Page 26 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

She hurried back the way she’d been going before she literally ran into the object of her fantasies.

Lady Addiscombe had sent her down to the kitchens to fetch a posset that evidently only the housekeeper at Wych House could make.

“It needs to stew for hours, and I want it to be ready when I come back after dinner,” she had explained, even though Stacia had not asked why the countess couldn’t just ring for a servant to deliver the message. She had learned over the past seven months that she’d worked for the older woman that it was easier to do what the countess wanted without asking questions.

She scratched softly on the door to Lady Addiscombe’s room—one was never to knock—before opening it.

“What in the world took you so long, Martin?” the countess demanded as Ackers dressed her hair.

“Er, I got lost, my lady.”

Lady Addiscombe fixed her with a piercing, suspicious look before making a loud hmmph noise. She scowled at her expression in the looking glass and then slapped away her maid’s hands. “Quit fussing, Ackers,” she snapped when the other woman attempted to adjust the turquoise velvet and silk turban that complemented her rich chestnut hair.

Miss Ackers cut Stacia a wry look and even gave a slight eyeroll that had Stacia dipping her chin to hide her smile. The countess would be furious if she ever discovered that her employees often shared a laugh or smile at her irritable temper tantrums.

“Come, come, Martin! Don’t dawdle.” The countess strode toward the door, which Stacia hurried to open for her. “I know my children will meet down there before dinner even though Lady Needham”—she sneered as she said the words, her mouth twisting into an ugly pucker that bore an unfortunate resemblance to the back end of a pug— “neglected to impart that information.”

Stacia had no response for that. What could she say? That she sympathized with the countess’s daughters in wanting a few moments without their mother’s critical observations and crushing expectations?

It was difficult to imagine growing up with such a parent. Her own mother had been sweet, vague, and ill for most of the eight years Stacia had known her.

“—that is not something I shall take part in. Martin? Martin! Are you paying attention?” The countess stopped in the middle of the corridor and whirled on her.

Too late, Stacia realized she’d missed the first part of her employer’s words. “I’m sorry, my lady. I—I’m afraid my mind wandered for a moment.” She forced herself to meet the older woman’s annoyed gaze.

“Is this too much excitement for you, Martin? Are you overwhelmed? Perhaps eating dinner in the dining room is more than you can manage? I could arrange for a tray to be brought up to your room. Or perhaps you would rather eat in the servants’ hall?”

“No, my lady. I’m sorry, I was just trying to memorize the surroundings, so I would not get lost again.”

The countess’s nostrils flared slightly, as if she smelled a falsehood. Finally, after what felt like a hundred years, she resumed walking. “What I said—if you had been listening—was that I have no intention of getting caught up in any after dinner foolishness.” She lightly touched her temple with one elegant hand. “I already have a slight headache just thinking about the evening ahead. Protracted exposure to my children’s boisterous and relentless enthusiasm would only make it worse.”

“I understand, my lady.” Why would you want to socialize with your children after not seeing them for half a year? And how appalling that your offspring and their families are exhibiting boisterous and relentless enthusiasm so close to Christmas?

The countess’s head whipped around and for one horrifying moment Stacia wondered if the sarcastic words had accidentally slipped out of her mouth.

But the other woman merely gave her a brooding look before saying, “I want you to stay with them when I go up to my chambers.”

“Er, you do?” The words were out before she could catch them.

She gave Stacia a withering look and said, in the tone one would use with an imbecile, “You have not heard a word I said, or you would know that I am not only horrified by the presence of Needham’s illegitimate spawn in the house, but there is the added aggravation of my oldest daughter’s…entourage,” she spat the last word.

Stacia had been astonished to learn the newly minted Countess of Crewe had brought along not only her husband and his daughter, but her husband’s illegitimate son as well as the young man’s mother. From the little she had seen the quintet seemed to adore each other.

How bizarre. And fascinating.

“—neither my son, nor Kathryn, associate with either. You will inform me of whatever they are plotting and planning for the upcoming days so that I might quash anything that is inappropriate before it is too late. My daughter Phoebe has all the sense of a toddler when it comes to propriety. Somebody must be the voice of sense and reason.” The countess’s mouth flexed into a petulant frown, the deep furrows in her pale cheeks indicating this expression was habitual.

Stacia felt profoundly sorry for the other woman. Even though she was attractive, healthy, and surrounded by family, Lady Addiscombe was not happy. Indeed, she had not been happy the entire time Stacia had worked for her.

Why was the woman so miserable all the time? Stacia would forfeit years of her life just to have a few more hours with either of her parents. Was there nobody in the world the countess loved or liked? If there was, Stacia had not met them yet.

A footman leapt to open the door to the drawing room and Lady Addiscombe sailed past him without sparing him so much as a glance.

Stacia gave the handsome servant a smile of thanks and hastened after her employer, almost slamming into her when the countess screeched to a halt in front of Lord Shelton. “You!” she accused, unknowingly echoing Stacia’s exclamation from earlier.

Lord Shelton’s eyes went comically round as Lady Addiscombe leveled an accusatory finger at him. “What on earth are you doing here?” she demanded in a voice that could probably be heard in the village.

Shelton’s eyes slid right and then left, as if seeking an avenue of escape. When it was apparent there wasn’t one, he bowed to the countess and said, “I am—”