Page 13 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

Christmas Day

Maria awoke to Balwyn wrapped around her, his breathing soft and even.

Enid, her maid, bustled about, not the least surprised at the sight of the two of them curled up together in the large bed.

Whistling softly, the maid stoked the fire back to life before throwing open the curtains to let in the weak mid-morning light.

Maria sat up with a squeak. Voices seeped up the stairs. Her guests were already at breakfast, no doubt wondering why their hostess was still abed. And while Enid had grown accustomed to Balwyn’s presence in her rooms, she doubted anyone else was of the same opinion.

“Balwyn,” she whispered, nudging him with an elbow. “Enid is here.”

He groused a bit before answering. “Good morning, Enid,” he said to her maid. “Happy Christmas.”

A small sound of pleasure came from the maid. “A blessing upon you, Lord Balwyn. My lady. Shall I bring up a breakfast tray? Tea?”

“Yes, Enid. Thank you.” She turned back to Balwyn. “That isn’t what I meant,” she said, swatting his shoulder in frustration. “If Enid is here, you should return to your own rooms. Dress. Make an appearance before I do, else—well, your family already thinks I’m some sort of harlot.”

“There is not one person here”—his voice hardened a bit—“except, perhaps, the good doctor, who isn’t aware that we discreetly share a bed.”

Jonathan again. “Stop that nonsense. I like my men a bit more seasoned. He considers me little more than an aunt, of sorts.”

Balwyn snorted. “And I care little for Harriet’s opinion. She wields no influence over me, despite her best efforts to order me about.” His arms tightened around her.

Then why have you not proposed? You were ready to and then…

Maria turned to him. “Talbot’s family didn’t approve of me,” she blurted out.

Balwyn gave her a thoughtful look. “Idiots.”

She toyed with the dusting of hair on his chest, nearly black with a sprinkle of silver.

Breathing in his scent, spice and male, she said, “The point is, Balwyn, because of their dislike, their disapproval, I was the cause of a bitter estrangement between Talbot and his family.” Maria bit her lip.

“To this day, Talbot’s nephew, who inherited—”

“Lord Talbot, whom I’ve met several times, is a swaggering, puffed up pigeon of a man. Pity the title had to go to him. You should never have been subjected to censure from such an individual.” Balwyn rolled out of bed, displeasure evident. “I’m not sure why we are having this discussion.”

Because she didn’t want the same thing for him. Couldn’t Balwyn see that? “Why are you so angry with me?”

“I am not your late husband.” He jerked on his trousers.

“Talbot—”

“No need to explain your adoration of him. You’ve done so many times.”

Maria’s mouth popped open. She sat up, annoyed, now, herself.

“That isn’t true. Would you rather I had cared as little for Talbot as you did your wife?

” Pressing her lips together, she said, “I only do not want to be the cause of bitterness. Not between you and your sister. Or Alicia. I’m not sure why that angers you.

I went to great lengths to celebrate Christmas with your family. ”

“Though I told you it wasn’t necessary. That their opinion means little to me.” Balwyn paused as he buttoned his shirt. “But perhaps this entire holiday celebration is merely a way for you to excuse yourself from—letting go of Talbot.” He finished in a huff, turning towards the door.

Maria threw a pillow at him. “That is not true.” Yes, she spoke of Talbot with great affection. She’d loved him. But that was hardly a reason for Balwyn to behave abominably. On Christmas.

Balwyn threw open the bedroom door. “I wanted to be at Windhaven enjoying Courtland’s good scotch.” He was yelling at her now, loud enough for them to be heard downstairs.

“We are in danger of becoming indiscreet,” she said angrily to his departing back.

“Good. Happy Christmas.” He slammed the heavy wood shut, furious footsteps marching down the hall.

“Happy Christmas to you as well,” she said, staring at the pattern of the coverlet. Roses and vines in soft muted tones. Like sleeping in a garden every night. That’s what Talbot had always said and—

Maria took a deep breath.

She and Balwyn rarely disagreed. That they had over their future was particularly troubling.

Had she intentionally sought out Lady Piedmont’s disapproval because a part of her didn’t want to marry again?

Because of Talbot? It pained her greatly that Balwyn thought he competed for Maria’s heart with a man who’d been gone for nearly a decade.

Enid brought her tea and toast while she contemplated matters. Sipping the tea, which was somewhat tepid, Maria thought of Balwyn. Talbot. Her future.

Finally, she threw on her robe and went to the window to take in her ruined garden.

There was a soft drizzle, the air misty, but the sun tried to fight its way through the clouds.

One of the kitchen maids appeared outside, the two pugs trailing behind her.

Achilles and Archimedes ran back and forth, tearing into the garden beds and flinging dirt in the air.

She pressed her forehead to the cool glass. Regardless of her best intentions, this Christmas celebration was a complete and utter failure. And being at odds with Balwyn made things that much worse.

A scream came from the maid below as something large dove from the sky.

A hawk, the biggest one Maria had ever seen. On Christmas Day.

Wings flapping the hawk tried to grab at one of the pugs, while the maid waved her skirts, yelling, and rushed to pick up the dog.

Lady Piedmont, who must have been watching from the drawing room, let out a loud screech.

In moments, her form came barreling into the gardens, followed by Wilma and Uncle Leonard, who held a crystal decanter in one hand.

He brandished the decanter at the hawk, hitting the bird just enough to deter it.

Unfortunately for Uncle Leonard, who was most likely foxed by now even though it wasn’t yet noon, his swing went wide, smacking Lady Piedmont in the hip.

She spun and fell directly into a large muddy puddle, screaming the entire time as the pugs ran over her, muddy paws ruining her dress.

The maid, to her credit, immediately went to assist Lady Piedmont, while Wilma helped Uncle Leonard to his feet.

“Happy Christmas, indeed,” Maria said as her laughter fogged the glass of the window.