Page 3 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

Cove House, Five days before Christmas

Maria paced back and forth across the rug in the foyer of her delightful home by the sea, fingers tapping against her skirts in agitation. Usually, just being at Cove House, with the roar of the sea in the distance, soothed her. Not today.

“Well, this is incredibly unfortunate, Owen. I’ve only just arrived.”

“Indeed, my lady,” the butler replied.

After a disastrous St. Nicholas day celebration at Balwyn’s nearly a fortnight ago—honestly, at one point during the meal, Maria had wanted to fling the mashed parsnips at Alicia—she was finally starting to doubt the wisdom of her holiday plans.

Balwyn’s daughter had spoken not a word to Maria the entire evening.

At one point Alicia had pulled her sketchbook from her lap during the soup course and begun drawing.

After the three of them had retired to the drawing room, she’d purposely left the sketchbook open on a side table.

Horns drawn atop her head were one thing, but Maria’s bosom did not resemble the udders of a cow.

Balwyn found her breasts nothing short of spectacular.

Adding to the insult, Alicia had drawn the portrait, if one could call it such, using the expensive pastels Maria had just gifted her before dinner.

She’d gone to three shops to purchase the finest, most expensive—

Her teeth clenched.

Not even Balwyn’s mouth and tongue, two of his best assets, had improved Maria’s mood later that evening. Frustrated by his daughter’s poor behavior, he’d gone to speak to her, but Maria had stopped him. Chastising the girl would only make things worse.

“You’re certain, Owen? We cannot just…prop her up in the kitchens?”

“Quite certain, my lady. Mrs. Peasley is bedridden.”

I should have known the hopelessness of this endeavor after that disastrous dinner. Cancelled these ridiculous plans.

Nothing had gone right since she’d decided to host Balwyn’s family.

Hazel had waxed poetic about the abundance of holly, mistletoe, and other bloody twigs and such surrounding the Duke of Courtland’s estate, insisting the quality splendid and just what Maria would need to impress Lady Piedmont.

But while Maria had arrived at Cove House, the promised decorations had not.

Deciding not to wait any longer, she’d sent Owen and the footmen out to forage whatever they could from around Appleton and the surrounding area, though most of her staff was from London and couldn’t tell a sprig of holly from the ivy in the gardens.

Thankfully, her footmen had returned with armfuls of foliage that looked appropriate.

Correct. Not as robust as what Maria would have liked, but that couldn’t be helped.

With enough dried oranges and candles, no one would notice.

“How could this have happened?” she said. “It’s…Christmas.”

“Well,” the butler started. “Mrs. Peasley was visiting her sister, given she’d expected you to be at Windhaven for the holiday and not in need of her services.”

“You can’t imagine how much I wish I were still visiting the duke and duchess,” Maria whispered under her breath.

“Mrs. Peasley agreed to cut her visit short—”

Maria had begged her to cook, given Lady Piedmont would be in attendance.

She’d even given Mrs. Peasley an extra week to extend her visit in order to make up for taking her away during the holiday—and an enormous bonus.

Her cook had been due to arrive today. Maria had been making do since her arrival with two kitchen maids brought from London, anticipating the arrival of Mrs. Peasley.

The two were adequate at making simple meals but little else.

“—and was about to board the coach for Appleton when she stumbled on a stone, fell down the steps of her sister’s home, and broke her leg.

” Owen bit his lip. “The physician says she cannot be moved for at least a month.” His lips drew together.

“Mrs. Peasley apologizes profusely.” He held up a note.

“It isn’t her fault.” Maria paced back and forth. “Options, Owen.” She waved a hand at him, trying not to panic. “I have no cook for Christmas. My guests are arriving soon. They’ll be expecting refreshments. A lavish spread.” She spun about to face her butler. “Christmas dinner.”

“I’ve made inquiries, my lady. But as you can imagine, there is not an abundance of qualified cooks in Appleton. I did mention our problem to Mr. Jacobson.”

Jacobson was owner of The Painted Speck, Appleton’s finest tavern. “He’s offered to help?” The food at the tavern was rather delicious if a little plain. “I’ll pay him whatever he wishes to cook for me and run the kitchens.”

“He isn’t interested in taking over the kitchens.” Owen cleared his throat. “He said he has his own to worry about. Mr. Jacobson suggested Lord Denton’s cook, Mrs. Killigrew.”

Lord Denton was an ancient baron who lived in a small estate a half-day’s ride from Appleton. Maria had met him only a handful of times, none of them memorable. Denton was pleasant enough, though he had smelled of potatoes beginning to turn. “I thought he died.”

“He did, my lady. Thus Mrs. Killigrew’s availability on such short notice. She’s been helping Mr. Jacobson at the Painted Speck until she finds more permanent employment. Mrs. Killigrew does come with a letter of recommendation from Lord Denton.”

“There’s no one else?” Denton, in addition to smelling of potatoes, had been addled, toothless, and likely incapable of consuming anything other than broth or perhaps a thick soup. Not exactly comforting.

“I’m afraid not, my lady. Betsy and Ann were only brought from London to assist Mrs. Peasley. The meals they’ve produced have been passable, but…” Owen trailed off.

“Perhaps with some direction?” Maria remained hopeful. “More than passable?”

“You’ve witnessed their skill since your arrival. I would not place Christmas dinner for five in their hands.”

“Six. I encountered Dr. Forester while shopping. He’s here for the holiday.

” Jonathan Forester and his elderly father had been Maria’s closest neighbors for years.

Jonathan had studied extensively at Oxford and was now a physician.

Unfortunately, the elder Mr. Forester had passed away before Jonathan finished his studies.

Now, Dr. Forester was in possession of a lovely manor house a short ride from her own home and debating whether to practice as a physician in Appleton or return to London.

“He was prepared to spend the holiday alone with only the servants for company. I thought it better he be part of my celebration. Also, he is only a few years older than Miss Smithers.”

“Still matchmaking, my lady?”

“Dr. Forester is a scholarly sort, given his profession. He’s always writing in the small notebook he carries and drawing rather repugnant things he’s witnessed.

Boils. Rashes.” Maria had made the mistake once of asking about Jonathan’s notes and been greeted with a rather detailed drawing of a pustule.

“Perhaps they’ll find common ground. He’s a lovely young gentleman. ”

Owen did not look convinced. He’d met Balwyn’s daughter.

“You’re certain about Mrs. Peasley?” She stopped before him. “We can’t just place her on a chair in the kitchen to supervise?” Maria tapped a finger to her lips. “Maybe a small cot would be better than a chair.”

“Positive, my lady. As I said, she cannot be moved at present.”

Maria pinched the bridge of her nose. “I fear I need a glass of brandy. Which I can pour myself, Owen. You have more important matters to attend to. Please engage Mrs. Killigrew. Show her around the kitchens. I’ve already decided on the menus.”

“Of course, my lady.” Owen bowed and bustled off to Appleton to find Mrs. Killigrew.

Maria marched into the drawing room and poured a large snifter of brandy, eying the piles of greenery lining every surface of the room.

“Drat.”

Taking a large swallow of the brandy, she stood perfectly still, allowing the burn to settle low in her stomach.

The warmth stretched out over her fingers as she inhaled the scent of the greenery her staff had managed to find.

Owen and Johns, one of the footmen, had balked at decorating before Christmas Eve.

Maria’s guests should be present. Help in arranging the boughs and bits of orange.

Bad luck, my lady, to decorate before the others arrive.

But the idea of Lady Piedmont or Alicia joyfully tossing greenery about was laughable. Owen was merely being superstitious.

Mrs. Peasley’s accident was not the result of her having doused her house in greenery before Christmas. The very idea was ridiculous. Her butler might be afraid to flout tradition, but Maria was not.

“More on the mantel.” Maria waved at one of the footmen lingering in the hall. “I want a bit in every corner of the house. Including the guest rooms.”

The brandy helped fortify her. Strengthened her resolve.

Unfortunate that Mrs. Peasley would be unable to showcase her superb talents in the kitchen, but the situation was not insurmountable.

How hard could it be to prepare a goose?

Mrs. Killigrew had worked for Lord Denton, and the elderly baron surely hadn’t always subsisted on broth.

If the woman was assisting Jacobson at The Painted Speck, Mrs. Killigrew must be capable, at the very least.

I could stuff a goose, if need be. I’ve seen Mrs. Peasley do so at least a dozen times.

She nodded in approval to the footman who brought in more…twigs and such.

The house smelled of beeswax, dried oranges, and what she was sure was pine.

The guestrooms were prepared. The air outside held only a slight chill.

The sky was cloudless and blue, with no hint of rain.

Certainly no snow. In all the winter nights over the years Maria had spent before the cozy fireplace in this drawing room, never once had she seen snow at Cove House.

She took a deep breath. Poured another finger of brandy as her panic over Mrs. Peasley subsided. Everything would be perfect.

Balwyn was due to arrive tomorrow with the Piedmonts and Alicia.

The journey would be pleasant, given the weather.

No delays or mud. Dr. Forester would be a delightful additional guest, if a bit restrained.

Attractive, intelligent, and of moderate wealth with a prestigious occupation.

If Alicia didn’t spend all her bloody time sketching Maria as some sort of demon, she might end up under the mistletoe with Dr. Forester.

She took another swallow and plopped into a chair before the fire, staring into the flames.

Or whatever plant happened to be hanging over the doorways.

Balwyn would be here soon. She’d dazzle his family with her preparations, even the austere Lady Piedmont. If nothing else, Dr. Forester and Alicia could compare sketching techniques. Mrs. Killigrew would be a decent substitute for Mrs. Peasley.

Everything would be absolutely perfect.