“Just wait, Parker,” Hector promised. “Christmas at The Vynes will be a jolly good time.”
“Yes, my lord.” Parker wheezed, sending steam across the carriage. “Forgive me. It’s just so cold. I fear my face is frozen.”
“Winter is always cold,” Hector said as he regarded the poor shivering fellow. He’d been in the army or something before coming into Hector’s employ. At the time of the man’s interview, Hector had thought him up to the rigors of his duties in London. But he’d spoken of warm climes and even a hint of danger when he’d been taken on. Perhaps he’d no experience of winter in recent years. “I could have trained up one of the other footmen, but you were adamant you could fill my last valet’s shoes.”
“I’m doing my best, my lord.”
“See that you do,” Hector suggested as they reached the massive front door of The Vynes. Parker didn’t need prodding to exit the carriage first. It was damn cold, and they both looked forward to a night of warmth and comfort before a blazing fire.
Hector got out, stretched, and then shivered as the cold wind cut through his greatcoat. “Damn, that’s a bitter wind blowing.” He looked at his men as they swarmed over the carriage, and then caught the coachman’s eye. “There’s most of a bottle of rum left inside. Dole it out to the men to warm them through when you’re done taking care of the horses and carriage.”
The coachman nodded, “Thank ye, sir.”
He smiled quickly and made his way up to the front door before his face froze. Belatedly, he noticed the door wasn’t already opened for him, and a drift of snow had piled up before it. He yanked on the bell chain, raining ice down on himself in the process from the bell above the door, and then danced about in the cutting breeze until someone finally came.
As soon as the door opened a crack, Hector darted inside. “What took you so long?”
“I beg your pardon?” a man demanded.
Hector narrowed his eyes, not recognizing the servant. “Lord Hector Stockwick. My sister and brother-in-law are expecting me.”
“And who are they?”
Hector blinked, and then looked around himself quickly, concerned for a moment that he’d barged into the wrong great house by mistake. But no. This was The Vynes. Everything was exactly as he remembered from the last time he’d been here—everything except for the servant standing before him. He must be new.
“I am here to see Lord and Lady Clement,” he announced.
The man brow furrowed. “Lord and Lady Clement are not here.”
“Damn, I must have beaten them and arrived first. That’ll give m’sister a turn. I’m never early.”
The fellow cleared his throat. “They are not expected.”
“They damn well are, or I would not have come all this way in the cold for a family party.”
“Who is it, Peter?” an old voice queried from the shadows.
“It’s a Lord Stockwick, asking for Lord and Lady Clement,” the man, Peter, replied.
Hector heard the shuffle of feet coming toward him and looked for the source. He grinned at seeing a familiar face at last—Brown, The Vynes old butler. “There you are, my good man,” Hector cried.
But Hector’s grin faded as he discovered a profound change in the older man’s features. One side of his face was turned down at the side, and his slow progress became painful to watch.
“You’ve been unwell,” Hector murmured, and then averted his eyes.
“Just a bit slower than I used to be, my lord,” Brown murmured, pausing to draw breath. He glanced at the other servant. “Have the Green Room prepared for Lord Stockwick immediately and inform cook we’ve guests for dinner.”
“Yes, sir.” The fellow rushed off.
The old butler winced. “Forgive the confusion, my lord. Peter is new to the household and not acquainted with all the family yet.”
“Ah, right. Oh, and speaking of new. This is my new valet, Parker,” he announced. “I was expecting to meet my sister and Lord Clement here.”
“We have not been informed of their coming, my lord, but we will now have the house prepared,” he promised.
Hector glanced around, finally noticing there were closed doors all around him, and it was almost as cold inside as out. “Who is here, sir?”
“Only Lord Vyne.”
“Ah,” Hector said but cringed. He and Lord Vyne were not the best of friends. Hector actually preferred it that way. “I suppose I’d better pay my respects.”
“Lord Vyne will be informed of your arrival, of course, and I will have someone let you know when he might consent to see you.”
“I’m in no hurry, but thank you.”
The butler glanced around them; his expression was pained. “The lower rooms are not warm, my lord, so perhaps you’d like to remain in your rooms for now. I’ve put you in the same room you had last year. The lower rooms’ fires will be lit shortly but it could take some hours for the drawing room and library to become warm enough for you.”
“As long as there’s a fire and bottle of port to be drunk in my room, I’ll be in no hurry to come back down tonight.”
“Very good, my lord,” the butler said before he began another slow shuffle back to the shadows.
Hector started up the stairs immediately, Parker at his side. “Well, isn’t this a cold welcome,” he muttered. “I come all this way on the promise of a good time and end up nearly alone.”
“Perhaps the Clements are delayed by the weather,” Parker murmured soothingly. “Lord Vyne will undoubtedly be glad of your company.”
“I highly doubt that,” he rubbed his chilled jaw. “M’sister never quite mentioned how the old devil took his wife leaving him. He was sour before, but after that…”
“Perhaps he’s mellowed.”
“Not a chance,” Hector warned. They reached the top of the stairs and paused to look around. “The family wing is that side, guests always to the left. Lord Vyne’s chambers are the very last set of doors down there.”
Those doors were closed, but a line of light shone beneath them, which Hector supposed meant the old devil was inside stewing in his juices most likely. Hector would see him soon enough, and tonight, console himself with an excellent evening of drinking alone.
He turned down the hall toward the room he’d occupied last year and found servants streaming in and out of the chamber. The bed had just finished being made up, and a maid crouched over the pitifully small fire. Parker strode in, took charge of the luggage, and then ushered the maid out, promising to take care of the fire himself. He bent low, coaxing the flames to life.
Hector threw himself on the bed, tossed a blanket over his legs and put his hands behind his head. “Good enough for now,” he murmured.
A servant came to the door and cleared his throat soon after. “Lord Vyne has been informed of your arrival but is disinclined to see you this evening, my lord,” the man announced
“Disinclined? Now that is a frosty reception.” He waved the servant away and caught Parker’s gaze. “I told you he wouldn’t have mellowed.”
“I’m sorry I doubted you.”