Page 10 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

Holidays in the future, Maria surmised, would be spent without family. The only interesting thing about Uncle Leonard, other than a mild resemblance to Balwyn, was that he could outdrink Lord Piedmont, no easy task.

“Lady Talbot’s cook chased me around the kitchen,” Uncle Leonard slurred in a loud voice to Wilma, who had a mild look of horror on her beautiful features. “With a meat cleaver.”

“Oh, you poor man,” Wilma said in a sympathetic tone. “Your treatment has been unconscionable.”

Uncle Leonard sidled closer to her, eyeing her bosom.

He still reeked of gin, the smell permeating his clothing and skin, though he was now helping himself to Maria’s good brandy.

Johns had retrieved Uncle Leonard’s battered valise from the kitchens, stopping Mrs. Killigrew from tossing it outside.

But he’d made no effort to refresh himself before dinner.

“That terrible hag pushed me towards the fire, threatening to shove me into a giant pot and boil me.”

“A terrible misunderstanding,” Wilma cooed, patting his hand.

“Shocking,” Lady Piedmont agreed. “Dear uncle.”

This was the third time Uncle Leonard had related his tale, each time exaggerating the circumstances.

Thus far, he had been threatened with a cleaver, a fireplace poker, and the aforementioned rolling pin.

He described, with great gusto how Owen had turned him away until he had been forced to make his way into the kitchens, freezing and wet. Starving.

Leonard Adams was clearly a sot. One with a lecherous nature.

The manner in which he continued to eye the enormous mounds of Wilma’s breasts while swallowing copious amounts of brandy wasn’t at all discreet.

Nor the way he kept inching closer to her until Wilma made a surprised sound and shifted a few inches away.

At least the drawing room was beautifully decorated.

The smell of greenery and dried oranges helped mitigate the gin fumes rolling off Uncle Leonard, if nothing else.

She did hope that he’d stay away from the fire.

Uncle Leonard was so drenched in spirits, Maria worried he’d burst into flame if he got too close.

Not a great loss, in her opinion. But it might put a damper on the festivities if Balwyn’s uncle was reduced to a burning ember.

“I thought it was a rolling pin, Uncle,” Balwyn mused, clearly annoyed to find his uncle here.

“Looked like a meat cleaver to me. Or possibly a ham.”

“A ham?” Balwyn lifted a brow. “You were attacked by a ham.”

“That horrible woman would have stuck me on a spit and roasted me. I’d think you more sympathetic, my lord.” He cast a baleful look at Maria. “And this one tried to bribe me to leave.”

Balwyn rolled his eyes.

“I cannot imagine what you’ve been through, uncle. First to be turned away in this weather and then to be assaulted in the kitchens. You should have received a warm welcome, not threats and meat cleavers.”

“You failed to inform Lady Talbot that Uncle Leonard would be joining us, Harriet. She is an exemplary hostess and, had she known, would have been prepared to welcome our uncle.”

“That simply isn’t true. I informed Lady Talbot upon my arrival. Wilma was standing right there.”

Wilma blushed a bit and turned her head but did not answer.

“His arrival was also mentioned while we chewed rather furiously at the lamb last night.”

“It was not,” Balwyn challenged her. “And should there be anything else I need be made aware of, now would be the time, Harriet.”

Lady Piedmont’s lips twisted. “You’re being rather unkind. I am not to blame for Lady Talbot’s faulty memory.”

Maria took a deep breath and decided not to dignify Lady Piedmont’s opinion with one of her own. Ignoring Balwyn’s sister was her best recourse. She’d been entirely foolish in assuming Lady Piedmont could be won over with festive decorations, gracious hosting, and good food.

She sighed. If only Mrs. Peasley hadn’t become injured. Her duck might have created a miracle.

“You’d never turn me away would you, dear thing?” Uncle Leonard whispered, far too loudly, to Wilma. “You’re far more well-mannered.” He gestured to Balwyn with his glass of brandy. “Pity my nephew lost out to Lawrence and seems to have no desire to correct his mistake.”

Could she send Uncle Leonard out with the pugs?

The drawing room door opened, revealing Johns. “Dr. Forester has arrived.”

Oh, thank God.

Maria rose with a polite smile. “Please excuse me.” She rushed out to the foyer, thankful to escape the drawing room just as Uncle Leonard started yet another version of his battle with Mrs. Killigrew.

“Lady Talbot.” The young man greeted her with a smile, shaking moisture from his cloak. “I apologize for the delay. The weather and the roads were challenging. I rode over instead of taking my carriage. Thought it to be wiser.”

“Of course.” She took his hand. “I’m so pleased you could come. When I realized you weren’t in London, I couldn’t imagine you celebrating alone in that big house.”

“You are quite kind, my lady.”

Mr. Jonathan Forester was tall and lean, attractive, with a somewhat scholarly appearance.

Originally, she’d planned for him to attend her end-of-summer house party, but he’d remained in London to continue working with a prominent physician to further his career.

Talbot and the elder Mr. Forester had played chess together often and debated the finer points of military history, so Jonathan and his father had often dined here.

Maria had known Jonathan since he was a lad and felt quite motherly towards him.

“Hah,” Maria laughed. “You know me far better than that. Nor will you think me so kind once you see what awaits you. You’ll stay the night, will you not? Given the weather?”

Jonathan inclined his head. “I brought my things.” He nodded to a small satchel. “The weather is turning again. I’ve never seen so much rain this time of year, nor the cold.” He paused. “I’m not too late to dine?”

“Not at all. After a wonderful meal, we’ll light the yule log.”

“More bad luck,” Owen whispered to Maria as he bent to pick up Jonathan’s bag. “Leaving last year’s ashes in London.”

“Nonsense,” she said to Owen under her breath, smile still in place.

“I beg your pardon, my lady?” Jonathan said.

“Oh, nothing. Owen is merely reminding me that we will dine shortly.” Last year’s yule log, or rather the bits and ashes remaining, were still sitting in a box at her London home, completely forgotten in her planning and rush to arrive at Cove House.

Tradition dictated that part of last year’s yule log be used to light this year’s but…

they would have to make some adjustments, to which Owen objected.

But it wasn’t as if she could send to London for a box of ashes, could she? Not now.

Jonathan patted his stomach. “I confess, the enticement of Mrs. Peasley’s cooking was an inducement, much more so than the company,” he teased. “I anticipate the delights she’s concocted. My father was always envious of the table you set.”

“Well,” Maria linked her arm with his and drew him forward.

“There’s been a slight change in plans. Mrs. Peasley has had an accident.

” At Jonathan’s look she said, “Not terribly serious. Broke her leg while visiting her sister. But I’ve managed to engage another excellent cook.

I’ve no doubt Mrs. Killigrew will get us through the holiday. ”

“Mrs. Killigrew?” An odd, choking sound came from him. “Lord Denton’s former cook?”

“Then you are familiar with her?” They’d nearly reached the drawing room, where the others waited.

“I dined with Lord Denton on a few occasions.”

Which didn’t exactly answer the question.

The brief flash of horror on his handsome features wasn’t exactly comforting either.

She walked him into the drawing room as five pairs of eyes took him in with a great deal of curiosity.

Not Lord Piedmont, of course—he was already half-asleep in a chair.

An elephant could have walked through Maria’s drawing room, and he wouldn’t have stirred.

Alicia, itching at a streak of red on her arm, looked up at their entrance but, surprisingly, did not immediately return to her sketching. She actually put down her charcoals, though the sketchbook stayed in her lap. A bit of color bled into her cheeks.

Maria hugged Jonathan’s arm in excitement. She did adore matchmaking, and it seemed Jonathan had caught Alicia’s interest.

Balwyn, however, did not seem nearly as pleased. His eyes focused on Maria’s hold on Jonathan, the dark depths flickering with possessiveness as his brows knit together. As if he were…jealous? Of Jonathan?

Patently ridiculous.

She’d spoken of Jonathan and his father often and had even visited the young man while she was in London. Had known him for years.

“Dr. Forester,” Lady Piedmont said after introductions were made. “I was just saying to my brother how wonderful it is that Lady Talbot has a neighbor so close. Cove House is somewhat secluded.” Her lips held a small, knowing smile.

Maria was quite certain that wasn’t all that had been said, given Balwyn’s less than warm welcome for Jonathan.

Not so for the other guests. Wilma was overly effusive in her greeting, eyeing Jonathan with great interest. And Alicia? Besides blushing profusely, she showed a bit of personality. Not a great deal, mind you, but enough to lead Maria to believe she was human.

Uncle Leonard belched. Loudly. Filling the air with a noxious mixture of gin and brandy. Still, he greeted Jonathan politely enough before waving to Owen to refill his glass.

More will need to be brought from the cellar if this keeps up.

After Owen poured Jonathan his own brandy, Maria slid away to stand behind the seated Balwyn.

She placed one hand on his shoulder in an overt display of affection sure to annoy Lady Piedmont.

Leaning over she murmured, “While I adore your possessive nature at times, in Jonathan’s case it isn’t warranted. ”

“Hmm.” He grunted, drawing his fingers over hers.

“I’ve known him since he was a lad, when his mother died. We are friends.”

Another grunt.

“No matter what your sister has said.” She straightened. “After the fine meal Mrs. Killigrew has prepared,” Maria said to her guests, “we will return to light the yule log. Wilma has generously offered to play the pianoforte for us this evening.”

Wilma blushed prettily and cast a sideways look at Balwyn.

“Bad luck,” Owen said in a low tone as he passed behind her. “Without last year’s ashes.”

If she could have kicked her butler without causing a scene, she would have done so.

“Oh, I do hope you’ll bless us all with a song, Wilma.” Lady Piedmont clapped her hands. “She has the voice of an angel. Balwyn has always thought so.”

“How wonderful,” Maria said. “I cannot wait.”

One of the obnoxious pugs ran around Jonathan, yapping at his boots.

Archimedes or Achilles. Maria still couldn’t tell them apart.

But when the animal started to lift its leg, she hurriedly waved at Johns, who stood just outside the door.

He rushed in and scooped up the pug, frowning as it pissed on his coat.

Alicia itched furiously at her neck once more, drawing Jonathan’s attention. He studied her for so long, she blushed once more, though his admiration seemed far more focused on her rash than Alicia.

“Dinner is served,” Owen said from the door, shooting Maria a worried look.

Maria pasted a polite smile on her features, watching Owen for any clue as to what awaited them in the dining room.

Balwyn stood and took her arm. “Shall we?”