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

by Linda Rae Sande

  When he was about to move closer, she held out a staying hand. “How much did he pay you to say that?” she hissed.

  Recoiling as if he’d been punched in the gut, Alonyius shook his head. “What... what are you talking about?”

  Alice rolled her eyes. “You needn’t deny it, Mr. Banks. I know everything. Now take your leave, or I shall... I shall scream,” she warned, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.

  Shaking his head, Banks continued to regard her with a look of confusion. “Alice. What has happened? I beg you, tell me how it is I have fallen out of your good graces...” And in such short order. He had last seen her only six hours earlier! And every inch of her six hours before that!

  One of her arms lifted and she pointed to the door. “I relieve you of your... obligation, Mr. Banks. I do hope you profited greatly from your... sacrifice,” she whispered, the clipped words indicating her annoyance. And her hurt.

  Still not sure of her meaning—sacrifice?—Alonyius realized he had better take his leave. Should she begin to scream, why, the entire household would learn of their affaire, and then he would be forced to ask for her hand in marriage.

  He was nearly to the door when he suddenly paused. Although he hadn’t considered proposing to Alice, it wasn’t out of the question.

  Was it?

  He found he rather enjoyed her company. He certainly enjoyed their time in bed together. Why, once he had determined how to coax her sensual side out of hiding, the woman was a wonderful lover. Generous, too. His cock nearly hardened at the thought of how she had climbed atop him, of how she had impaled herself on his tumescence and brought him to completion only that morning. After their quiet conversation the night before, he found it difficult to think of anything else.

  Anyone else.

  Who would have thought a man of his age would be so capable? Well, besides the earl, of course. Alonyius was well aware his master was a master when it came to the activities performed in a bedchamber.

  And some other locations.

  But after that first awkward night, Alice seemed to welcome his advances—even initiated this morning’s encounter when he thought it would be selfish to do so. The past two days had been so remarkable, he had hoped they could simply continue their liaison, perhaps agree to some sort of permanent relationship.

  Which had him wondering if she would ever find herself with child.

  Could she have children?

  The thought caused a twinge somewhere deep in his chest. Given his occupation, he had never thought to marry. To father children. Meanwhile, he watched as other servants took spouses, some not even in the same households. One of the maids in Worthington House was due to give birth next month, her husband a footman in a neighboring home. Another footman had just married a servant at Norwick House.

  He and Alice were of an age when children were probably out of the question, but a marriage would provide them with companionship. A bedmate. A friend for life.

  He straightened, his reverie interrupted when Alice suddenly stomped her foot.

  “Out!” she exclaimed, her hoarse whisper loud enough to be heard by anyone in the room.

  “I do not know why it is you think I have... profited from our time together, but I admit to feeling richer for it. I am very sorry that you do not.” With that, Alonyius took his leave of Alice’s quarters and made his way to the earl’s suite.

  Tears of anger and hurt once again streaming down her face, Alice fell into the nearest chair and stared at the closed door. How dare he show his face here? Did he think his ruse hadn’t been discovered? How long did he believe he could continue to bed her before she would learn of his arrangement with the earl?

  Well, he knew she wouldn’t be helping him line his pockets any longer. As for her demeanor, well, she would just have to feign happiness—nay, contentment—whenever she was in the company of her mistress. Or anyone else, for that matter. Let the servants wonder what had her displaying a new expression. A new attitude.

  Hunger had her attention turning to the tray the valet had brought with him. She leaned over and lifted the cover from a plate laden with beef and vegetables. Lifting the cover from another plate, she blinked at the sight of a bowl of soup, a curl of steam escaping from its surface. Swallowing a sob, she had half a mind to take the entire tray back to the kitchens without eating any of it. But to do so would be a waste, especially given how valuable vegetables had become given the poor harvest this year.

  Helping herself to the utensils—the man had apparently thought of everything but something to drink—Alice tucked into the meal. She finished every last bite before drying her tears and hurrying off to the mistress suite.

  Chapter 34

  Getting Dressed for Dinner and Ready for Redress

  At exactly fifteen minutes past seven o’clock, Adele allowed a sigh and dared a glance at her bedchamber door. Now that Simpkins had arrived at Torrington Park, she expected the lady’s maid to resume her duties—broken heart or not. Although Simpkins was still in the study when she had taken her leave, she was quite sure the maid wasn’t about to impale herself on one of the weapons on display. In fact, the woman seemed almost right as rain.

  As if on cue, a knock sounded through the thick wooden door.

  Giving a start, Adele glanced at the clock again and called out, “Come!”

  Simpkins entered and gave a quick curtsy. “Good evening, milady,” she said, sounding ever so happy as she hurried to the dressing room and pulled out the sapphire silk gown and a pair of silver slippers.

  Adele blinked, stunned at how different her maid appeared. She had changed into newly-pressed livery, and although it was still evident Simpkins had been crying earlier that day, her countenance suggested she had recovered from her broken heart.

  Completely.

  “I see you managed to get the wrinkles out,” Adele commented as she turned to face Simpkins so she could unbutton the riding habit.

  Alice stared at her mistress for a moment, thinking she had referred to her face just then. She gave a quick shake of her head when she realized the countess meant the dinner gown. “Just needed a hot iron, milady.” Torrington Park might have been a hunting lodge at one time, but now it boasted at least a few of the accoutrements of a household located in London.

  Angling her head to one side, Adele regarded her maid for a moment. “Did you have tea with the rest of the staff this evening?” she wondered. Despite having been at Torrington Park for several days, Adele still didn’t have a feel for how the servants got on in their positions. Mrs. Miller certainly seemed as if she was all business, but the countess wondered if the housekeeper had merely been putting on a show for her sake when she came across the woman yesterday morning.

  “I did not milady,” Simpkins replied as she held the silk gown open for Adele to step into. “A tray was brought up to my room, though, so I did have some supper.” She dared not admit just how much she ate, but it was far more than usual.

  Had Banks thought her a glutton when he prepared the tray? Or had someone else dished up the food?

  “That was rather kind of whomever delivered it,” Adele murmured as she turned to allow her maid to do up the fastenings at the back.

  Simpkins didn’t reply, just then remembering the look of hurt on Alonyius Banks’ face when she ordered him out of her room. Had he been acting? Earlier, her mistress had suggested that unless they were great actors of the stage, most men couldn’t act.

  Well, Banks certainly could.

  She had to wonder just how gullible he thought her to be. His parting words suddenly echoed in her ears. I do not know why it is you think I have profited from our time together, but I admit to feeling richer for it. Her fingers suddenly slowed their movements.

  “What is it? Is something wrong with the gown?” Adele wondered as she turned slightly.

  Simpkins blinked and resumed buttoning the gown. “Not at all, my lady,” she murmured. “Just had to remove an Irish pennant is all.” When
she had finished, she moved to put the diamonds onto Adele’s ears when the countess suddenly gave a huff and Simpkins turned around to find her mistress giving her a look of impatience. “What is it, my lady? Did you... did you wish to wear different earbobs this evening?”

  Adele regarded her lady’s maid for a moment before allowing a sigh. “Not at all,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Did something else happen? With Mr. Banks?”

  Her eyes widening—why would Lady Torrington ask such a question?—Simpkins finally gave a nod. “He... he was the one who delivered the tray to my quarters, milady.”

  Adele’s eyes widened, her first thought to say something rude about the valet. But then she thought better of it when she remembered he probably knew nothing about having been discovered. “I take it you didn’t throw it on the man.”

  Simpkins gasped. “No, milady,” she said with a shake of her head. “’Twould have been a waste of rather good food.”

  Resisting the urge to grin at her lady’s maid’s reaction, Adele leaned forward. “But you... spoke with him.”

  Allowing a sigh, Simpkins nodded. “I did. I told him to get out. And when he didn’t, I threatened to scream.”

  When the lady’s maid didn’t continue, Adele gave her an expectant look. “Then did you at least throw the tray at him? Without the food?”

  Simpkins blinked. “No, milady. When I accused him of profiting from our time together, he said something about being richer for having spent time in my company. And then he took his leave.” She leaned forward and attached the earbobs onto Adele’s ears. Stepping back, she gave them each a quick glance to ensure they were even.

  Frowning, Adele seemed deep in thought for a moment before she finally looked up to find the servant regarding her with a look of concern. “I never for a moment thought Lord Torrington capable of paying a servant to... to bed another,” the countess whispered. “But it seems he has done so.” She shook her head, obviously troubled. “I do hope that at least the valet provided you with a... a night to remember,” she struggled to get out.

  A blush rising to cover her entire throat and face, Simpkins merely nodded. She couldn’t help the memory of what that servant had done to her. Of how he had held her. Of how he had kissed her. Of how his caresses had set off shivers of delight beneath her skin. Of how he had pleasured her until she could take no more, and then had finally allowed his own.

  Of his assurances that her breasts were a perfect size...

  “Milady, might I ask if you’ve ever heard a man say, ‘more than a mouthful is waste’? With regard to... a woman’s bosom, I mean?” Simpkins struggled to ask, her face still rather red.

  A slow smile spread over Adele’s own face before she leaned toward her maid and said, “I’ve heard the expression, of course, but had any man ever said it to me, they would have found themselves tossed out of my bedchamber on their ear.” She arched an eyebrow at the end of her comment and thrust her chest out as if to reinforce her claim.

  Simpkins gave a nod, realizing just then that her well-endowed mistress had far more than a mouthful when it came to breasts. If a man believed what Alonyius Banks said, then he probably wouldn’t be attracted to such a well-endowed woman.

  Adele’s eyes suddenly widened. “Did Banks say that to you?”

  The blush continued to suffuse her face. “He did,” Simpkins whispered, her head nodding. “He even said it as if he meant it, but...”

  “Perhaps he did,” Adele said with a shrug, no longer wondering at the sudden sadness that had settled over her maid. She turned suddenly and angled her head. “Get some rest, Simpkins. I won’t need you again for the rest of the night.”

  A rather loud and unusual sound had both Adele and her lady’s maid jumping just then. “What was that?” Simpkins asked as she hurried to the door.

  “The dinner gong,” Adele said with a roll of her eyes as she rose from her chair and joined Simpkins at the door. “Torrington’s father brought back a mounted gong with him from a trip to the Orient,” she added as she took her leave of the mistress suite.

  And depending on his answers this evening, I might just have to hit Milton on the head with the mallet.

  Chapter 35

  A Countess Confronts Her Husband

  A few minutes later

  “Did you order your valet to bed my maid?”

  Milton blinked. He straightened and turned to regard his wife just as he was about to pull out a chair for her. This was their first formal dinner since arriving at Torrington Park.

  And the first dinner they would share at a table since settling their first spat.

  He blinked again.

  “Order is a rather... strong word,” he finally replied, his expression giving away his guilt better than his comment.

  She gave a rather loud sigh. “Milton! What were you thinking?” Adele’s question was asked in a hoarse whisper in the hopes it wouldn’t be overheard by the rather tall footman who probably hovered outside the dining room.

  The earl leaned forward and matched her whisper. “Did it work?”

  It was Adele’s turn to blink. She also rolled her eyes before she suddenly stepped away from the chair he had pulled out for her. She wasn’t about to have this conversation over the length of the dining room table.

  Stunned by her sudden departure from her end of the table and in his direction, Milton prepared himself as if he expected to be slapped.

  Or punched.

  Or both.

  Adele had done neither in the past, but he was quite sure she was capable of bodily harm just then. Why, her eyes blazed with anger far more than did the diamonds that decorated her ears and her throat. Good thing she isn’t carrying the mallet for the dinner gong, he thought as he watched her hands curl into fists.

  “But I thought Simpkins looked... happy,” he whispered as Adele approached him, her displeasure even more apparent up close.

  “She was until she overheard your conversation with Banks,” Adele said as her fisted hands went to her hips. “This afternoon,” she clarified, just in case he tried to claim he hadn’t had such a conversation with his valet.

  The move not only made her appear every bit the countess she was, it also put her décolletage on its very best display. Milton couldn’t help that his eyes darted in that direction. He had always had an appreciation for his wife’s rather generous charms—whoever said ‘more than a mouthful was a waste’ was obviously daft—and he couldn’t help the effect that such a sight had on his nether region. For a moment, he forgot what his wife had just said.

  “Don’t you dare!” Adele hissed as her hands covered her bosom.

  His attention back on her face, the earl realized he had better think of something quick. It had taken an entire day to get back in her good graces over what had been said the morning before, and he never wanted to spend a day like that ever again. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he finally admitted.

  Adele frowned, her hands dropping to her sides. “What made you think you had to do anything at all?”

  Milton allowed a sigh and dared a glance in the direction of the door before he answered. “You said Simpkins was complaining. That you wished to let her go. After what I said in the dining room at Worthington House last month—loud enough for the footman to hear—I couldn’t exactly let you fire her. So I thought perhaps her countenance might be improved... ”

  “Improved?” Adele repeated in disbelief.

  Giving a one-shouldered shrug, Milton nodded. “She merely required a good tumble, and I could think of no better... tumbler than my valet.”

  Well, he could, but he wasn’t about to offer himself to the lady’s maid.

  Adele blinked as she gave her head a quick shake. “You bounder!” she accused. She was about to inquire just how it was her husband knew his valet was a good tumbler, but thought better of it. This wasn’t about Banks.

  Well, not entirely, anyway.

  Milton nodded. “I used to be. Which is how I knew it would
work. And it seemed it did work until your maid eavesdropped on our conversation,” he added, as he just then realized what Adele had said earlier. He puffed out his chest just a bit. “So, she was happy with Banks’... attentions then?” he dared, hoping to assuage Adele just a bit. At least she didn’t look as if she might put him into an early grave.

  Or leave him with a blackened eye.

  Or a split lip.

  Or both.

  Allowing an audible sigh that seemed to rid her of her anger as well as most of her breath, Adele sank into the nearest chair at the table. “She was... in love with Mr. Banks, I think,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen her so radiant. Why, she hasn’t put voice to a single complaint since our arrival, even though she’s had to unload all my trunks and even do the laundry,” she explained in a quiet voice. Lifting her face to regard her husband with another sigh, she asked. “How much blunt did you offer him to do it?”

  Milton shook his head. “I didn’t,” he replied before he settled into the carver. He allowed a long sigh and shook his head. “My sweeting, it’s not like it is for a woman,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “The compensation is the tumble for a man, you see. The pleasure he gets out of it.”

  Adele gave him a quelling glance. “Was it... unpleasant for him do you suppose?” Knowing how Banks comported himself when at Worthington House—all business and never a hint of impropriety or even emotion, for that matter—Adele realized she wouldn’t know if the man was happy or sad or in pain or even sick.

  Frowning, Milton considered how Banks had responded to his gentle jibes. The valet had certainly seemed uncomfortable with his questions, and he hadn’t said an unkind word about Simpkins. Indeed, he had mostly seemed tongue-tied. “If it was unpleasant for the man, he certainly didn’t put voice to it,” he murmured, still deep in thought. “Not that he would, of course.” Banks was all about doing his duty. Always had been.