Well aware their brief moment of flirtation was over, Banks took the opportunity to console Alice. “Lady Torrington will be fine. The earl is quite experienced in...” He paused, realizing he was about to say something that would leave her with a poor opinion of his master. No need for her to know that Lord Torrington enjoyed undressing his wife. “In conditions such as these. Her ladyship has nothing to fear.”
Alice nodded, wondering what he might have been about to say. Something different about the earl, no doubt. Probably something he thought unfit for her ears. Well, if he was about to say something of Torrington’s penchant for undressing his wife, then she already knew about that. There had been far too many nights of her being dismissed before she had finished helping her ladyship into a night rail, if indeed she had even finished helping her out of her dinner gown.
“Thank you. I had forgotten he has been a frequent visitor to this part of England,” she managed, a chill suddenly evident in how her body shivered. The coals were nearly ash, their glow having dimmed to a deep red, although two lumps remained in the foot warmer.
The two lumps that were to have kept them warm until they reached Torrington Park.
The valet’s hand landed on her knee, as if to steady her. Although she wore several layers of clothing, Alice felt as if his bare hand had touch her bare knee. The thought had another shiver passing through her, although it wasn’t a shiver of cold. Indeed, she felt a bit warm just then. Almost too warm.
“Might I join you on that side again?” Banks asked. “I can’t help but think it would help the weight distribution to have us both on that seat.” Not to mention sharing the warmth. He wondered how Haversham and the groom were managing the cold and figured they probably had a bottle of spirits tucked into their coats.
Remembering the first day of travel, right after they had taken their leave of the Highgate coaching inn, Alice allowed a nod and was quick to slide over to one side. “Of course, Mr. Banks.”
Rather surprised at how accommodating the maid was behaving—they had ridden together on the same side the afternoon of their first day of travel despite her apparent discomfort in such close quarters—Banks quickly reseated himself on the bench and settled into the squabs. The part of the bench on which she had been sitting was noticeably warmer than the part nearest the wall of the coach. “It’s kind of you to have warmed the seat for me,” he said in a hoarse whisper. He swallowed, realizing just then that he was actually thinking about kissing the maid.
Alice shivered again, the sound of his whisper made more intimate in the cramped coach. “It was my pleasure,” she whispered in reply. Her breath caught when she realized how her words must have sounded to the man. Why, Mr. Banks must have thought her fast! And yet, he looked as if he was the one who was going to kiss her!
Would she allow such a bold move? They were in a traveling coach, unseen by anyone. Who would know if she allowed it? If she returned the kiss?
The thought had her holding her breath, hoping he would make the move.
The coach suddenly lurched forward and then turned sharply to one side, which had her gripping the front of the bench closest to the wall. Her other hand couldn’t take purchase on the other side of her thighs given the position of Mr. Banks’ thighs, though, and she was nearly dislodged from her seat.
One of the valet’s arms was around her waist in an instant, pulling her hard against the side of his body. “Are you hurt, my lady?” he asked as he looked over to be sure she was still seated.
Alice inhaled sharply, quite sure she was about to end up atop the foot warmer. She turned her head to regard the valet, not about to chide him for holding her so. Not when his arm provided so much warmth. Not when she inhaled the pleasant scent of Bay Rum and wool. Not when just a moment before she was thinking of kissing the man. “I am quite fine, thanks to you,” she murmured. She might have continued to gaze at Banks, but the coach rocked again and then moved backward a bit before coming to a sudden halt.
Banks glanced out the window nearest him. “Although, Mr. Haversham has managed to get the team turning, it seems at least one of the horses is giving him some trouble.”
Following his line of sight, Alice understood the valet’s meaning. The lead horse on the left stomped in protest, his head tossing. A whinny accompanied another series of head tosses before Banks inhaled sharply. “I beg your pardon,” he said as he let go his hold on her and suddenly left the coach.
The blast of cold air and loss of the valet’s warmth had Alice wrapping her redingote more tightly around her body. She watched through clouds of white breath as Banks joined the driver and groom in helping to calm the lead horses. The other two horses had grown restless as well, their heads nodding about, their nostrils flaring at their lack of movement.
Within moments of his departure from the coach, Banks seemed to have the lead horse settled, one gloved hand stroking the horse’s neck as he spoke softly. Meanwhile, Higgins, the groom, had hold of the other. Haversham repositioned himself and then led the team forward and at an angle while the groom returned to his seat to take the reins. The coach swayed, but Alice was ready, her gloved hands clinging to the bench and to the strap above the door. In only a few minutes, the team was turned and ready to head south. She heard a few shouts—and was that laughter?—before the coached pitched a bit as the driver climbed up to his seat. Banks opened the coach door and poked his head in. “I fear I am covered in snow. I dare not...”
“Oh, do come in from the cold, Mr. Banks. I’ve a linen in my bag. We’ll have you free of your snow coat in only a moment,” Alice insisted, rather startled at just how covered in snow the man was given the short amount of time he was outside.
Her words coming as a surprise to the valet, he removed his top hat and tapped it against the outside of the coach. A flurry of snow from the thin brim quickly dissipated. “Well, if you insist, my lady.” He made his way back into the coach, but took the seat opposite after giving his cape coat a quick swipe with a gloved hand.
Meanwhile, Alice fished the linen from her bag and began brushing off his cape coat, the flakes of snow sizzling as they hit hot coals in the foot warmer. “I didn’t realize it was snowing so much,” she remarked, daring a glance out the window to her right.
“Oh, it’s not,” Banks replied with a shake of his head. Snow from his short hair scattered about the interior, quickly melting into tiny puddles. “However, Mr. Haversham is a dead shot with a snowball,” he added, a grin splitting his face.
Alice inhaled, shocked the driver would have indulged in play at a time like this. “The cur!”
“Oh, I returned the favor, I assure you,” Banks replied quickly, his grin turning into a mischievous smile.
A jolt of something quite pleasant had Alice inhaling sharply. She had always thought Alonyius Banks a rather handsome man, but when he smiled, as he was doing this very instant, he was quite possibly the most handsome man in all of England.
But what did she know of all the men in England? She had lived in London her entire life and had only visited a few of the larger towns, like Bath and Brighton, when her mistress traveled on holidays. Still, she couldn’t imagine there existed another man whose sky blue eyes lit up with such mirth, whose delight was so well displayed in the lines that radiated from the corners of his eyes and from around his mouth. A slight dimple even appeared in one cheek.
And if she didn’t stop staring at him and close her mouth immediately, she was quite sure he would think her a candidate for Bedlam.
Resuming the task of brushing the snow from his coat, she pretended to look for more snow when he gave her a nod. “Much obliged. I should have known you would come prepared.” He pulled the gloves from his hands and reached for the poker. “But I fear we’ll both be inconvenienced by that bit of fun.”
Why he had felt compelled to engage in a snowball fight with the driver, Banks had no idea. It had been years since he had last thrown a snowball. That had been in Darlington during one of the rar
e years in which there was enough snow to make snowballs. He and his brother, Thelonius, had played until they were both soaking wet, their mother admonishing them for their behavior before seeing to it they were both served a steaming cup of chocolate and wrapped in wool blankets.
Blankets that had been made at the family’s textile mill.
The memory struck him so suddenly, he gave a start and then wondered how long he had been daydreaming. He dared a glance at Alice, noticing how her attention seemed directed to the wet linen as she folded it once and then seemed at a loss as to what to do with it. If he wasn’t careful, Simpkins would think him a candidate for Bedlam.
“Allow me,” he said as he reached for the linen and then draped it over the bench next to him. He opened the foot warmer and stirred the coals, a few of the lumps glowing bright red for a moment. The coach began to move, its pace increasing until they were once again moving at a decent clip. “I seemed to have let all the warm air out of the coach.”
About to deny his claim—Alice felt far warmer than she had all morning—she merely shook her head. “It’s already as warm in here as it was before you took your leave,” she murmured.
His manner more sober, Banks regarded Alice for a moment. “Remind me again of how long you have you been in service to Lady Torrington.”
Blinking at the statement—for a moment he had seemed lost in thought, although he still displayed an expression that suggested his thoughts were at least pleasant—Alice allowed a shrug. “Nineteen... nearly twenty years, I suppose. And you?”
Banks frowned before allowing a ‘humph’. “One-and-twenty years,” he replied. “I served as a valet for his lordship’s father for two years before that.”
Alice considered this bit of information for a moment. “Do you... enjoy working in service?”
Inhaling slowly, Banks gave the question a good deal of thought before finally allowing a shrug. “‘Enjoy’ may not be the appropriate word. I am honored to serve an earl. I am thankful my master is a man of means and not the least bit proud. He is fair and obliging should I require time off. So, let us say I am glad of the employment.” He paused a moment before angling his head to one side. “Your question compels me to ask it of you. Do you enjoy working in service?” He had already decided she would be lying if she claimed she did. Everyone who worked at Worthington House had heard her complaining about one thing or another. No one who put voice to complaints as she did could possibly be enjoying their time in service.
Alice sighed. She should have expected the question, although it was still a surprise to hear it asked out loud. “I used to. Very much,” she replied with a nod.
Banks furrowed his brows. “But now...?”
“I do not,” she admitted, her eyes brightening with tears. She seemed to have trouble catching her breath before she settled herself. “I don’t know why, though,” she whispered, staring at one of the glowing embers in the foot warmer. “The smallest annoyances seem far larger than they should. I find I am impatient when I used to be a paragon of patience. Lady Torrington is a very good mistress. She is never cross with me. I don’t... I don’t understand why I find reasons to complain when there are none.” She raised her eyes to find Banks regarding her with a look suggesting he was truly concerned.
And suddenly convinced his master had guessed right. Alice Simpkins needed a man in her life. A good lay, he remembered Lord Torrington saying that morning when they discussed this trip. Back when he believed the maid to be married based on how the woman was addressed during the servants’ evening meal.
The two weren’t exactly the same thing, but he supposed the earl had the gist of it.
“Perhaps you are simply in need of a diversion,” Banks finally replied. “An evening out at Vauxhall Gardens or the theatre,” he suggested. He wasn’t about to suggest the earl’s suggestion. Why, the poor woman would probably be so offended, she would take her leave of the traveling coach and freeze to death in an effort to get as far away from him as possible.
Or would she?
He was about to suggest she take a lover when Alice suddenly brightened. “I haven’t been to the theatre in an age! And I do so love to visit the museum. To see the marbles.”
Banks blinked, stunned by how beautiful she appeared when she smiled. Her green eyes—how long had it taken him to determine their color?—were suddenly filled with mischief, the crinkles on either side of their corners a testament to her maturity. Color suffused her cheeks while a dimple dented the left one, youthening her oval face.
How had he not noticed before?
“Perhaps I can escort you on your next day off,” he suggested. “I’ve been just the one time, but I never tire of looking at beautiful things.”
Alice managed to stifle the urge to inhale sharply at his words. At how he had said them. As if he found her beautiful. “I would like that very much, Mr. Banks.”
The valet nodded and dared a glance out the window. The trip to The Black Swan wouldn’t take quite as long as their attempt to leave The George.
Lost in thought for some time—he was thinking of the exhibits at the museum in between thoughts of the lady’s maid’s radiant face—he was about to suggest they get some rest when he realized Simpkins had already dozed off. A slight grin had her looking almost angelic as her head rested in the squabs. Deciding he, too, would get some sleep, Banks closed his eyes and imagined what he might do to the woman should she ever agree to warm his bed.
Chapter 8
A Man’s Hunting Lodge is His Castle
December 21, 1816, rather late in the afternoon
“I thought you said Torrington Park looked like a castle,” Adele murmured as the top of a building came into view. The slate tiles making up the roof didn’t give it the appearance of a crenelated castle. And as the coach climbed the slight incline a bit more and the building beneath the roof was revealed, it was even more evident it wasn’t a castle.
“Och, that’s not Torrington Park,” Milton replied with a shake of his head. “That’s the stables and carriage house.” He leaned over to the other curtained window and glanced out, wincing when he realized it had started snowing again. He rather hoped the weather would improve as they made their way north, and although there was less of it, snow blanketed the area around this end of Hadrian’s Wall. He raised a finger and pointed in the opposite direction. “That’s Torrington Park.”
Adele slid over to the other side of the coach and peered out the window, her eyes widening as she did so. “It’s a castle,” she murmured in awe.
“A money pit, is more like it,” her husband replied with a sigh. “My six-times-over great-grandfather was sure there was treasure buried there, but by the time he’d employed every able-bodied man in Northumbria to dig for it, he had spent a fortune and had a huge hole to show for it.”
“I take it that’s how the moat came to be?” Adele guessed.
“Indeed. But it’s been a hunting lodge to the earls since the fifteen-hundreds. Notice the lack of crenelations.”
Furrowing her brows, she studied the tops of the turrets and the walls. The rectangular cut-outs that would have allowed archers to defend the structure were missing. “Why isn’t it crenelated?”
Milton shrugged at first, but then allowed a sigh before he whispered, “The Torrington who built it never got permission from the Crown. Can’t build a crenelated castle unless you have the king’s permission,” he reminded her.
The countess was about to ask if the Torringtons had been part of the uprising against Queen Elizabeth I—she was fairly sure the lodge had been built before that time—but realized the question might be a sore point. Instead she turned her attention back to her husband and angled her head. “So who is the mistress of such an interesting example of a hunting lodge?” She glanced back toward the structure and silently counted the number of turrets and wondered if the moat was wet or dry.
Milton grinned. “Why, you are, of course,” he replied. At her look of surprise, he gav
e a shrug. “My cousin might stay there on occasion, but his wife doesn’t want anything to do with the place. And Mum’s been gone...” He paused, realizing his mother had been dead for ten years.
Where did the time go?
“I’ll do my best to make you proud,” Adele murmured as she leaned over to take one of his hands in hers. “But if there are animal heads mounted on every wall inside, I may have to ask you to find a different mistress for it,” she teased.
Swallowing hard, Milton figured it probably wasn’t the best time to admit that, indeed, there were a number of animal heads. It was a hunting lodge, after all. But at least the trophies were only found on the walls of the great hall.
His mother had seen to that bit of redecorating. Now that he had just learned exactly how Adele felt about animal heads, he wondered if she would be seeing to another round of changes at the lodge.
“I’ll introduce you to the servants, and then we can get settled in our rooms up on the first floor,” he said as the coach turned onto the cobblestone drive that led to the gate. There was no arched opening nor the courtyard typical of most castles. Just a set of double doors with the barest hint of a portico to prevent snow from collecting in front of them.
On either side of the drive, the ground sloped away into a dry moat, but a thin strip of land remained around the base of the castle on which a number of evergreen trees were planted at even intervals. Adele wondered if flowers encircled the estate and was about to ask when Milton said, “In the spring, the yellow tulips bloom all the way around the base. There’s a few red ones, too, so from far away, it looks like the lodge is sitting in a ring of fire.”
Adele’s eyes widened at the image his words created. “What about in the summer?”
Milton’s face took on an expression of disgust. “My mother planted rhododendrons. Pink ones. All the way around the other three walls, too.”
The Christmas of a Countess (The Holidays of the Aristocracy Book 1) Page 7
