Page 17 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

“Needham Park,” her mother repeated with a snide huff. “It looked to have at least fifty rooms.”

“There are seventy-one,” Phoebe corrected.

The countess scowled. “You are determined to make spectacles of yourselves.”

Phoebe smiled serenely, refusing to be drawn.

“I see you are taking me to the east wing,” her mother said when Phoebe did not respond. “I do hope Needham has had the sense to fix that wretched draught that howls down the corridor.”

“Indeed, he has. I think you will be pleased.” Although Phoebe doubted it. Had she ever seen her mother pleased about anything? If she had, she could not remember it.

“Hmph,” the countess muttered.

Phoebe’s smile frayed around the edges. It was going to be a long day.

***

Stacia smiled as she looked around the luxurious suite of rooms. “This is lovely, my lady.”

“I am pleased you like it,” Lady Needham replied, her good-humored smile so different from any expression that Stacia had ever seen on the countess’s face that she might not have believed the two women were related, if not for the physical resemblance.

“Blue is my favorite color,” Stacia blurted like a fool.

“It is my husband’s, too,” the viscountess admitted. “Whenever I was at a standstill when it came to the decoration of yet another suite of rooms and consulted him, his suggestion was invariably make it blue.” She chuckled. “So there are at least ten blue bedchambers, which makes it difficult to decide which one of them is the real blue suite.”

Stacia felt her face creasing into an expression that hadn’t happened very often of late: a genuine smile.

“I have assigned a maid to you—Dora is her name—so please do feel free to call on her services.”

“Thank you, my lady. That is most generous.”

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to—” She stopped when Miss Ackers, the countess’s maid, appeared in the doorway.

The older woman curtsied to the viscountess. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but Lady Addiscombe wants Miss Martin.” She cleared her throat and added, “Immediately.”

“Oh.” Lady Needham looked nonplussed.

“Thank you, Miss Ackers. I will be right there,” Stacia murmured and then turned to her hostess. “I am sorry to run off, but—”

“It is wise not to keep my mother waiting. We shall all assemble in the drawing room a half hour before dinner. I shall see you there, if not before.”

Stacia waited until the other woman had left the room before untying her cloak, stripping off her gloves and bonnet, and then hurrying toward the suite where they had left her ladyship a mere five minutes earlier.

Just because her hostess had put Stacia into a guest room and was treating her like a guest did not mean she was a guest.

Stacia was there to serve Lady Addiscombe, and she would do well not to forget that.