Tomorrow was Christmas, and Ethan would not be here with her. She would turn twenty-two—a wife without a husband, a mistress of a house without a master. If she were lucky, she’d be so busy the rest of the day her mind would be too full for thoughts of Ethan.
She hoped Daniel and Isaac were ready. For a moment, she considered taking one of the other footmen as well. It was silly, she knew, to take so many servants with her today, but ever since her ride back from the Ingletons’ farm, she’d been on edge.
A moment later, Grendell entered the morning room, interrupting her thoughts.
“A servant claiming to come from the Ingletons’ farm is here to see you, your ladyship. Shall I show him in?” Grendell’s large, fierce face was drawn down in clear disapproval.
Francesca tucked the Christmas list under the gold paper again. “Why do you say heclaimsto be from the Ingletons’, Grendell?”
She was intrigued. Grendell, laconic to a fault, never embellished his announcements.
“I have not seen him about before, my lady.”
“Oh.” Francesca stifled a smile. Surely Grendell did not know all of the servants in Yorkshire. “Perhaps he just arrived. Did he say what it was about?”
“No, your ladyship. He would not.” The furrows in Grendell’s face deepened. “I tried to send him away—”
“That’s all right, Grendell. Show him in.” Francesca shifted the papers on the desk. Mrs. Ingleton’s baby had most likely arrived, and she would need to visit.
A moment later an emaciated youth entered, and Francesca shot up in concern. He was dirty and shivering, his patched, worn clothing inadequate for summer, much less late December.
The youth bowed to her. “My lady, I have a message for you.”
“Never mind about that now!” Francesca hurried around the edge of the desk, sending her stack of pretty papers flying. “Come and warm yourself by the fire. You’re freezing.”
The boy gave her a grateful look and edged closer to the fireplace.
“Grendell?”
The butler stepped into the doorway. “My lady?”
“Please have Cook prepare something warm for this boy. He’s starving. I want him to leave here with a full stomach.”
“Yes, my lady.”
The boy turned from the fire. “Oh no, my lady. I couldn’t accept your charity.”
“Nonsense! It’s Christmas Eve, and I insist. And not only that. You must have a warm coat to wear home.”
The boy shook his head, looking ready to protest again. “And do not argue with me, young man,” Francesca said. She used her best imitation of her mother, sans the Italian. “If you refuse, it will make me cry, and you don’t want me to cry, do you?”
The boy stared at her, worry in his eyes. “No, my lady!”
“Good! Then it’s all settled.” She looked at the gloomy butler. “You’ll see to it, Grendell?”
“Of course, my lady.” The grimace on Grendell’s face indicated he was acting against his better judgment.
Francesca squared her shoulders. “I’ll send the boy to the kitchens in a moment.”
“Yes, your ladyship.” Grendell turned and walked regally from the room.
Francesca turned back to the boy, studying him. He appeared a good deal warmer and less hunched over than when he’d entered, but he still hadn’t spoken and was staring at his hands.
“Tell me the message and then you must visit the kitchens. You say you came from the Ingletons’?” she asked. She didn’t think she could have heard Grendell correctly earlier. Mr. and Mrs. Ingleton would never neglect a servant so.
The boy nodded morosely, and Francesca pursed her lips. She would have to speak with Mr. Ingleton.
“Is the message from Mr. and Mrs. Ingleton?”
