Page 3 of The Ivy of an Earl (The Holidays of the Aristocracy #5)
CHAPTER 3
A DRIVER RETURNS
M eanwhile, in the stable
Despite the snow and cold, Tom Walker had the traveling coach pulled up next to the stable and carriage house only moments after Perkins had unloaded Lady Ritchfield’s trunk. The footman came out of the back door of the house to retrieve another trunk, this one from the interior of the coach.
The trunk containing what Tom knew to be oranges.
“Careful with that one,” he warned. “Your Christmas present is in there.”
Perkins’ face lit up. “Oranges,” he said with excitement. He hefted the trunk by the handles and disappeared into the house.
The other trunks atop the traveling coach held the rest of what the countess had brought for the household—mostly foodstuffs including a side of beef and a huge ham.
Bobby Ashton, the groom who saw to the two horses kept in residence at Ritchfield Park for the servants’ use, hurried out to join Tom in unhitching the four Cleveland Bays. “How are you not frozen to death?” he called out, his own fingers numb from the cold. He had been hauling hay down from the rafters and feeding the horses when the coach appeared as if from a cloud as visibility worsened.
“Who says I am not?” Tom replied. He cursed softly under his breath as he undid the leather leads and led the first horse into the stable. Given his age—he was nearly fifty—it had been irresponsible of him to have pressed on in the bad weather. He couldn’t imagine spending another night in a coaching inn, though. Not when they were so close to Ritchfield Park.
So close to Anne.
Perkins exited the house again, and Bobby helped him remove one of the trunks from atop the coach before he resumed helping with the horses.
The smell of pine assaulted Tom’s nostrils as he entered the stable, and a quick glance into the first stall had him realizing why—it was filled with pine boughs.
Apparently the servants had already seen to acquiring the necessary greenery for decorating the house on Christmas Eve. Along the front wall of the stable lay a huge log, its branches trimmed away.
“The Yule log,” he said in surprise.
“Indeed. Perkins cut it last summer so it would be ready,” Bobby replied as he led the second horse into the next available stall. “Oh, and Clara has coffee in the kitchens,” he added, referring to the cook. “And there’s an empty bedchamber for you up in the servants’ quarters, so you won’t have to share.”
“Where are you going to sleep?” Tom teased, heading back out to get the next horse.
Bobby chuckled. “With Christina, of course.”
Tom halted in his tracks, looking back in surprise. “The housemaid? ”
Nodding, Bobby displayed a huge grin. “She married me. Last spring,” he said proudly.
The driver resumed his work to unhitch another horse. “Congratulations,” he said as he experienced a pang of jealousy.
“Graves let us have the larger quarters upstairs, which is why there’s a room for you,” the groom explained.
Tom hoped he wouldn’t be spending the night in the servant’s quarters Bobby mentioned. He would leave his small trunk in there, of course, but he hoped he might be welcome in a certain housemaid’s bed. “Any new servants on staff since last year?” he asked.
Leading the last horse into a stall, Bobby shook his head. “Nah. But Perkins almost quit—he and Graves don’t always see eye-to-eye—but they kissed and made up.”
Smirking at the groom’s comment, Tom thought to scold the boy. Had he worked in the city, his words would have been misconstrued, and the servants might have suffered censure or worse. Out in the country, they were merely a tease. “Any gossip I should know about?”
Bobby used a pitchfork to load hay into the horse stalls while Tom saw to refilling the grain buckets. “The scullery maid married the parson’s son, but she still comes to help Clara.”
“All that way?”
“It’s not far. Her man, Mr. Godfrey, has a farm just down the road.”
The two finished seeing to the horses and moved to the carriage house, Bobby pulling one of the doors open as Tom saw to the other. With only an old phaeton, a gig, and the dog cart used by the servants, there was plenty of room for the countess’ traveling coach. They struggled to remove the last trunk from atop it before moving it into the remaining space, the physical labor warming Tom enough so his hands and fingers regained their feeling. He winced at experiencing the familiar pins-and-needles sensation, though.
Removing his small trunk from the top of the coach, he hefted it onto his shoulder. “Grab my valise, will you?” he said, pointing to the leather bag he had left on the driver’s seat.
Bobby did his bidding as Perkins saw to the last trunk. “Did you bring much from London?” he asked, hope in his voice.
Tom guffawed as they made their way to the back door of the country house. “Plenty. I was with her ladyship when she went shopping. She is a most generous woman.”
“Well, that’s good to hear,” Bobby said, opening the door. He allowed Tom to step through before following him in. “’Cuz his lordship didn’t seem to bring anything with him but his clothes.”
This last was said with a hint of disgust, and Tom caught the tone. “Careful, boy. You don’t know what was in his trunks,” he warned.
Although he had worked for the earl for nearly twenty years before remaining in London to drive the countess for the past decade, Tom had paid witness to the earl and countess’ life, first as a young couple in love, then as parents of four children, and now as older people who no longer spent much time in each other’s company.
Having been married to one of the cooks at the townhouse in London and then widowed years ago, Tom knew the joy and heartbreak of marriage. He had mourned the loss of Mariel for several years and never thought to remarry, but when Lady Ritchfield had last traveled to the country estate for Christmas, he had become acquainted with Anne Salisbury.
The day after the Twelfth Night celebration when he had finished loading her ladyship’s trunks onto the back of the traveling coach and his own onto the top, Anne had joined him outside.
With only a shawl wrapped about her shoulders against the winter chill, she had asked if she might write to him.
The simple query had him flustered at first. No one outside of his immediate family ever wrote letters to him, and those were few and far between.
He agreed, of course, and before he quite knew what was happening, Anne had stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the corner of his mouth.
He remembered blinking. Remembered her look of uncertainty. Remembered smiling. And finally he remembered gathering her into his arms and kissing her on the lips.
Although it had been hard to part from her after that, he didn’t remember anything but that kiss for the entire trip back to London, his thoughts only on her. In the intervening year, he continued to think of her nearly every day, and more often on the days when the post would bring him a letter from her. He did his best in responding, his ability to write hampered by his limited writing skills.
The notes were short, a single page, and sometimes tucked into the missives from Graves directed to Lady Ritchfield. Anne’s letters, chaste until the last sentence, where she would mention how much she looked forward to his return to Ritchfield Park, detailed life at the country estate and her thoughts of what she might do next in life.
At no point in any of her letters had Anne mentioned Bobby marrying Christina. Which is why, before they stepped into the kitchen, Tom said, “Does Miss Salisbury know you’re married?”
Bobby glanced up at him with a look of confusion. “I should hope so. She was one of the witnesses at our wedding.”
Tom furrowed a brow. “Huh,” he responded before turning his attention to Clara. He gave her a tentative grin, afraid she might scold him for the puddles he feared were being formed around his boots. “Miss Clara, it’s good to see you again. I hear you have coffee.”
The rosy-cheeked woman grinned and held out a mug in his direction. “I do indeed, Mr. Walker. I’ve also got some cheese and bread for you, since you’re probably starvin’ from the cold,” she said, hurrying from the stove. “Why, you look positively frozen.”
Tom thanked her and set his trunk on the nearby table before taking the proffered drink. Holding the cup between his hands to warm them, he motioned to where Perkins had left the two trunks he had brought in. “Her ladyship went shopping for you,” he said.
“Aye, and I’ll be unpacking them both shortly, young man, but first you’re going to tell me all the gossip from London.” She patted a chair at the table and took the one adjacent to it.
Snorting at hearing Clara refer to Tom as a young man, Bobby gave him a grin and said, “I’ll take your trunk upstairs, old man.”
Directing a beseeching look at the groom, Tom realized it would be some time before he could reunite with Anne.