A Common Christmas Read online

  The cat, settled on the warm hearthstones, merely continued purring.

  Chapter Three

  Dibbs wasn’t sure if he was reassured or terrified that Miss Ashman had offered to take on the task of cooking the earl’s dinner. On the one hand, it saved him from trying to do three jobs at once. That path had undoubtedly been doomed for failure. On the other hand, his reputation was now completely reliant on a woman he had found on his doorstep less than an hour ago. Thinking about that too much would probably lead him back to a state of panic.

  He had to admit that as she had stood there so quietly asking him if she could help, she had radiated a competency that calmed him. He would have to put his faith in that and focus on ensuring that the earl was comfortably settled here at the townhouse.

  *

  It had been some time since Grace had done what she called fancy cooking. After her mother had passed she had taken on the role of hostess for her father. Unlike the upper classes, in her home she’d done the cooking herself as well as led the entertainment. But cooking had been one of her favorite duties when she had time to do it. Before Papa had become ill. Although this kitchen had been woefully short on some staples, it was a playground for her culinary imagination. Perhaps her cooking wouldn’t be fancy compared to what an earl was used to, but she would do her best.

  *

  Dibbs had hoped to get back to check on Miss Ashman much earlier. If she had foundered in her attempt then he had less than an hour to recover from it. As he walked into the kitchen he encountered a savory steam that raised his hopes. She stood at a counter whipping something in a bowl.

  “Miss Ashman?” he ventured.

  “Yes, Dibbs?”

  “Is everything is going well?”

  She finally looked up, granting him a delighted smile. “Well enough, I think. Once I have this finished it will all be ready to serve.” She took a small pot from the stove and poured a dab of a dark, thick liquid into the bowl before she began beating the mixture again. She alternated pouring and beating.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Dibbs asked, drawing closer.

  “Not at the moment.” She stopped whipping whatever she had created in the bowl and spooned out a small amount. “Here,” she said. “You can help me by tasting this.”

  She stepped close to him and held the spoon up to his lips. Her dark eyes, which had been so despairing earlier, shone with enthusiasm. He opened his mouth and she fed him the dollop. Rich, creamy, sweet. Chocolate. It was possibly the most decadent dessert he had ever tasted. If the rest of the meal was even half as good as this, he was no longer concerned about how to feed the earl.

  “Do you think he’ll like it?” She looked concerned. Adorably concerned. He saw that she had a smear of flour on her jaw and was tempted to wipe it away. Her question hung on the air as they stared at one another, the moment stretching into a tension that bordered on awkward.

  Dibbs finally cleared his throat. “I’m sure anyone would love it.”

  A voice from the doorway asked, “Anyone would love what?”

  Dibbs knew that voice. The man sauntered in, his attention focused on Miss Ashman as he said, “Well, anyone would love you, that’s a certainty.”

  “Miss Ashman, this is Mr. Whitman, the earl’s valet. Whit, this is Miss Ashman.”

  Whit kissed her hand and, spying the flour, wiped it away himself. Miss Ashman blushed under his touch. “Mr. Whitman,” she said with a nod. She turned to Dibbs and said, “Shall we prepare the earl’s tray?”

  Dibbs resisted the urge to glower at Whit for the man’s easy manner with women. The butler had been very clear over the years that household staff were off limits, but a new employee was such a rarity that Whit was obviously intrigued. It didn’t help at all that Miss Ashman was really quite lovely. Dibbs had avoided thinking about her that way, but Whit was openly appraising her figure.

  “Yes, Miss Ashman,” he said. “I’m sure the earl would appreciate receiving his supper.”

  Whit smirked and, leaning against the table, began eating from the tray Dibbs had prepared earlier for the girl. As Miss Ashman helped Dibbs to prepare the earl’s tray she explained each dish, should the earl have any questions. Whit was still lingering in the kitchen as Dibbs left to deliver the earl’s meal. Hopefully the valet wouldn’t make Miss Ashman too uncomfortable.

  *

  Grace cleaned up her work area as Mr. Whitman lounged nearby. He was of an age with Dibbs, but whereas the butler was solid and dark-haired, the valet was slight and fair. She could feel his gaze on her. The man was obviously an accomplished flirt, but if there was one thing that a girl raised in commerce knew how to do, it was deflect unwanted attentions.

  “Could you do me a favor, Mr. Whitman?”

  As she expected, he rose to do her bidding. Flirts loved to do favors to ingratiate themselves. “Of course, Miss Ashman.”

  “Could you fetch Joey? I want to make sure that he has a hot meal.”

  She would grant that he only paused very briefly when he realized she had given him a menial task. “Of course, Miss Ashman. May I hope that I might have a hot meal as well?”

  “As everyone should,” she agreed.

  She finally met his gaze again and saw that he had narrowed his eyes at her treatment of him. Some men took a lack of interest as a challenge and it seemed perhaps Mr. Whitman was among them. His irritation wasn’t evident in his voice as he said, “Then we shall all grow fat and happy if this supper tastes as good as it smells.”

  With that he left through the back door. The door she had entered only a few hours earlier. A chilly wind stole across the room from his exit and she shivered. Not necessarily from the cold itself, but from the thought that only luck had her on this side of the door. That at any moment her luck could run out.

  “Then what would we do, Bitsie?” She looked around, realizing she didn’t see the cat. “Bitsie?”

  *

  Dibbs glided across the study to quietly place the tray at the earl’s elbow and almost jumped when the earl spoke.

  “I didn’t realize we had a cat, Dibbs.”

  Miss Ashman’s cat was perched on the earl’s thigh as the lord absently scratched the creature under its throat.

  “My apologies, my lord. I can take it away.”

  “Worry not, Dibbs, we have reached an accord. I pay attention to her and she doesn’t tear into my flesh. Much like any woman, really.”

  Dibbs didn’t tell the earl that he would return for the cat if needed, as it was an unspoken understanding between them that Dibbs would do anything that the lord required. Instead the butler quietly withdrew to the kitchen.

  As he drew near he heard the murmur of voices in conversation. Not just Miss Ashman and Whit, but a number of voices. When he entered he realized that the entirety of their London staff, such as it was, had assembled and sat at the rough table where just hours earlier he had been polishing silver. Where he had served sandwiches to Miss Ashman. Now he saw the stable master Joe and his son Joey, the old coachman William, and, of course, Whit. The valet would always be near any woman in residence.

  “Mr. Dibbs!” Miss Ashman said. “Now that you are here we may eat.”

  He sat at the place setting she indicated for him at the head of the table. He was pleased to see that she was immediately to his left. Dishes were passed and conversation lagged as the group began their meals.

  “Miss Ashman!” Whit said. “If you can roast a chicken half so fine as what you’ve done with these kippers I may have to marry you.”

  She blushed and looked down at her plate, not answering him. Instead she turned her attention to Dibbs. “I was wondering if perhaps tomorrow morning Joey could go to the market? The larder is not stocked with many fresh items.”

  “Of course,” Dibbs replied. “Make a list of what you need.”

  “Can I hope that a chicken will be on that list?” Whit asked.

  Dibbs found he had seen quite enough of Mr. Whitman’s atten
tions to Miss Ashman. “The earl prefers beef.”

  “How is himself?” William asked between mouthfuls.

  “Well enough,” Dibbs said guardedly. “Why do you ask?”

  The gruff coachman shrugged. “Seemed odd is all. Not often as the lord changes his plans like that.”

  “It isn’t mine to speculate on why his lordship does anything,” Dibbs responded.

  Whit leaned in conspiratorially. “What I heard from Ellen, who heard it from Philip himself, is that the earl called for his belongings packed within an hour of receiving a letter from the Duke of Beloin.”

  “Mr. Whitman,” Dibbs admonished. “It is beneath you to gossip.”

  Whit gave him a quizzical stare that made Dibbs think that he might have been a bit heavier handed than usual. But the valet recovered his humor and retorted, “Yes, I can think of other things that I would rather have beneath me than gossip.”

  Dibbs narrowed his eyes, clearly communicating his disapproval of the valet’s loose tongue in mixed company. Whit scowled and looked down at his plate.

  In the silence that followed Miss Ashman asked, “Who is the Duke of Beloin?”

  Chapter Four

  As the attention of the entire group shifted to her, Grace thought that she had never felt so out of place. She had asked the question to move past the awkward moment following the valet’s statement. She wasn’t sure exactly what he’d meant by it, but Joe sniggered and Dibbs stared daggers.

  Now as the group looked at her curiously, it was obvious everyone else knew very well who the duke was, even little Joey. She didn’t think she had ever seen a duke before. Or an earl, for that matter. Coming into this house had been like stepping into another world.

  Dibbs was the first one to break the silence. “The duke is a friend of the earl’s.”

  The statement was simple enough, but something in Dibbs’ voice made the information sound Very Important. Grace was confused. “And?”

  Whit glanced at Dibbs and added. “They were best friends in school, but after that.” He ended with a shrug.

  She was still confused. “So why-”

  Dibbs had held up his hand, halting her. “We do not discuss the earl’s personal business.”

  The unspoken part was not discussing it with someone who didn’t already know said business, but it was very clear. She stirred her soup and asked a different question. “What will we be doing for the holiday?”

  She saw the men all shift their glances from one to another. Again it was Dibbs who spoke up. “We have no particular plans for the holiday, but I will find out what my lord wishes.”

  “You were not planning to keep the season, even amongst yourselves?”

  Again an awkward silence, this time broken by little Joey in a piping voice. “I like Christmas!”

  His father ruffled the lad’s hair. “What you like are sweets and presents,” Joe said.

  Grace chuckled. “I think we all like sweets and presents. And in fact I have saved a little touch of chocolate crème for everyone if you’re all done with dinner.”

  Plates were quickly scraped clean and five sets of eyes looked at her hopefully. She passed out the little bowls and sat to watch them enjoy the dessert.

  “You aren’t having any?” Dibbs asked.

  She shook her head. “There was hardly enough to go around. And I’ve had it before.”

  There was a chorus of, “Miss Ashman, you can have mine,” with the men all trying to hand their bowls back to her. Joey looked at the men around him and finally hung his head to say, “Miss Ashman, you can have mine, too.”

  She laughed. “No, really, it would please me if you enjoyed it yourselves.”

  The men took their bowls back and Joey dug into his as though concerned that the tide would shift again on whether he could keep it.

  “Perhaps,” Dibbs said, “I can convince you to take a spoonful?” He held the spoon up to her as she had done earlier for his sample.

  She smiled at him. “I suppose that’s only fair.”

  *

  As he slipped the spoon into her open mouth Dibbs felt an intense rush of attraction. It almost made him dizzy watching her lips close over the spoon, seeing how her mouth clung to the metal as pulled the spoon free. She closed her eyes and savored the flavor. He wanted to watch her eat. He wanted to order the rest of the staff out of the kitchen so that he could feed her delicacies.

  Her eyes fluttered open again and she said, “Thank you, Mr. Dibbs.”

  It was then that Dibbs realized how quiet the room had become. Whit was staring at him in shocked surprise. The other men were focused rather too intently on their desserts, especially as the bowls only held three spoonfuls at the most.

  Dibbs felt his neck flush in embarrassment. He had lost himself in the temptation of Miss Ashman. The sparkle in her eyes, the impishness of her smile. And, God save his soul, her seductive little sigh when she tasted the crème.

  Perhaps he should be careful to monitor his reaction to Miss Ashman.

  *

  Dibbs returned to the study to remove the earl’s dinner tray. The dishes were almost spotlessly clean, which was of no surprise to him, having just enjoyed Miss Ashman’s cooking himself. The kitten still lounged and purred on the earl’s lap, although the two of them had moved from the desk to a more comfortable chair. The earl was reading a novel. Not an entirely unknown occurrence, but rare enough to give Dibbs pause. Perhaps he would ask Whit why the earl had come when the two of them had a chance to speak alone. Just because he refused to discuss the earl’s business in company didn’t mean he would not turn over every stone to ensure that his lordship was well taken care of. It was, in fact, what he had spent most of his life doing. He delicately cleared his throat to see if his lordship was in the mood to be disturbed. The earl set his novel aside almost instantly.

  “Yes, Dibbs?”

  “We would like to know how you prefer to celebrate the season, my lord.”

  The earl gave him a searching look that reminded Dibbs there had been a time before the formality they typically maintained. A time when they had all been children at Kellington. Children who had played together, dreamt of Christmas together. “Do whatever you like, Dibbs,” the earl finally said. “I have no needs.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Dibbs said, turning to pick up the tray.

  “Tell Cook that I particularly liked that soup,” the earl said, already distracted, petting the cat again.

  Dibbs repressed a smile thinking that it would be some time before he mentioned how well-liked Miss Ashman’s soup was to Cook. “Very good, my lord.”

  *

  “What does that mean, he has no needs?” Grace asked, wiping down a platter.

  “It could mean that he doesn’t want to trouble us,” Dibbs said. He had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves while assisting with the dishes. “Or that he truly doesn’t want to celebrate the season.”

  “Can’t you ask him which he means?”

  Dibbs looked at her as though she had sprouted a second head. “My job isn’t to badger my lord until I am clear on what he means. My job is to anticipate his needs and desires.”

  “That makes no sense. You aren’t a soothsayer are you?” She paused and gave him a look of teasing earnestness. “Are you?”

  Dibbs responded in a dour voice. “Of course not. An excellent butler has no need to auger because he already knows everything.”

  Grace chuckled. “I had no idea that butlers were gods.”

  “Only of a very small domain.” His gaze flicked down her form and he frowned. “My apologies, we have not gotten you into dry clothes.”

  She plucked at the garment. “Almost dry now. ‘Tis all right.”

  Apparently it wasn’t because he scooped up the clothes he had set down earlier, a candle in his other hand, and then started towards the door. “Come with me.” His tone was sufficiently commanding that Grace started trotting after him to keep up. He led her up three flights of narrow st
airs and into a cramped hallway. He stopped to open the third door on the right and waved her in.

  The room was small, tucked under the eaves. It held a cot, small table, straight-backed chair, and tiny bureau. It had a small dormer window that revealed how dark the night sky was outside. Dibbs set the candlestick on the bureau and laid the clothes over the back of the chair.

  “These will be your chambers. I will fetch some linens for your bed. The dresses are old uniforms, but the best we can do for now. Hopefully one of them will fit fairly well.”

  It wasn’t much, not compared to the room she had known in her father’s house, but after a week on the streets it seemed a warm, dry haven. “Oh, Mr. Dibbs.”

  “I do hope you will be staying with us, at least for now?”

  She felt tears welling up in her eyes. Rather than speak she pursed her lips and nodded.

  “Excellent. Because I don’t think we can do without you for the next few days,” he admitted. “Just a moment and I will return with those linens.”

  Once he slipped from the room she bit down on her knuckle to keep from crying. Just a bit longer, she promised herself. Once she was alone she could cry out all the grief and rage and misery that had plagued her. But the estimable Mr. Dibbs didn’t seem the type who would want his employees to make a scene. And for now she was his employee.

  True to his word, Dibbs returned quickly with the linens. After setting them on the bed he said, “Morning will come early so I suggest you get some sleep. Good night.”

  He moved towards the door but paused as she delicately set a hand on his arm. She wanted him to understand what this chance meant to her, but couldn’t think what words would express it. “Thank you, Mr. Dibbs. Thank you so very much.”

  He gave her one of his rare smiles. “For the next few days the two of us will attempt to do the work normally done by twenty. You will more likely want to curse than thank me by the time the rest of the staff return. Good night, Miss Ashman.”