Christmas Below Stairs

By Ellie Thomas

At the age of twenty-three, Joseph Paul has come a long way from an abandoned foundling to the dizzy heights of a position as a second footman in London’s Bedford Square. But Joseph doesn’t want to remain in service forever and harbours ambitions to be his own master.

Eli Turner might have become a valet by his thirties, but he is weary of his profession and lacks direction. He can’t even summon the energy to seek out a new position in a more prestigious household.

Under ordinary circumstances, working as servants for the same family, these two men might not have the chance to exchange more than a few words, let alone confide their feelings. But when they both remain in the virtually deserted townhouse over Christmas, they take the opportunity to talk as equals and explore their mutual attraction.

Is this just a short-lived holiday fling? Or might it be the start of a long-standing romance?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Dec 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9781685506032

Book preview

Chapter 1

Bloomsbury, London, December 1806

Joseph Paul stood to attention with the watchful air of a well-trained footman, alert to the requirements of the guests filling the grand reception room of the Bedford Square townhouse.

His scalp itched under his powdered wig. He found his close-fitting livery restrictive as he sweated from the heat of hundreds of flickering candles shimmering in chandeliers overhead and the crush of bodies, but he knew better than to move a muscle.

The finely dressed grandees around him could yawn, perspire, and scratch to their hearts’ content. No one would object to a gentleman loosening his cravat or a lady vigorously wafting a fan towards her reddened face and décolletage.

Even though he’d been on his feet since early morning in preparation for the final party before the family retired to the countryside for the winter, Joseph must show no sign of discomfort. He fancied that he resembled a marionette, remaining unmoving until a puppeteer manipulated his strings.

Despite looking directly ahead, Joseph was alert to a glance from his master, mistress, or the household butler. It was simply a question of who required his services first. Eenie, meenie, miny, moe, he thought to himself, in the way of the childhood counting game, suppressing a grin when the butler summoned him with a snap of his fingers.

Fetch up another case of Champagne from downstairs, Joseph, Mr. Brown directed.

Joseph knew better than to run. With swift measured steps, it was bliss to move his cramped limbs. Once out of sight, he could slide a finger under that dratted wig to scratch a spot that had annoyed him all evening. It’s a good thing footmen are chosen for their strength, he thought, heaving the wine upstairs from the basement before aiding Mr. Brown in placing the bottles on the refreshment table.

Meanwhile, Mark, the first footman, appeared content to strike a pose at a safe distance from the butler while looking superior. He might as well stick to what he’s best at, Joseph mused, quashing a grin.

If you’d like to take that around. Mr. Brown indicated a freshly opened bottle. Preferable to standing stock still, Joseph thought cheerfully as the butler beckoned Mark to do more than merely appear impressive. Despite his height and build, Joseph smoothly negotiated the crowded room, replenishing glasses without interrupting the flow of conversation.

Most of the guests ignored him, which was quite usual. Makes my job easier, he considered as he exchanged the empty bottle for another full one. If, attracted by his looks and strength, a lady caressed his arm or cast him a lascivious glance as he topped up their Champagne, he remained expressionless. This was hardly the occasion to smile cheekily and say, You’re barking up the wrong tree, love.

He had been chosen precisely for this role because of his appearance, his dark colouring fortunately in fashion for an upper servant. Joseph had already reached the status of a second footman before he was hired at Bedford Square at the start of the spring Season. He must have acquitted himself favourably. Mr. Brown seemed happy enough to retain him in this role. Despite its restrictions, Joseph had to admit that his best midnight blue livery suited him. The fitted coat, knee breeches, and silk stockings were moulded to his form. The deep shade, together with his white shirt and powdered wig, made a pleasing contrast to his dark gold skin and chestnut brown eyes.

The wig was a dratted nuisance but one that must be tolerated. Many a would-be footman had come a cropper by putting on the livery coat before donning the powdered wig. As a result, their shoulders looked like they’d been doused in flour. It was a sharp learning curve, but a mistake made only once. Powder was the very devil to brush from the weave of woollen fabric.

A footman’s daily schedule might be onerous, but it was a coveted position and a man must look the part. And tonight, when the family was entertaining extravagantly, Joseph must fulfil those appearances with every inch of his six-foot frame.

For a foundling boy, given his surname from the church portico under which he had been abandoned as an infant, to have scrabbled his way to the heights of second footman by his early twenties was little short of miraculous.

So he kept his countenance, stood tall, and served the party-goers as though it was the pinnacle of his ambition.

Chapter 2

May I be of any further assistance, sir?

No, Turner. You may retire now. Mr. Willars pulled on his nightcap before climbing into the wide bed that the valet had already turned back for him.

Thank fuck for that, thought Eli Turner. Without betraying his relief, he bowed gravely without spilling a drop of used water in the washbowl he carried. Eli left the room, safe in the knowledge that all was in readiness for the morning.

Once he had reached the basement, deposited the slops, and put the damp towel on the laundry pile. He yawned and rolled his shoulders, easing out a kink in his neck from the long wait for his master to finish mingling with his guests.

I mustn’t grumble. It’s only