Page 63 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Chapter 12

Lady Needham’s impromptu dance did not end until almost two o’clock.

As a result of her late-night Stacia overslept the following morning, which meant she had no time for her usual walk and scarcely a moment to run down to the stables and check on the dog, whom she had named Terrance.

Mr. Higgins and Gerald had both laughed at the name, the older man calling it rather fine for such a little scrap. She supposed it was, but poor Terrence had so little that perhaps a grand name would give him something to aspire to.

As she made her way from the stables to her employer’s chambers, she tried not to think about the night before. When Lord Shelton had suddenly left—in a huff, if she had read his posture correctly—she had at first been glad. After all, if she was playing the piano, she could hardly dance. And it would have been agonizing to watch him partner one pretty girl after another, all of them far more attractive than her.

But then Mr. Dixon had done something quite lovely and kind for Stacia, a mere companion—no better than a servant, really—and arranged for all the piano players, even himself, to play a few songs.

“It would be unfair to chain you to the piano all night, Miss Martin,” he had teased.

So then she had been deeply annoyed that Lord Shelton had gone. Not that she could have been sure he would ask her to dance. But she thought he might have. If only to try and make up for the cruel comment he’d made in the conservatory that night.

But he did not return. As things turned out, she had rather a lovely time anyway and danced almost every dance, even once with the Duke of Chatham, who—despite his intimidating mien—was actually witty and charming

Almost as much as his cousin.

Stop thinking about him.

Stacia tried to obey, but it was a hopeless proposition.

And by the time she was outside her employer’s room she was busily parsing their brief interaction in the drawing room last night, for at least the dozenth time, looking for deeper meaning. What deeper meaning, she did not know.

Over and over again her thoughts were snagged by the phrase fleshly pleasures. Who said that sort of thing out loud?

She firmly wrenched her attention to the woman who employed her and raised her hand to the door to scratch.

Before she could do so, the door open and Ackers hurried out.

“Oh! Miss Martin,” she exclaimed. “I almost ran you over.”

An agonized groan came from the darkness behind her and Ackers grimaced, noiselessly closed the door, and then took Stacia’s arm and led her halfway down the corridor before stopping.

“Lady Addiscombe still suffers from her migraine?” Stacia guessed.

“She is in agony, poor, unhappy thing.”

“What can I do to help?”

“She doesn’t want anyone fussing over her, I’ll give her that.” Ackers laughed. “Far easier to get along with when she’s sick than at any other time. I’ve finally convinced her to take some laudanum so I daresay she’ll sleep most of the day, just waking long enough to eat a bit of gruel.”

“And you’re sure there is nothing I can do?”

“You should grab this little bit o’ freedom with both hands, Miss Martin.” She gave a toothy grin. “You can bet that I’m enjoying the extra time to myself and catching up on my sleep. She won’t ask for you—I can almost guarantee that. Go on and enjoy yourself.”

“You are too kind, Miss Ackers. If you need me to relieve you at any time, please let me know.”

“I will, dear.”

Stacia hesitated and then asked, “Er, did you put your name into the secret gift giving bowl?”

Ackers grinned. “Would anyone in their right mind miss a chance to get a gift from a toff?”

Stacia laughed. “I wonder when they will tell us whose name we drew.”

“I got mine this morning.” She leaned close and loudly whispered, “I drew Mrs. Barton.”