Chapter 12

Lady Needham's impromptu dance did not end until almost two o'clock.

As a result of her late-night Stacia overslept the following morning, which meant she had no time for her usual walk and scarcely a moment to run down to the stables and check on the dog, whom she had named Terrance.

Mr. Higgins and Gerald had both laughed at the name, the older man calling it rather fine for such a little scrap. She supposed it was, but poor Terrence had so little that perhaps a grand name would give him something to aspire to.

As she made her way from the stables to her employer's chambers, she tried not to think about the night before. When Lord Shelton had suddenly left—in a huff, if she had read his posture correctly—she had at first been glad. After all, if she was playing the piano, she could hardly dance. And it would have been agonizing to watch him partner one pretty girl after another, all of them far more attractive than her.

But then Mr. Dixon had done something quite lovely and kind for Stacia, a mere companion—no better than a servant, really—and arranged for all the piano players, even himself, to play a few songs.

"It would be unfair to chain you to the piano all night, Miss Martin," he had teased.

So then she had been deeply annoyed that Lord Shelton had gone. Not that she could have been sure he would ask her to dance. But she thought he might have. If only to try and make up for the cruel comment he'd made in the conservatory that night.

But he did not return. As things turned out, she had rather a lovely time anyway and danced almost every dance, even once with the Duke of Chatham, who—despite his intimidating mien—was actually witty and charming

Almost as much as his cousin.

Stop thinking about him .

Stacia tried to obey, but it was a hopeless proposition.

And by the time she was outside her employer's room she was busily parsing their brief interaction in the drawing room last night, for at least the dozenth time, looking for deeper meaning. What deeper meaning, she did not know.

Over and over again her thoughts were snagged by the phrase fleshly pleasures. Who said that sort of thing out loud?

She firmly wrenched her attention to the woman who employed her and raised her hand to the door to scratch.

Before she could do so, the door open and Ackers hurried out.

"Oh! Miss Martin," she exclaimed. "I almost ran you over."

An agonized groan came from the darkness behind her and Ackers grimaced, noiselessly closed the door, and then took Stacia's arm and led her halfway down the corridor before stopping.

"Lady Addiscombe still suffers from her migraine?" Stacia guessed.

"She is in agony, poor, unhappy thing."

"What can I do to help?"

"She doesn't want anyone fussing over her, I'll give her that." Ackers laughed. "Far easier to get along with when she's sick than at any other time. I've finally convinced her to take some laudanum so I daresay she'll sleep most of the day, just waking long enough to eat a bit of gruel."

"And you're sure there is nothing I can do?"

"You should grab this little bit o' freedom with both hands, Miss Martin." She gave a toothy grin. "You can bet that I'm enjoying the extra time to myself and catching up on my sleep. She won't ask for you—I can almost guarantee that. Go on and enjoy yourself."

"You are too kind, Miss Ackers. If you need me to relieve you at any time, please let me know."

"I will, dear."

Stacia hesitated and then asked, "Er, did you put your name into the secret gift giving bowl?"

Ackers grinned. "Would anyone in their right mind miss a chance to get a gift from a toff?"

Stacia laughed. "I wonder when they will tell us whose name we drew."

"I got mine this morning." She leaned close and loudly whispered, "I drew Mrs. Barton."

"Oh. I wonder why I haven't been given mine?"

"When you go down for breakfast, you should ask Mr. Davis or Mrs. Nutter," Miss Ackers said.

"I will go right now," Stacia said, eager to see who she'd drawn.

Although she was even more curious to know who had drawn her name.

***

Andrew was still regretting his angry attack on Kathryn the following day. Not because he worried that he had hurt her feelings—the girl had the hide of a bull—but because he'd exposed his own insecurities, which would only be more ammunition in her hands.

He had considered returning to the drawing room after his snit, if for no other reason than to turn pages for Miss Martin while she slaved over the piano, but it had all seemed like too much bloody bother.

Instead, he had gone to bed. It had been such an appallingly early hour that he'd expected to wake up after a few hours and be up half the night. He had slept all the way through until dawn, but it had been a restless sort of sleep and he did not feel particularly restored. Something niggled at him in the back of his mind—something just out of reach.

It had still niggled when he'd gone on his morning ride, his usual serenity nowhere to be found.

As for Kathryn? Well, she could say whatever she bloody well pleased. If she took digs at him again—which she would, given the rise she'd got out of him last night—he would just ignore her.

There. Problem settled.

Andrew had also given some thought to Miss Martin during his frosty ride. It bothered him more than he liked to admit that he had wanted to go back to the drawing room to keep her company. He never did such things. He never even thought such things.

More alarming than his desire to be around her was the fact that he would have returned if only he could have been sure that he would have been allowed to turn her music. But that is not what would have happened. Instead, it would have been just like any other ball or assembly he'd ever attended, and he would have been coerced to dance. Unlike a London ball, he could not have escaped and would have found himself dancing every damned set.

It was best that he had stayed away from her. It was true that he would probably have to marry, and the last sort of wife he needed was a woman even poorer than he was.

And why the hell was he entertaining thoughts of Miss Martin and marriage in the same sentence?

Miss Martin was a complication he did not need in his life. He would avoid her for the duration of the holiday. If Kathryn had noticed his interest in her, that meant others had, too. Given his reputation—and her employer's hatred of him—his attention would not help her in any way.

Having at least addressed both matters, he was far less disgruntled—although nowhere near gruntled, if that was even a word—when he returned from his ride.

He had just finished washing, shaving, and was getting dressed when there was a knock on the door and Sylvester poked his head into Andrew's room.

"Ah, my valet has arrived. Did I ring for you?" Andrew mocked.

"I was hoping I'd catch you before you went down for breakfast."

"Why is it that those words have begun to strike fear into me?" Andrew asked as he finished tying his cravat.

"I wanted to talk to you last night, but you disappeared right before the impromptu dance." His brow furrowed. "Are you unwell?"

"I am fine." Christ. Could he do nothing that went unnoticed? "You wanted to talk to me?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Will you go to the village with me this afternoon?"

Andrew narrowed his gaze. "Why?"

"There is a Christmas fete and, after that, a dance and—"

"No."

Sylvester laughed. "At least you gave it some serious thought."

"I don't want to go to a village dance, Sylvester."

"Are you going to make me beg, cousin?"

"That actually sounds appealing."

Sylvester gave him a pained look.

"Why is this important to you?" Andrew asked.

"Because I have been sent on a mission."

There was only one person on earth who gave his cousin marching orders.

"How come you are the one who is married and yet I end up having to obey your wife?"

"It is all part and parcel of belonging to a family."

Andrew sighed. "Tell me what we have been ordered to do."

"Lady Needham has requested that her family take part in the village festivities. We don't need to stay long, but Needham needs to open the dance, so we should stay for at least the first few sets."

Andrew opened his mouth.

"Like it or not, you are now part of the Bellamy family, Drew."

Andrew closed his mouth.

The duke continued. "This Christmas festival is the highlight of the year for a good many people, not just from Little Sissingdon, but for miles around. Needham said there are some equestrian events which need judges—don't worry, you won't be roped into that; I have already volunteered—and there are booths filled with handicrafts and food."

Andrew pondered this fresh hell.

"Think of your attendance today as your Christmas gift to me," Chatham said. "And yes, before you ask—Kathryn is coming," he added, easily reading Andrew's mind. "Don't worry, I won't let her torment you. At least not much."

Andrew snorted. "If Kathryn is going that means we will be child minding, doesn't it?"

"All of the younger crowd will be going along," the duke conceded.

"And we are to spend all afternoon and evening there?"

"The dance begins unfashionably early. It is more of a family affair than a typical assembly."

Yes, it sounded like hell. "I'll wager young Bellamy and his mates are going under duress."

"Very much so—his sisters have applied thumbscrews."

Andrew's mind raced as he scrambled for a believable excuse. He could find none. "Fine," he said. "I will go."

Sylvester smiled in a way that said he knew all along that would be Andrew's answer.

***

Stacia found the great hall brimming with activity when she descended the grand staircase.

"Are you coming with us Miss Martin?" Lady Kathryn shouted.

"Lord, Kat," Viscount Bellamy said, scowling at his sister, "perhaps you could screech a bit farther away from my ear next time."

"Yes. I am coming," Stacia said. "At least for a little while."

"You will enjoy the Christmas market," Lady Kathryn assured her.

Lady Celsa and one of Lord Bellamy's school friends—Stacia could never keep their names straight—walked past, wrestling with a bulky burlap bag.

Lord Bellamy hefted another bag, or at least tried to, but it was almost as large as his slight frame. "Are you going to help me with this, Kat, or—"

"I will help you, my lord."

Stacia's body stiffened at the sound of Shelton's voice, and it was a struggle not to turn toward him, but Lady Kathryn's sharp eyes were resting on her, so Stacia pretended that pulling on her gloves was consuming all her attention.

"Bloody hell," Shelton muttered when he lifted the bag, his rude language making the younger men snicker. "What the devil is in here? Anvils?"

"Toys and such," Lord Bellamy said, and then turned to his friends. "Come along, you two. Help me fetch the rest."

"What do I do with this?" Shelton asked once the boys had gone. He had heaved the bag over his shoulder.

"The coaches are waiting outside," Kathryn said. "One of the footmen will direct you."

Shelton stalked toward the door, muttering under his breath.

"Are there more bags?" Stacia asked Lady Kathryn.

"Yes, there are. But wait—here is your name for the secret gift giving."

"Thank you," Stacia said, taking the piece of paper and quickly taking a peek. She smiled when she saw the name Selina Shaftsbury written in beautiful copper script. It would be a pleasure to choose a gift for such a kind, lovely person.

Stacia tucked the chit into her coat pocket and was about to go in the direction of Lord Bellamy and his friends when the young viscount appeared dragging a heavy bag.

Stacia hurried toward him and grasped the other corner, giving a slight grunt at the weight.

"Thanks," he said, gifting her with a smile that would be slaying young women all over London in a few years.

"My goodness," Stacia said as the two of them managed to lift the bag a few inches off the floor. "Where did all this come from?"

"Needham bought it all," he said in a strained voice.

Just then the viscount himself came down the steps. "Here, let me take that," he offered, striding toward them.

"I've got it," the younger man protested.

"You know you shouldn't be lifting such a heavy thing," Lady Kathryn chided. "And before you go outside you should be wearing your scarf and have your coat—"

"Leave off, Katie!" Lord Bellamy snapped, bright spots of red glowing on his pale cheeks as he stomped away.

Lady Kathryn looked amused rather than offended by her brother's anger.

Lord Needham picked up the bag without any visible effort. "Go bundle up in one of the carriages, Miss Martin. We lads can do the lifting and carting."

She nodded and followed behind him, pausing on the top step to survey the three grand coaches and two smaller vehicles lined up on the drive.

"Ride with me," Lady Kathryn said, appearing beside her and looping an arm through Stacia's before leading her toward the carriage that was last in line.

"Oh, thank you," Stacia said, once again shamed by the kindness being shown to her by people her employer wanted her to spy on.

Lord Shelton emerged from the carriage just as they approached, and Stacia's step stuttered when she met his brilliant blue gaze.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to drag you," Lady Kathryn said, misinterpreting the reason for Stacia's sudden clumsiness.

"I've just got two left feet," Stacia muttered, her face heating under Lord Shelton's knowing gaze.

Once they were settled in the carriage—just the three of them and one bag of toys—the silence quickly thickened until it felt awkward.

Stacia was racking her brain for something to say, but Lord Shelton beat her to it.

"Tell us a bit about this Christmas festival, Lady Kathryn."

"What would you like to know, Lord Shelton ?"

The marquess smirked at the emphasis she put on his name. Stacia was once again impressed by the sophistication the younger woman exhibited. Most women giggled and blushed in Shelton's presence—a phenomenon she had had not only witnessed times beyond counting but had manifested herself on more than a few occasions.

"It is the highlight of winter for most people in the area. For hundreds of years, it has been the duty of the local lord to participate and contribute to the festivities." Her beautiful face turned hard. "My father's main contribution was to gut his tenant farms and neglect his people's basic needs, and my mother's was to treat them all like serfs. Fortunately for the hundreds of families in the area Lord Needham isn't just leasing the Bellamy ancestral home, he has also taken the mantle of responsibility onto his shoulders."

There was a moment of almost ringing silence when she finished.

And then she smiled sweetly at Lord Shelton and said, "So, tell me about your estate, my lord. Rosewood, I believe it is called?"

Stacia's eyes slid from Lady Kathryn to Lord Shelton. Of the expressions she had expected to see on his face—annoyance, anger, and resignation—she had never expected to see grudging respect.

"I have been a less than impressive landlord, my lady." Shelton then turned to Stacia. "But a man can always change."