Page 10 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Chapter 1

Wych House

Little Sissingdon

Early December

Phoebe, Viscountess Needham, hurried through the portrait gallery, her hand beneath the swell of her belly. At seven months pregnant her hurried pace was no longer very fast.

If Nanny Fletcher could see her, she would shout down the roof. Her childhood nurse believed that expecting mothers nearing their eighth month should do no more than sip fortifying cordials while reclining on a chaise longue.

That would drive Phoebe mad within a week.

She was thrilled to have this family Christmas party to plan, even though her husband, Paul, chided her daily about over-exerting herself.

“Hire somebody to do all this for you, darling. You know Dixon would be happy to help. He has more time than he needs now that Dennehy has taken over most of his burdens.”

Phoebe knew that was true. Her husband’s longtime secretary, Mr. Dixon, was a wizard. Although Dixon would be leaving shortly after the New Year—to take up residence at an estate he’d inherited from a great uncle—he had an apt pupil in Paul’s new secretary, Colbert Dennehy.

Phoebe did not know Mr. Dennehy very well, but her husband’s long-term protégé, was clever, dedicated, and had readily soaked up Dixon’s instruction over the last few months.

So, yes, the two men could have managed the preparations far better than Phoebe.

But how did one explain to one’s husband that some things—like overseeing the preparation of her sisters’ and brother’s chambers for their return to their ancestral home after an absence of more than six years—was not something she wanted to delegate?

Nor could Phoebe delegate the errand that was bringing her to the south wing, the part of Wych House that was home to Ellen Kettering, a woman all and sundry believed to be her husband’s former mistress and mother of his illegitimate child, Lucy.

Ellen, against all odds, had become Phoebe’s dear friend over the past months. Their friendship had begun even before she had learned that Ellen and Paul had never been lovers and Lucy was not his child.

In the months since learning the truth about Ellen and Lucy, Phoebe had come to love both of them. It pained her greatly that Ellen—who had been ill for years—was dying. And dying soon. Every day the other woman looked weaker and weaker. Phoebe suspected Ellen was only clinging to life because she didn’t want to die before Lucy’s birthday, which was Christmas Day.

Phoebe visited Ellen every day, right after Lucy went up to the schoolroom to have her lessons with her governess.

They would enjoy a cup of tea, chat, and Phoebe would read bits of the newspaper aloud as Ellen could no longer see well enough to focus for long. Afterward, Phoebe went about her day and Ellen returned to her bed. She slept a great deal in order to be awake for those hours when Lucy would join her.

But lately, Ellen had slept through Phoebe’s visits. Rather than leave her friend, Phoebe stayed and sat beside her while she slept because Ellen had once confessed that Phoebe’s presence was a comfort to her.

Phoebe also stayed because she worried the fragile woman would go to sleep and not wake again.

Something hot slid down her cheek and Phoebe dashed away the tear with the heel of her hand, disgusted with herself. The last thing Ellen needed to see was her weepy face. She stopped in front of an ancient looking glass that hung just outside Ellen’s spacious apartment and made sure her eyes weren’t red. And then she practiced a smile—not stopping until it looked natural—and knocked softly before entering.

An almost crippling wave of relief rolled over her when she saw the other woman was awake and, for a change, sitting upright rather than reclining on her chaise longue.

She smiled. “Good morning, Phoebe.” If a person did not look too closely it was easy to believe Ellen’s flushed cheeks were a sign of health rather than feverishness. “You are just in time to help me go through all this.”

All thiswas the jumble of jewelry boxes, wrapping paper, and spools of ribbon on her secretaire desk.

Phoebe grinned and this time she did not have to force it. “Oooh, wrapping gifts? My favorite! What is all this?” she asked, pulling a chair close to the desk.

“Nothing especially valuable, just some treasured trinkets.” Ellen opened a pretty blue lacquer box. Inside was a delicate gold chain with a lovely filigree cross.

“Beautiful,” Phoebe said.

“I gave Paul the more valuable pieces to keep in his safe. I hope you will help him choose what to give to Lucy on her birthdays and other special occasions in the years to come.”

Phoebe nodded, her eyes prickling. “Of course.”

Ellen set her hand over Phoebe’s, her fingers like frozen twigs for all that her color was so high. “Thank you so much for agreeing to have a special Christmas with just the four of us, Phoebe. I promise I will not keep you and Paul away from your family for long.”