CHAPTER 4
A COUPLE’S CONVERSATION
Meanwhile, in the mistress suite of Ritchfield Park
For the first time since leaving London, Ivy wished she had brought her lady’s maid along. Although she didn’t mind unpacking trunks and putting away clothes, she didn’t want to have to repack them should she learn Robert intended to entertain a guest or two.
Chiding herself for not having thought to send a note letting him know she planned to be at Ritchfield Park for Christmas, Ivy pulled out the gown she planned to wear for dinner along with the matching jewelry and slippers.
The satin wasn’t the least bit forgiving when it came to her hourglass-shaped body. Her strongest stays and at least one petticoat would be required.
Glancing out the window, she gave a start at seeing how much snow had fallen since her arrival. For as far as she could see, everything was white.
If Robert did intend to host a guest, they would have had to be on their way or almost to Ritchfield Park or they would become stranded. She rather doubted the roads were still passable, and snow was still falling.
She had never known Robert to want to host a house party. He didn’t like attending them—he didn’t care to play parlor games or pall mall—so he had never asked her to arrange one on his behalf.
But that didn’t mean he was averse to having a guest spend a week or so. She had already imagined who that guest might be. Not his usual professor from Oxford or an old classmate from his university days, but rather a mistress. Or a perhaps a lady of the evening, one who lived nearby and who didn’t work in a brothel but rather made house calls.
Ivy couldn’t imagine a woman making the trek to Ritchfield Park in this weather, but she wouldn’t put anything past someone who needed blunt to make their way in the world.
Oh, why hadn’t she given a thought to the possibility her husband might wish to spend the Christmastide at Ritchfield Park? Ever since she had decided to remain in London instead of returning to York after the end of a Season every year, Ivy had come to the country estate for Christmas. Robert Strathford hadn’t been to Ritchfield Park for Christmas in a decade. The last time he had made the trip, he had been there to hunt with the boys, but that had been at least five years ago, and she had been in London at the time with the girls.
Depending on their school schedules, sometimes one or more of her children would join her for Christmas. With all of them out of the country or married off with families of their own, she assumed she would be spending this year alone.
She might still if Robert had a guest coming. The thought of telling Mr. Walker they would be heading back to London sooner than expected had her wincing, though. He had so looked forward to the stay at the country estate—in fact, it had been him who insisted they finish the trek today rather than spend the night at the last coaching inn. She had beenanxious to get to the country estate, too, even if she didn’t have a paramour with whom to spend the cold winter nights.
The thought of decorating Ritchfield Park for the holiday still held a good deal of appeal, even if Robert and his lover were ensconced in one of the rooms of the country house.
She tried to imagine him with another woman, curious as to his preference for age. Would she be younger than him? Much younger? What about her hair color? Red, no doubt. She was sure her hair is what had caught his attention the first time he saw her.
Or perhaps it was her bosom. Surely he would choose a mistress blessed with bountiful breasts the size of melons. She could imagine how he would be hypnotized when they bounced about as he tumbled her, the nipples giving him something to concentrate on until his orgasm had him ceasing his movements and groaning his pleasure into them as he covered one with his mouth.
Ivy shivered at the reminder of the last time they had made love. The last time he had entered the mistress suite in the Mayfair townhouse. He hadn’t said a word, but then, she wouldn’t have expected words. He had simply needed her, and despite the fact that they hadn’t spoken to one another for an entire day or more, she had welcomed him into her bed.
He hadn’t kissed her that night. At least, not on the lips. He had kissed her nipples, though, and nibbled her neck. Pressed his lips to her belly, and he had maybe left a peck or two on her thighs.
Frissons shot through her body as she recalled that night, the last night before he once again left for York after another Season was complete.
She had woken to discover he was already gone.
Wiping away a tear, Ivy once again moved to the window. Gazing out, she hoped the snow wouldn’t prevent the footman from being able to bring pine boughs and aYule log into the house on Christmas Eve. Perkins would then cut lengths of wire so the housemaids and cook could help with making a few wreaths and with stringing pine boughs atop mantels and on the staircase bannisters. By the time the red ribbon bows were added, the country house would look festive for the holiday and smell like a forest.
A knock at her door had her thinking Graves had returned with an answer to her question. “Come,” she called out, turning from the window to discover her husband staring at her. “Hello,” she managed, although she seemed to have lost her breath for a moment. “I can leave?—”
“You are not going anywhere,” Robert stated, his edict spoken in his most commanding voice. “Not that you could given this awful weather,” he added, holding up a hand as if staving off an attack.
“But... what about your guest? Or... or guests?” she stammered.
He gave a start, obviously not expecting such a query. “There are no guests scheduled,” he said, moving deeper into the bedchamber. He suddenly stopped, his eyes rounding. “Wereyouexpecting… anyone?” he ventured. “Were you planning to host a... a house party perhaps?”
Ivy shook her head. “Goodness, no, Ritchfield. Our children are all grown and gone from the nest, so it’s just me these days.”
He nodded and looked as if he was having trouble deciding what to say next. “I... I met our oldest grandson,” he suddenly blurted.
Her eyes widened. “The future duke?” she asked, grinning. “I can’t say I was very thrilled with his name,” she commented.
His brows furrowed. “Abraham?” he asked, as if he was struggling to remember the boy’s moniker. “It’s his othergrandfather’s name. And besides, everyone will simply call him by his current title until he inherits,” he reasoned.
