Coal might have made his earldom rich, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.
Settling into the worn leather chair at his mahogany desk, Richard helped himself to a finger’s worth of brandy from thecrystal decanter behind his desk. His thoughts once again went to his wife as he took the first sip.
Why had she come to Ritchfield Park? She had to have left London on one of the worst days of winter and spent at least three nights at coaching inns along the way. He had a thought most were closed this time of year, although the mail coaches probably kept a few in business.
Then there was always the risk of running into a highwayman, of being robbed at gunpoint. They probably weren’t so much of a problem in the winter, he thought, the reduced traffic on the roads along with the snow, cold, and wind all factors to discourage a would-be thief.
So why had Ivy made the trek in the first place? Why put her driver at risk of frostbite or worse? Risk the horses and her traveling coach?
She obviously hadn’t guessed he would be in residence. Not that she would mind, he supposed. They always managed a rather civil union when they were both in residence in London. They were cordial over dinner and at entertainments when invitations forced them to attend together. They never raised their voices with one another. Never argued or fought.
They just... were.
He glanced over at the stack of papers and ledgers he had brought with him from Gladstone Hall. Most were invoices—expenses for the two coal mines, household bills from both Gladstone and Ritchfield Park, and one from his tailor. Thumbing through them, he paused and wondered at the lack of invoices from a modiste or frippery shop in London.
Opening a ledger covered in worn leather, he paged through the past year’s entries in search of anything Ivy might have purchased and discovered that other than her monthly allowance, there wasn’t a single expense he could attribute to her.
Was she actually using her pin money to pay the modiste?To pay for hats and gloves and shoes? From where had she procured the beautiful redingote she had been wearing upon her arrival? The hat, both ridiculous as well as stunning given how well it matched her traveling clothes?
Robert was about to call for Graves to request she come to the study before he caught himself.
She hadn’t sent word ahead she would be at Ritchfield Park—at least, if she had, Graves hadn’t said anything about it. Surely the butler would have mentioned her imminent arrival had he known.
Did she usually come to the country estate for Christmas?
He shook his head, deciding he would discover the answer over dinner that evening.
After seeing to writing a number of cheques for the invoices, updating the ledgers for each property and the coal mines, and preparing the payments for the post, he leaned back and finished off his brandy.
His thoughts once again turned to Ivy. Curiosity finally getting the better of him, Robert moved to the door and called for Graves.
The butler appeared a moment later. “My lord?”
Robert motioned for him to come into the study and then shut the door, noting how the butler’s eyes widened with alarm.
Did the servant think he was about to be sacked?
Robert kept his voice low when he asked, “Did you know her ladyship would be in residence this week?”
Graves shook his head. “I did not, my lord. She has come here for Christmas in the past, though. Many times. But if she sent word ahead she would be here this year, it did not arrive before the snow. We’ve not received the post in two days.”
Furrowing a graying brow, Robert considered this bit of information for a moment before he asked, “Will it be a problem? For the cook, I mean?” He allowed his concern toshow. “I apologize for not having given it a thought before, but is there enough in the pantry to feed us and all the servants for... say a fortnight? Enough wood for the extra fires?”
Apparently relieved by the line of questioning, Graves relaxed and said, “Oh, yes, my lord. Her ladyship brought provisions from London. Several crates from Fortnum and Mason along with gifts for the household staff.”
“She did?” Robert couldn’t help the tone of incredulity that sounded in his voice.
“Oh, yes, my lord. She was concerned the winter weather might have prevented cook from securing what she needed for this week’s dinners and for the Twelfth Night festivities.”
For a moment, Robert felt a stab of guilt over not having given his last-minute visit a thought as to how it would affect the staff at Ritchfield Park. “And the gifts?” He hadn’t thought about those, either.
“The footman brought a ham, a side of beef, and a variety of vegetables we don’t usually find here,” Graves explained. “There are a number of other gifts, too, but they’re to be placed in pasteboard boxes, my lord.”
Robert glanced back at the desk. He couldn’t recall any invoices from the high-end London grocer nor from any butchers. “And yet I rather doubt I’ll be receiving an invoice for any of it,” he murmured absently.
“My lord?”
“Nothing,” Robert said, giving his head a shake. “Actually, what might be put inside those pasteboard boxes?” he asked in a quiet voice.
