Page 2 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

London, some months later.

“You cannot be serious.” The Duchess of Courtland leaned forward, peering at Maria over her cup of tea. “It’s Christmas. You were coming to Windhaven. You promised. Courtland had all manner of amusements planned for Balwyn.”

“I’m entirely serious, Hazel. I think it necessary.”

“Necessary? The celebration, which I’ve planned down to the last detail, will be joyous at Windhaven.” Her friend’s lips wrinkled in disapproval. “Instead, you wish to… spend Christmas with Lady Piedmont.”

Honestly, when Hazel put it that way, Maria could see how this might not be the wisest course to take. “Lady Piedmont is a bit…challenging.”

The kindest way to describe the woman’s stifling, domineering personality.

“Balwyn’s sister will cast a pall over the entirety of the holiday,” Hazel insisted. “Make Appleton and the entire countryside surrounding your estate rather mournful. One look from her and the waves beating the cliffs will freeze in terror. Poor Owen.”

“My butler will survive. You’re exaggerating,” Maria protested weakly. “She’s merely set in her opinions.”

“A polite way of saying she’s rigid. Not to mention you’ll have to suffer Miss Smithers. Her third Season and still not a suitor in sight.” Hazel shook her head and held out a plate. “May I have some of those lovely sandwiches? The ham, please. Oh, and the cucumber. I’m starving.”

Maria filled a plate, taking note of the small bulge at her friend’s waist, which Hazel’s dress failed to hide.

The deep blue silk puffed around Hazel’s mid-section like a mushroom cap.

“You must be constantly ravenous. Given your stature and that of the duke, the child growing inside you is a giant.”

Hazel was tall for a woman. Some even described her as amazonian in appearance.

And Courtland? Overly large for a duke. Or any gentleman, for that matter.

After the events of Maria’s house party, she’d assumed the pair would never seek each other out again, but much to her surprise, by the time Maria had returned to London, Hazel and the duke had decided to wed.

The two were madly in love. She could see it clearly the day Courtland and Hazel wed in the small church near the duke’s estate.

“Most assuredly.” Hazel patted her stomach with a smile. “Now, stop insulting my large infant and let us return to the more important matter at hand. Lady Piedmont’s dislike.”

Maria took a swallow of tea, allowing the taste to sit on her tongue. “Unfortunate.”

“She liked you just fine when she begged an invitation for Miss Smithers to your house party.” Hazel observed. “Good enough to find her unlikable niece a suitor, but not to bed her brother. And Lady Piedmont lacks subtlety. She called you a tart behind your back.”

“Lady Piedmont finds it…difficult to believe that my marriage to Talbot was a love-match, given Talbot’s age. Balwyn is also older, and I suppose she has concerns.”

“Concerns? She insulted you, rather loudly, while we all wrote thank you notes for Widows of Fallen Heroes after our charity auction. Whispering that you were merely a trollop bent on destroying her brother.” Hazel made a sound of pure pleasure as she bit into a tiny sandwich.

“Good lord, these are wonderful. You are so fortunate to have Mrs. Peasley. A most excellent cook. I don’t suppose you’d allow me to steal her away? ”

“I would not. Mrs. Peasley is a treasure.”

Maria’s cook was legendary in London and a reason her dinner invitations were never refused.

Hazel bit into another sandwich. “Oh, I do adore cucumbers. I find I dream of eating them.” She swallowed the bite of sandwich with a sigh of pleasure.

“The only amusement to be found during the entire afternoon we spent writing those notes was when, upon hearing Lady Piedmont’s comments, Lady Leek dropped her pen,” Hazel announced cheerily.

“And spilled the inkwell into her lap, ruining her favorite dress. I did rather enjoy that.”

Maria and Hazel smiled at the memory.

“I think Lady Piedmont’s dislike a direct result of the gown you wore to the Colvert ball. The color was quite pleasing, I grant you. A variation of orange. Like a sunset. But the silk appeared painted on your skin,” Hazel said.

The gown had clung to Maria’s curves. “It was fetching,” she replied defensively. “The neckline fashionable. I wore it for Balwyn.”

“Oh, I’m not judging.” Hazel held up one sandwich-filled hand. “Merely pointing out a fact. Has Miss Smithers softened towards you?”

“I am making progress with Alicia.” Maria lied smoothly, sipping her tea. “Moderate, but steady.”

“Are there any more with cucumbers?” Hazel pointed at the tray, smiling when Maria filled her plate once more.

“Thank you. And I disagree. You are not making progress with Miss Smithers. At the lovely dinner party you held for Balwyn’s birthday last month, I caught sight of a sketch the girl was working on.

I hadn’t thought you had horns hidden in your hair or a tail beneath your skirts.

Still, it was a remarkable likeness. I suppose she has some talent. ”

Maria kicked her friend in the shin, none too gently. “You forgot the teeth and claws. I suppose she is still put out I didn’t find her a suitor at my house party.”

“How is that your fault? Goodness, you did everything but toss Kent at her. I don’t think she realizes how difficult it is to find an appropriate gentleman when one doesn’t possess a personality. Or conversation skills of any kind. I understand she takes after the late Lady Balwyn in that regard.”

“Don’t speak ill of the dead.”

Balwyn and his wife had never been in love.

Nor liked each other much. The match between them had been arranged, as so many were, for status and pedigree.

Once Alicia was born, the pair had gone their separate ways, disliking each other so much, they’d declined to produce an heir.

Balwyn had lived primarily in London, while she had lived at their country estate.

“Wasn’t Lady Balwyn tupping one of the grooms?”

“She fell from her horse.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Hazel chewed thoughtfully.

“Lady Piedmont adored Martha,” Maria said of Balwyn’s late wife. “They were close friends.”

“Exactly. No matter what you do, you will never live up to Martha’s memory.

So why, unless you’ve completely gone mad, would you invite either Miss Smithers or Lady Piedmont to your delightful estate by the sea for what is sure to be a torturous experience?

Balwyn wants you regardless. And it isn’t as if you want to marry again. ”

Maria chewed viciously on a biscuit and averted her eyes.

“Oh,” Hazel’s lips parted as she dusted off her fingers. “You do want to marry Balwyn. Oh, I see.”

“Why is that so surprising?” Maria sputtered.

“Well, you’ve been quite averse to marriage. For years.” She held up a hand. “And with good reason considering your grief over Talbot. I’m merely surprised. But happily so. Courtland and I adore Balwyn. He’s lovely.” Hazel’s brow wrinkled. “But there’s a problem isn’t there?”

Maria pressed her lips together.

“Oh, I see.” Hazel nodded. “He hasn’t asked you.”

“Stop doing that.” Maria waved a hand at her.

“What? I’ve done nothing but surmise the situation.”

“That…smugness. Cease this instant. It is unbecoming in a duchess.”

“Possibly, but I haven’t been one for very long.” Hazel’s tone was prim. “I’m trying to be more ducal in nature. It’s far harder than you imagine.”

“I know that Balwyn loves me,” Maria said carefully. “And we have made…promises to each other. Spoken of the future. But.” She shrugged. “He hasn’t asked me. Formally. I’m not sure why.”

“He might be waiting for the right time.”

“Exactly.” Maria chewed on her bottom lip. “Or…there is another reason.”

“You think it because of Lady Piedmont and the tedious Miss Smithers. Because they don’t care for you.”

That is exactly what Maria worried over.

“Their approval matters to Balwyn. I thought if we could all be together for Christmas; Lady Piedmont would see that I am perfect for him. That I am not some tart bent on ruining her precious brother.”

“Well, you are Balwyn’s mistress.” Hazel flicked her wrist. “That does sound tawdry. Companion, then or special friend.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “We have an understanding. We are both widowed. It is an acceptable relationship. At any rate, I’m sure given enough time, I can win both Lady Piedmont and Alicia over.”

She’s fine for…companionship, I suppose, Balwyn. But a wife?

Lady Piedmont’s poor opinion of her, voiced so openly, still stung. The woman hadn’t cared if Maria overheard her or not. If Balwyn knew how his sister’s opinion bothered her, he would feel obligated to come to Maria’s defense and she was determined to solve this little problem on her own.

“Please may I have one of those?” Hazel gestured at a biscuit. “I suppose Mrs. Peasley’s cooking will help make your case. It certainly makes me feel better. But I’m not sure your cook’s roasted duck will be enough to sway Lady Piedmont. Possibly one of her souffles might.”

“Why are we friends? I don’t find the situation nearly as humorous as you do.” Maria’s fingers tightened on the cup holding her tea.

Hazel reached out and took her hand. “I think you worry overmuch. Balwyn has his own reasons for not proposing to you, none of which I think have anything to do with his horrid sister or her approval. Balwyn doesn’t strike me as the sort of gentleman who would worry overmuch about Lady Piedmont’s opinions, else he would have wed as she wished long ago.

The man is absolutely besotted by you, Maria. As well he should be.”

“I must try.”

Talbot’s family hadn’t cared for Maria either.

None of them had believed a young girl could fall in love with a man thirty years her senior and their dislike of her had been evident.

They’d practically disowned Talbot and the estrangement from his family had pained him greatly, though he’d never regretted wedding Maria.

She didn’t want to be the cause of such a rift for Balwyn.

I can fix this. I can.

“I am planning quite a splendid celebration.” She fixed Hazel with a resolute look. “Cove House is a perfect spot to soften anyone’s heart. My estate is lovely. The weather will be mild.”

I despise the ocean, Lady Talbot. All that salt. Destroys the complexion.

Maria had issued the invitation to Lady Piedmont before recalling that Balwyn’s sister didn’t care for being near the coast. That was a trifle worrisome. “As to Alicia…” She hesitated. “I realize she isn’t overly fond of me—”

“Because she saw her father leaving your rooms during the house party.” Hazel raised a brow. “Little twit. Who gets up at dawn to draw?”

“The light, according to Alicia, is better in the morning,” Maria explained. “That isn’t important. I want her to like me, Hazel. And Lady Piedmont. It is important to Balwyn.”

“Is it?” Hazel raised a brow. “Or does he remain blissfully unaware of your plans? And the reasoning behind this celebration?”

“I broached the subject just last night, and he was in agreement.”

Somewhat.

Good God, Maria. You can’t be serious. My sister? I thought we were traveling to Windhaven.

Hazel snorted. “Well, at least give my regards to Mrs. Peasley, who will need every skill at her disposal to impress Lady Piedmont. I will miss you this holiday. Should you change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

“The invitation to Windhaven will remain open.” Hazel patted Maria’s hand. “Now, may I have the last biscuit?”