Page 14 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

Christmas Day

Once Maria came down the stairs, most of the excitement of the hawk attack had abated.

Lady Piedmont was in her rooms, claimed Enid.

Her ladyship was suffering from hysteria brought on by her beloved Achilles having nearly been eaten by a large bird.

Dr. Forester had prescribed a healthy snifter of brandy for Balwyn’s sister.

Thank goodness for the good doctor. He had proved his mettle twice now in dealing with Lady Piedmont.

And as it happened, he awaited her at the bottom of the staircase.

“Lady Talbot.”

“Doctor. The events of last evening and this morning aside,” she said, tilting her chin, “I hope you are enjoying your stay.”

“I haven’t seen a hawk that large since I was a child.

” His brows drew up. “And I have been reminded to have my own chimneys inspected.” He grinned before sobering once more.

“I must ask, my lady, do you have nettle tea in the kitchens? I keep some at home, but the condition of the roads would preclude me from fetching it. The tea is for Miss Smithers.”

“Miss Smithers?”

The young lady in question, strode in their direction, and Maria had to struggle not to gasp. The rash had spread across her cheeks and nose. “Yes, because you’ve poisoned me.”

“Poisoned you?” Maria’s mouth popped open. “But— ”

Dr. Forester spared Alicia a patient look. “Not poisoned. I believe, my lady, that there is something in your festive greenery which Miss Smithers cannot tolerate. She had the same rash before when a child—from mugwort.”

“While I was picking blackberries one summer,” Alicia stated. “My father is convinced it was the berries, but I still eat them. My mother said it was mugwort.”

“But there’s no mugwort. I wouldn’t even know what it looks like. Only holly. Rosemary. Some dried oranges.”

“Mugwort, Lady Talbot, closely resembles rosemary. The two plants even have a similar aroma. Did the greenery come with you from London?”

“No…Johns sent some of the staff to gather it a few days ago, on the other side of Appleton. But they all grew up in London, and they must have mistaken it for rosemary. Oh, Alicia, I’m so sorry. I’d no idea.”

“Of course not.” Alicia glared at her. “You’re far too busy making cow eyes at my father…” She glanced at Jonathan. “Among others.”

Maria’s mouth popped open. “I beg your pardon.”

“Nettle tea, my lady,” Dr. Forester insisted once more. “It will help. And I can make an ointment for Miss Smithers as well to help with the redness.”

Thank goodness for Jonathan. “I believe there is some in the kitchens. Mrs. Peasley keeps a great many herbs and other remedies on hand. She stores everything in a small room behind the larder. I’ll show it to you.” Maria touched his arm.

Which earned her another furious look from Alicia.

First Balwyn and now his daughter. Damn Lady Piedmont.

“Wonderful. Return to the drawing room, Miss Smithers. I’ll have a pot of nettle tea brought and I’ll make the ointment.”

Alicia nodded, sending Maria a look of utter disdain before walking back to the drawing room.

“I’m—shocked, Jonathan,” she said. “How would I have any idea about the mugwort, or that it might cause Alicia a rash? I didn’t do so purposefully.”

“Of course you didn’t, my lady. Neither did your staff. It is an honest mistake.” He took a step back from her, clearing his throat. “I took the precaution of having all the greenery taken from her guestroom. I think it advisable to remove all of it from the house.”

“Immediately. I don’t want to spoil Christmas for Miss Smithers.” Maria felt terrible. So much for trying to form a relationship with Alicia. Perhaps this was a sign she and Balywn weren’t meant to be together.

“The nettle tea will help,” he assured her.

“I should rid us of that,” she pointed angrily at a ball of what Johns had declared to be mistletoe but, in reality, could be anything. She jumped up to grab at the small ball of greenery, determined to rid her house of all of it immediately.

“Wait, my lady. Allow me.”

Maria managed to grab the branches but stumbled, her ankle twisting. She fell against the wall, throwing up her hands, prepared to land on the floor but a pair of strong arms grabbed her instead.

“Goodness,” she laughed, as Jonathan saved her. “I fear I possess more bravado than anything else.” She flexed her foot and ankle. “No harm done. Thank you for your assistance.”

“I’ll ask the staff to handle the rest,” Jonathan said. “Are you sure? You didn’t twist your ankle?” His eyes on her were concerned.

“I’m quite well. You may release me.”

“Yes,” Balwyn drawled from around the corner. “Why don’t you release Lady Talbot and be on your way?”

Maria turned to face her lover, a ball of green twigs clutched in one hand. “Mugwort.”

He said nothing, only glared at Jonathan who had the sense to bow, before standing awkwardly, waiting for Maria to direct him to the room where the herbs were kept.

“The small door behind the larder,” she said to him. “Betsy can show you. Ignore Mrs. Killigrew.”

Jonathan inclined his head and set off for the kitchens, avoiding Balwyn and his murderous glare.

She turned to her lover, taking in his furious stance. “There was no need to be rude to Dr. Forester.”

“Don’t you mean Jonathan?” He crossed his arms.

There were many things she adored about Victor Smithers, Viscount Balwyn. His sense of humor. The way he handled a pistol or a sword, as if it were an extension of his arm.

She’d watched him fence before. Stimulating.

That splendidly authoritative tone that always had Maria imagining him commanding her to do the most…inappropriate things.

But what Maria did not care for was the unwarranted jealously and suspicion coloring his features. It was one thing for Balwyn to be upset over Talbot—still idiotic but understandable. But Jonathan? Whom she thought of as a potential suitor for Alicia?

“That is enough,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what has burrowed into your head, or what things you imagine. But at least you are not spending Christmas with your lover’s former…betrothed. As I am.”

He had the decency to look abashed. “We were never—”

“There is mugwort in the greenery,” she snapped at him. “Your daughter has a reaction not to blackberries but mugwort. Something, had you asked her, you might have known. Mugwort resembles rosemary, which Alicia believes I put in the greenery decorating the house on purpose to cause her pain.”

Balwyn ran a hand through his hair. “Maria—”

She held up her hand. “I’m not done. Dr. Forester recognized the symptoms and suggested we rid the house of all decoration.

He’s going to make her nettle tea for the symptoms. I stupidly tried to remove this bit of greenery, horrified that your daughter thinks I am so terrible I would poison her.

Dr. Forester kept me from tumbling to the ground, afraid I’d twist my ankle.

All part of my grand seduction of him, you see.

In the middle”—her voice raised—“of the bloody hallway, where anyone could see us.” She flung the ball of weeds or whatever it truly happened to be at Balwyn.

“How gratifying to know you don’t trust me, Balwyn.

A splendid gift at Christmas. Go back to your game of chest with Wilma. ”

“Chess,” he whispered.

“I was correct the first time.”

She turned and marched off before he could answer, composing her features with every step. It would do no good to allow Lady Piedmont—or anyone else—to sense discord between her and Balwyn because that’s what the woman wanted.

Taking a deep breath, she ventured into the drawing room. It was Christmas, and she still had guests.