CHAPTER 19
BOXING DAY
The following day, Tuesday, December 26, 1815
By the time Robert and Ivy awoke the day after Christmas, Ritchfield Park was nearly abandoned.
Earlier that morning, with the sun bright and the snow melting outside, Anne and Clara packed the remaining oranges and leftover Christmas food into boxes and crates for the servants to take to their families in Castleford.
Tom had driven Ivy’s traveling coach, the housemaids and Clara riding inside while he shared the bench with Perkins. Meanwhile, Bobby had driven the gig with his wife and the rest of the servants. Once everyone was dropped off at their family’s residences, it was Tom’s plan to spend the afternoon shopping with Anne.
He had a ring to procure for their wedding.
Only the fire in the great hall burned continuously, the Yule log keeping the downstairs fairly warm. Upstairs, Ivy and Robert remained in bed in the masterbedchamber, Robert occasionally venturing out of it to add another log or two to the fireplace there.
“You see. We can survive without servants,” Ivy said, once he had climbed back into the bed, complaining of the cold, and had the quilts covering them.
“Only because the cook made us enough food to last the entire day,” he argued, indicating the silver salver on which rested the remains of a minced pie, a loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, apples, and a fruitcake. The water in the teapot had long ago cooled, but the wine bottle hadn’t yet been touched.
“I can boil water,” Ivy claimed. “Which means I can make boiled eggs and boiled potatoes and anything else that can be boiled.”
He chuckled. “Ah, but can you grow your own food?” he challenged.
“It’s true I don’t garden, but I know how to shop. How to buy things from costermongers and at the market,” she went on. “So we wouldn’t starve.”
“I am relieved to hear it,” he said dryly.
Ivy tittered. “If you had stayed at Gladstone Hall for Christmas, wouldn’t you be fox hunting today?”
He allowed a grunt. “Not if I could help it,” he replied. “Which is why I’m rather glad it snowed so much.”
“So... what would you be doing there? If you had stayed for Christmas?”
He inhaled and shrugged. “Reading, probably. Reviewing reports from the mines. Writing letters to the family,” he ticked off. “And you?”
She considered the query. “I’m always here for Christmas,” she reminded him. “So I usually sit by the fire in the great hall and work on an embroidery or read a novel while I drink tea and eat chocolates.”
When Robert’s eyes widened at the mention of chocolates, she tittered again. “Notallday. And just one or two pieces,”she said. “Maybe three.” When she saw how his brow arched, she sighed. “Oh, all right. Four or five.”
He let out a guffaw before sobering. “From where do you even get this chocolate?” he asked, suspicious.
She tittered and lifted her shoulders, as if she was keeping a secret. “I bring it with me from London, of course.”
His eyes widened. “Did you... did you bring any with you this year?”
She leaned over and surveyed the collection of food items on the salver. She plucked a chocolate from a small plate and handed it to him. “I didn’t know you liked chocolate,” she commented.
“There’s probably a lot about me you don’t know these days,” he countered, biting into the dark confection. “Hmm. Rather rich,” he murmured.
She leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth, tasting some of the chocolate caught on his lips. “Hmm, indeed,” she said.
He finished the chocolate and licked the remains from his thumb and forefinger. “You are certainly not shy about showing your affection these days,” he remarked.
“Well, certainly not when chocolate is involved,” she teased. She stared at him for a moment. “Does it bother you? When I show affection for you?”
He shook his head and once again licked the tips of the finger and thumb that had held the piece of chocolate. “It used to. When you did it in public,” he admitted. “I used to be a stickler for propriety, but I think you knew that.”
Ivy swallowed and stiffened. “Oh, I remember,” she whispered, rolling her eyes.
