like a complaint, and she was quite finished complaining about everything in her life. “I’m fairly sure you could,” she agreed with a slight nod. She dared a glance about the coach, just then aware they had suddenly come to a stop.
They couldn’t have already arrived at their next stop.
Could they?
Why, it seemed as if they had left the coaching inn only moments ago.
The traveling coach jerked a bit to one side as the driver stepped down. Alice glanced in the direction of the door, aware it would open at any moment. She also kept a bit of attention on Banks, waiting for his reaction to her comment. Although he continued to regard her with his dark eyes even after the coach stopped, he suddenly turned his attention to the door, his countenance once again that of an earl’s valet.
A swirl of snow and a blast of cold air preceded the appearance of Mr. Haversham. His dark woolen scarf, wrapped tightly about his neck, was encased in icicles and tiny balls of snow. “We have to turn around,” he said before cupping his leather-clad hands in front of his face and blowing into them. A cloud of white billowed around his head. “The snowdrifts are too deep, and this coach is too heavy for the horses.”
A bit of panic set in as Alice considered the driver’s wor
ds. What about her mistress? Had the Torrington coach been forced to turn around, too? Or were they able to make it though the deepening snow? “What of the other coach?” she wondered.
Haversham shook his head. “I can see their tracks up ahead. Been trying to use them, in fact. They had quite a head start on us, though, and they aren’t so heavy, so I have to believe they can make it to Torrington Park ’afore nightfall.”
Banks gave the driver a nod. “The trunks weigh us down,” he agreed, his impassive expression not giving away his thoughts on being left behind by his master. “By all means, return us to Darlington. The George was to close for the holiday, but I made alternative arrangements at The Black Swan. Take us there, and I shall see to rooms for us until we can try again.”
The driver nodded. “May take me a few minutes to get the team turned around. There’s a bit of a clearing here I can use. I think it’s the road to Bishop Auckland, but damn if I can make out the signs. They’re all covered with snow.”
A bit surprised at the thought the driver could read, Banks realized Haversham could probably at least make out the names of towns on the directional signs posted at intersections such as this one. “Do you require assistance?” Banks asked, leaning forward as if he intended to get out of the coach.
“Shouldn’t, as long as the horses don’t protest too much. You sit tight and keep warm,” Haversham replied. He closed the coach door, another flurry of snow entering the coach in his wake.
“Oh, dear,” Alice murmured, her first thought as to how her mistress would manage without her services.
Without her clothes.
Well, at least one of her trunks was on her coach, although it was the one containing her carriage gowns and coats. Her shoes, dinner, and day gowns were on the trunks loaded on this coach!
The Christmas of a Countess (The Holidays of the Aristocracy Book 1) Page 6
