Page 162 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Stacia was rarely satisfied with her work, but this fan had been one of those times.

It truly filled her with hope to read the words and look upon the overlarge H in the word haply, glinting with gold gilt and exploding with spring flowers and, yes, a lark joyfully soaring.

She slipped the fan into the pretty beaded bag along with a card of pins and a handkerchief, stole a last glance at her marvelous new hair, and turned toward the door just as somebody knocked.

Dora must have forgotten something.

But when she opened it, it was Lady Needham in the corridor, looking magnificent in a teal blue silk gown with a gold lace overdress.

“Oh!” the other woman exclaimed, her gaze wide and admiring as it swept over Stacia’s gown. “It is perfect on you! I knew it would be. And your hair looks delightful.”

Stacia brushed her hands over the skirt. “Thank you for this. Thank you for all the many kindnesses you’ve shown me since my arrival. You are generosity itself.”

“This gown always belonged to you,” Lady Needham said. “I only returned it to its owner—so don’t think of sending it back to me.”

“Oh, I couldn’t! It is too much—too—”

“Hush. It is a Christmas gift. Please,” she added. “It would make me happy.”

Stacia blinked back the tears that seemed so eager to fall today. “Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure. Were you headed to the ballroom?”

“I was, even though it is early.”

Lady Needham offered Stacia her arm. “We will be unfashionably early together,” she said as Stacia closed the door and took her arm. “Needham says I am not allowed to carry trays or deliver drinks or do anything strenuous. Chatham and Shaftsbury insist that Hy and Selina are also barred from exertion.”

Stacia knew all three women were increasing and could understand their husbands’ concerns.

“What are you permitted to do?” she asked.

The viscountess laughed. “Nothing other than dance and flirt.” She gestured toward her prominent midriff. “Although why he thinks a dance with me is a treat for his servants is anyone’s guess.”

Stacia thought the men would be lining up to dance with the viscountess, who was not only lovely but radiated happiness.

“Will you sit with me and my sisters and join us in running our husbands off their feet fetching lemonade and wraps and smelling salts—or whatever else we might contrive to keep them busy?”

Stacia laughed. “That sounds lovely.”

When they reached the ballroom Lady Needham stopped abruptly and burst out laughing when she saw the evening’s butler and two footmen hovering near the entrance.

Lord Needham announced the names of his guests in a ringing voice as they arrived while the Earl of Crewe and Duke of Chatham both collected a wider assortment of wraps than were ever seen at a ton function and transported them with pomp and ceremony to the cloak room.

Lady Needham looked from Crewe to Chatham, grinned, and said, “I have always wanted a matched pair of footmen.”

The two handsome aristocrats—both with scarred faces—looked at each other and laughed. The duke grinned down at the tiny viscountess. “I seem to have forgotten my eye patch.”

A throat cleared loudly somewhere behind Stacia.

“Duty calls,” the duke said, hurrying to where Cook—clad in a seventeenth century confection of celestial blue, complete with a jeweled stomacher, huge headdress, and black patch beside her lips—stood tapping her foot in mock impatience.

“I think some of your servants require more training, Needham,” the viscountess rebuked, smirking up at her towering spouse.

“May I take your wrap, Miss Martin?” Lord Crewe asked, looking very piratical in his evening blacks and matching eyepatch.

Stacia glanced down at the scrap of velvet, which at least marginally hid some of her rather shocking décolletage. “I believe I will retain it, er, Crewe,” she said in a lofty tone, getting into the spirit of things.

The earl laughed and said in a confiding voice, “Why I never thought to have such a ball, I do not know. I think I shall have to have one next year. Not at Christmas, but perhaps during our annual harvest fete. Ah, back to work!” He turned toward a new arrival, one of the real footmen and his sweetheart.