Page 4 of How the Belle Stole Christmas

Maria stood a few steps inside the foyer to avoid the wind whipping fat snowflakes inside the open door as she waited patiently for the two mud-splattered coaches, laden with trunks, to come to a stop.

She’d expected only one coach, but given the number of trunks latched atop, two vehicles must have been necessary.

Another gust of wind tugged at her skirts, chilling Maria all the way to her bones.

The weather had turned, rather unexpectedly.

Balwyn should have arrived yesterday, but she supposed the unexpected storm had caused the delay.

Just as it had delayed Mrs. Killigrew though Johns had been sent to fetch her.

Maria looked up at the graying sky, the sun nothing more than a muted ball of light overhead.

A mixture of snow and freezing rain had begun to fall from the skies and had not stopped.

The wind howled around the house hard enough to shake the windows.

Johns had told Maria, just before he’d set out for Appleton, that the sea was especially vicious today, the waves crashing angrily against the shore.

“Bad luck to decorate before Christmas Eve,” Owen whispered as he took up his place beside the front door.

“Not another word, Owen,” Maria hissed, though she was starting to agree.

Every fireplace roared hot to dispel the insidious chill. Extra blankets had been placed in every guest room. A steaming pot of tea and mulled wine sat on a tray in the drawing room to welcome her guests. Ann and Betsy, the kitchen maids, had only managed to burn a handful of the biscuits.

Everything will be fine. Mrs. Killigrew will take over upon her arrival.

The coaches halted just outside the door. Balwyn was the first to hop out, shaking the moisture from his cloak before assisting Alicia. She clung to her father’s arm as the wind tore at her skirts, making it difficult for them both to climb the steps.

“Lady Talbot.” Balwyn bowed and took her hand. “We’ve finally arrived.”

“My lord.” Her fingers curled around his. “I grew worried at the delay.”

“I would not dare disappoint you,” Balwyn murmured, dark eyes catching hers. Maria’s heart thumped that much harder as he stood before her and…well, nothing else mattered in that instant but she and Balwyn. She was so overjoyed at his presence, Maria completely forgot they were not alone.

Alicia cleared her throat, stomping her feet and flinging bits of mud across the rug.

“Miss Smithers.” Maria turned from Balwyn though she wanted nothing more than to drag him up the stairs to warm him herself. “Welcome. Happy Christmas.”

“Lady Talbot.” Alicia bobbed prettily, but hostility emanated from her. Maria was certain the girl would stab her with the charcoal and pens likely tucked on her person if she could.

“The weather turned foul after departing London, becoming so rough we were forced to take shelter at a coaching inn,” Balwyn explained.

“An overly crowded coaching inn. My aunt was not pleased,” came Alicia’s snide remark. “She begged Father to turn back. Risking life and limb simply to please you was—”

“Alicia.” Balwyn growled, nudging the girl none to gently in the direction of the drawing room. “Go warm yourself. Perhaps a cup of hot tea and something to eat will improve your mood. It’s Christmas.”

Alicia pouted but stomped away.

Balwyn’s fingers trailed along Maria’s waist, pulling her close. “I’ve told her I won’t tolerate any rude behavior. Nor any more disparaging portraits.” He looked down at her. “Did you imagine I didn’t see that sketch she did on St. Nicholas Day?”

“This is a change for her. She’s had you all to herself for years.”

A grunt came from him. “You are kinder to her than she deserves. I’ve allowed my sister far too much influence over Alicia. A mistake. You smell wonderful.” He brushed his nose along the curve of her ear.

“It isn’t me. I suspect it is the mulled wine.” Owen had gone down the front steps to assist the occupants of the second coach.

“I disagree.” His brows drew together. “Also, now is a good time to apologize. You may not allow me to do so later. My sister’s determination has not faltered.

And I am quite furious with her at the moment.

” Balwyn pressed a kissed to her cheek and whispered, “I need a brandy, my love.” He turned and walked into the drawing room.

Before more could be said, another blast of cold air and pellets of sleet blew through the door.

Owen struggled a bit on the steps as he assisted a sharp-eyed Lady Piedmont into the foyer.

Garbed in a voluminous cloak decorated with an array of tassels, she strode purposefully inside, her eyes passing over Maria as she scanned the interior of the foyer.

A puff of disdain left her lips as she took in a small table.

A landscape painting. Two wall sconces and the rug beneath her feet.

“Lady Talbot,” she intoned as Owen took her cloak.

“Lady Piedmont.” Maria bobbed politely. “Welcome to Cove House. Happy Christmas.”

“The journey was rather horrendous,” Balwyn’s sister said without preamble, lips wrinkling.

“Freezing rain. Mud. A coaching inn full of travelers who all smelled of the docks,” she trilled.

“I feared we would never arrive but be found dead on the roads. Our coach overturned and exposed to the elements. The blast of salty air as we neared your…estate”—the words dripped with condescension—“did not help matters. The spray from the ocean seeped inside the coach, tainting us all with a salty chill one can feel in their bones.”

Quite a speech. Lady Piedmont hadn’t been nearly so scornful when begging an invitation for Alicia to attend last summer’s house party.

Balwyn’s sister had none of his humor or wit, though they did share a nose and a similar authoritative manner of speaking.

That was the most she could say to recommend Lady Piedmont. A decent nose.

“I do hope you’ve something to warm us in your”—she peeked at the drawing room—“little parlor.” Her features pinched together in annoyance.

“The least I expect after gathering us here at your command and after such an arduous journey. Piedmont is quite chilled.” She turned to the gentleman moving slowly up the steps as if on his way to the gallows.

Nose red from the cold, Lord Piedmont stepped inside to stand beside his wife. He was unassuming. Nondescript. Were it not for his clothing, Maria could have mistaken him for the coach’s driver. His ability to fade in the background likely served him well in his marriage to Lady Piedmont.

He shook out his cloak, droplets of rain spraying Maria. A large basket, heavy by the way he held it, bumped against his hip. His bleary gaze took her in, and she noted the scent of spirits hovering around his shoulders.

“Happy Christmas, my lord,” she greeted him.

“Lady Talbot,” he mumbled, placing the basket on the rug near Lady Piedmont. “Here, my dove.” He ambled away in the direction of the drawing room. “I do hope you have plenty of brandy, my lady.”

“Of course, my lord. Please warm yourself.” Maria inclined her head.

“Now, now you two.” Lady Piedmont peered at the basket.

Sounds came from within. Small yips and barks.

“Owen.” Lady Piedmont snapped her fingers. “Come open this for me.”

The butler hurried over as Maria regarded the basket with mounting horror. She was not overly fond of animals. Dogs least of all.

Two small, drooling pugs popped out, nipping at Owen’s fingers and making him jump back.

“Archimedes and Achilles,” Lady Piedmont cooed. “I couldn’t leave them behind in London. They’re barely more than pups. Aren’t you my brave boys.” She looked Maria in the eye, daring her to object.

“How delightful,” she choked.

One of the pugs started to thrust against Maria’s leg. “I’ll assign a maid to care for them,” she said, discreetly attempting to shake off the dog clawing at her skirts. “All are welcome.”

“Oh, I’m so pleased to hear you say as much,” Lady Piedmont said, turning back towards the door as Johns brought forth another cloaked figure from the coach. “I told Balwyn you wouldn’t mind, given your kind and generous nature.”

Maria pushed at the pug with her foot.

“My dear friend,” Lady Piedmont drawled. “Widowed barely two years. She’s only come out of mourning, and I just could not leave her alone. Not at Christmas.”

The hooded figure staggered against Johns before stepping inside the foyer. Owens hurried forward to shut the door.

“Goodness,” an overly sweet voice said from inside the confines of fine wool. “I’ve never seen such weather.”

“Lady Talbot, may I present Mrs. Lawrence.” Lady Piedmont motioned her friend forward.

“My lady,” Mrs. Lawrence greeted Maria and pulled back her hood, revealing a face of stunning, inordinate beauty. Wide blue eyes blinked innocently as she took in her surroundings. Hair the color of flax. A complexion that likely never mottled. A bosom barely contained by her modest gown.

“Oh, how lovely your home is, Lady Talbot. I thank you for your hospitality. I hope my presence isn’t a terrible inconvenience. Lady Piedmont insisted.”

I’m sure she did.

“Not at all, Mrs. Lawrence.” Maria kept her voice pleasant. “Welcome. Happy Christmas.”

A smug smile played at Lady Piedmont’s lips. “As I said, poor Wilma is widowed, and her son Rupert is visiting his grandparents for the holiday. She didn’t wish to revisit her sadness by celebrating with them. And I consider Wilma family.”

The gleam in Lady Piedmont’s eye was unmistakable.

“Oh?”

Lady Piedmont leaned over. “Wilma and Balwyn were very nearly betrothed.” A soft laugh came from her. “But Mr. Lawrence snatched her away. Balwyn wasn’t quick enough. A pity. Still, I feel as if Wilma and I are sisters.”

“That’s very kind, my lady.” Mrs. Lawrence blinked those innocent blue eyes at Maria as Lady Piedmont took her hand.

Splendid. Just splendid.

In addition to Lady Piedmont’s obnoxious dogs, Maria would also have to endure the presence of Balwyn’s former paramour, who resembled an overly voluptuous milkmaid. Not to mention Lady Piedmont. Impressing Balwyn’s sister seemed rather hopeless under the circumstances.

The pugs barked and raced about. One began to gnaw at the rug in the foyer. The other lifted his leg against the stairs and relieved himself.

“Oh, dear.” Lady Piedmont chuckled at the puddle.

“An accident here and there is to be expected, isn’t it Lady Talbot?

The journey stretched on forever,” she emphasized the word.

“And my poor boys aren’t used to being constrained.

Archimedes and Achilles are filled with boundless energy, I’m sure you won’t mind if they run about.

Come, Wilma.” She took Mrs. Lawrence’s arm.

“Let us draw near the fire. Balwyn is awaiting us with a brandy.”

Maria clasped her hands, wishing she could toss both women—and the annoying dogs—back out into the storm. Lady Piedmont was obvious in her dislike but bringing a woman who Balwyn had nearly wed to Maria’s home for Christmas was audacious, even for her.

“Have a room prepared for Mrs. Lawrence,” Maria instructed Owen. “And find a maid or footman, one who likes animals, to take charge of those.” She pointed at the dogs.

“Achilles and Archimedes,” Owens supplied helpfully, taking note of the puddle spreading across the floor. He snapped a finger at a maid who rushed forward.

Johns tried to rein in the animals, attempting to scoop them up, though they evaded his efforts, until Achilles, or perhaps it was Archimedes, promptly started to hump the leg of his trousers.

The other dog ran around the poor maid, barking and snarling, before evading her grasp and skittering down the hall. Something fell, crashing to the floor.

Maria shut her eyes for a moment, praying for patience. “Johns,” she said, opening them once more. “You may need a new uniform. And have someone clean up whatever…has shattered,” she said, waving her hand in the direction of the crash.

The maid mopped up the puddle. “I’ll do it, my lady.”

“Close the doors to the other rooms.” Maria nodded at her. “Owen, do you think their tiny legs can make it up the stairs?”

“Uncertain, my lady. Elizabeth.” He looked down at the maid. “Do you like dogs?”

The poor girl looked between Maria and the butler. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Once Johns has them gathered up, they’ll be your responsibility. Make sure they go out at regular times. Mop up their messes. Feed them.”

“Yes, sir.” The maid stood with the soaked rag and hurried off, Johns behind her.

“I told you it was bad luck to decorate early,” he muttered to Maria under his breath.

“Not another word. Or I’ll put those beasts under your care. Perhaps if they are outside long enough, they’ll freeze or run off. Mrs. Killigrew is here and in the kitchens?”

“Taking control as we speak, my lady.” Owen had an odd look on his face.

“Good. I need to see to my guests. Please make sure she follows the menu for tonight. I’ll visit with her tomorrow.”