Page 166 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Stacia could see how Mrs. Johnson would appeal to a man who was so sensual and experienced. Doubtless the dressmaker would happily invite him into her bed without engaging in such foolishness as darkness and blindfolds.

She was suddenly assaulted by a vivid image of the lush-bodied widow spread out on Andrew’s lap the way Stacia had been, his lips teasing a bosom that was far more impressive than her own.

“Here you are, Miss.”

Stacia jolted, pitifully relieved when the unsettling mental image dissolved. She stood and took the tray with shaking hands. “Thank you.”

As she hurried back to her mistress, she pushed down the revulsion that threatened to overwhelm her. Surely Shelton would not go from begging Stacia to come to the ball straight to another woman’s bed a few hours later?

Surely not?

By the time dinner was finished Stacia was a grim mass of nerves. She had spent the day—and twice during the meal—fetching and carrying for the countess, who was even more fitful and demanding than usual.

Several times she’d been on the brink of running out of the room screaming and throwing herself on the mercy of Lady Shaftsbury or Lady Needham. The only thing that kept her from accepting any of the kind offers of employment she had received was the knowledge that working for the Bellamy family would mean continued exposure to Lord Shelton in the years to come. Who knew, perhaps she would be forced to encounter him next Christmas with a wife beside him!

No. It was simply too miserable to be borne.

“Do you play whist, Miss Martin?”

Stacia looked up from the needlework in her lap—or Lady Addiscombe’s rather—and smiled up at the tall, slender Duchess of Chatham, the most reserved of the Bellamy siblings. She opened her mouth to admit she was an indifferent player at best, but her employer—who had been sitting with her eyes closed, looking pained at the revelry occurring around them in the drawing room—where not one, but three kissing boughs had been hung—opened her eyes and turned a truly venomous gaze on her daughter.

“Martin is busy being of use—she has no time to squander on cards.”

Rather than look hurt, offended, or anything, really, the duchess merely blinked and turned her calm gaze on her parent.

Lady Addiscombe glared up at her for a moment and then began to fuss with the shawl she was wearing. “Martin!” she snapped, as if Stacia were across the room rather than three feet away. “I am ready to retire to bed. You will attend me.”

Stacia set aside her employer’s mangled needlework, smiled at the duchess, and then helped the countess to her feet.

“Don’t pull on me so!” Lady Addiscombe grumbled. “And bring my basket up with you. I will want to work on it in the morning.” She cast a searing gaze at the revelers. “There will be no point leaving my room until well after tea, I am sure.”

Stacia picked up both work baskets and hurried to open the door for Lady Addiscombe.

“You will no longer remain in the drawing room after dinner. I have realized—far too late—that leaving you with my children and their friends every evening was not worth the paltry bit of information you managed to gather.” The countess cut Stacia a scathing look. “Do not think I have forgotten your refusal to support me on the matter of Shelton, Miss Martin.” She sniffed. “Although I am pleased to see that somebody must have come to their senses and rid the house of the scourge.”

Stacia opened the door to Lady Addiscombe’s chambers without comment. She had heard nothing about Lord Shelton’s whereabouts. And she did not have the courage to ask anyone.

By the time she was permitted to hand the fractious countess over to Ackers for the evening it was almost midnight and Stacia was utterly exhausted.

She had hoped that sleep would come to her quickly, but she tossed and turned for at least an hour before dropping into a restless doze, her mind filled with unwanted images of Lord Shelton and Mrs. Johnson.

The last thought Stacia had, just before surrendering to oblivion, was that she should have said yes.

***

Stacia woke a few hours after dawn on Christmas Day feeling scarcely more rested than when she had gone to bed. But a quick look out the window and the sparkling wonderland beyond, complete with a fresh blanket of snow sparkling with the pale lemon yellow of dawn, was enough to lift even her depressed spirits.

She dressed quickly and warmly and hurried to deposit her secret gift outside Lady Shaftsbury’s door. Hopefully Stacia would get to see the beautiful, sweet lady employing her new fan at the dinner before the ball, which Lady Addiscombe was deigning to attend, although not the ball itself.

Stacia couldn’t work up much regret for missing the event. Not with Shelton gone.

She shoved the beautiful man and his whereabouts from her thoughts and hurried down to the stables to see the dog.

Terrence had greeted her after her two days in the attic as if she had been gone for a decade.

Stacia had not been able to visit him yesterday, or the day before, either. If she didn’t go to the stables now, she would once again be drawn tightly into the countess’s orbit and have no time to visit later.

Mr. Higgins and two grooms were in the courtyard when she approached.