Page 156 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Chapter 32

“—the ridiculousness of such an affair!”

Stacia was vaguely aware the countess had stopped speaking, but she wasn’t quick enough to meet her employer’s gaze. She opened her mouth, but the other woman was already glaring at her.

“Are your thoughts so important that you cannot listen to me, Martin?”

“I’m sorry, my lady. I just had a slight feeling of biliousness.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

The countess looked horrified and recoiled back against the fluffy cushions stacked behind her. “You assured Ackers you were over your putrid fever.”

“I am, my lady. I’m just a bit…worn.” Not a lie, either. “I am fine.”

Lady Addiscombe lifted the cologne-soaked lace handkerchief to her nose and inhaled deeply, as if that would be enough to repel an influenza. “I wish to talk to you on the subject of Lord Bellamy and Needham’s bastard.”

Stacia flinched at the unkind word. “Yes, my lady?”

“You insist that Viscount Bellamy does not encourage the chit?”

“Nothing I’ve seen him do seems encouraging. Indeed,” she lied boldly, “he barely pays her any attention and prefers to spend his time with his school friends.”

Amazingly, Lady Addiscombe’s lips curved into something that almost resembled a smile. “I am pleased with the connections my son has made. Jevington is the Duke of Linton’s heir.”

Stacia wasn’t sure what to say about that. Luckily, the countess didn’t require an answer.

Instead, she continued on her rant about Needham’s servant ball, a function she had forbidden Stacia, Ackers, her footman Lionel, and coachman, George, from attending.

“I cannot believe Needham is requiring not only his wife, but my other daughters and their husbands, to wait on their own servants!”

Stacia entertained herself with the thought of Andrew waiting on Ackers or Lionel.

Or you.

Stacia smiled. Or me. Indeed, she would have greatly enjoyed—

“—will be retiring to my room and ringing for a tray. Martin? Martin!”

“I’m sorry, my lady.” Stacia met her employer’s gaze and took a wild guess. “I can bring your dinner, my lady. I’m sure all the other servants will be—”

“Of course you will bring my dinner! Did you not just hear what I said? I will not countenance my servants engaging in such idiocy.”

“No, my lady.”

And so it went.

An hour and a half later—after Stacia had unpicked a section of Lady Addiscombe’s cross stitch that the countess had been especially displeased with and read the Society section of three newspapers paid for by Viscount Needham—“It is the least he can do to better himself”—and then wrapped the gifts Lady Addiscombe had bought for her six children, the countess sent her to the kitchen for yet another of the infernal possets that only Mrs. Nutter could make.

The scene in the kitchen was one of joyous chaos as servants hurried to finish chores before being dismissed from their labors to prepare for tonight’s ball.

Even the staid butler, Davis, had let some of his reserve slip and was kissing Cook beneath a kissing bough somebody had hung directly over the entrance to the kitchen.

Dora, Lady Kathryn’s accomplice, sidled up to Stacia. It was the first Stacia had seen the maid since the Duchess of Chatham had escorted her to her chambers two nights earlier.

“Are you comin’ to the ball, Miss?” Dora asked, exhibiting no evidence of shame at having assisted Lady Kathryn.

“Unfortunately, not.”

“Oh, Miss! Whyever not?” Before Stacia could contrive an answer Dora leaned close and whispered loudly, “Lady Kathryn will keep the countess occupied, Miss. You and Ackers deserve a bit o’ fun. As for Lionel?” She made an appreciative growling sound. “Well, it would be a crime not to allow such a handsome man to dance.”