Chapter 13

Once Andrew had helped carry the monstrous bags of toys and gifts to the area designated for them, he glanced around at the bustling crowd, his eyes—without his permission—seeking out one small figure.

What about your resolution to avoid Miss Martin ?

Bugger off .

His hectoring conscience retreated, likely to regroup.

"Here you are, Shelton!"

He turned at the sound of his nemesis's voice. "Lady Kathryn. How delightful."

"Oh, don't look so sour," Kathryn said, staring up at him with a dangerous glitter in her eyes that always made the hair on his neck stand up. "I just wanted to give you the name you drew."

"You mean for the drawing I did not enter?"

"Yes, that one." She flashed him a smug smile and then sauntered off toward the rows of colorful booths.

He unfolded the paper and snorted: Eustacia Martin .

For once, he could not be too angry with Kathryn for her meddling. He would enjoy buying a gift for the prickly young woman. And it was anonymous, so she never needed to know it came from him.

He repeated the name under his breath. "Eustacia." It was a serious name for a serious woman. He decided it fit her quite well.

Andrew folded the paper, tucked it into his pocket, and resumed his search for Miss Martin.

She was standing beside Lady Kathryn and the two were leaning down to examine some wares.

Oh, Kathryn. Just what are you up to now?

Andrew suspected he would soon find out.

Although it was frigid and the sky was an ominous gray, the atmosphere was festive, and it was difficult to remain annoyed that he'd been dragged into the affair when there were so many happy, smiling people milling about.

Not only that, but he now had a gift to buy. Several, actually, as he had not purchased anything yet. They were to assemble in Chatham's suite of rooms on Christmas morning to have an intimate family celebration before joining the larger one in the main drawing room. That meant he needed to buy gifts for four people.

Lord. What would he buy for the duchess? That would be a challenge.

Andrew joined the throng of shoppers and meandered in the direction of Kathryn and Miss Martin. The first booth was selling honey, the jars sealed with wax and covered with a bright square of cloth. Nanny Dougal—the terror of the nursery at Chatham Park for more than fifty years—had often made honey toast for Andrew and Chatham when they'd been little. Suddenly he had the strongest yearning to taste it again.

He glanced up at the old man sitting behind the table. "I'll take two of these," he said, deciding that he should probably bring a jar back to Chatham, where Nanny had recently celebrated her ninety-second birthday and still scolded Andrew whenever she saw him.

Once the jars were wrapped in paper and tied with thick twine that formed a handle Andrew moved along. He bypassed the next two tables, one selling seeds, and one offering an assortment of farming implements.

The next table was heaped with feminine fripperies, and two women sat behind it. One of them was the owner of the dress shop. He remembered her, of course, but could not recall her name.

Andrew thought about the piece of paper in his pocket and paused, his gaze flickering over the profusion of items on the table.

He smiled at the women. "Hello, ladies."

"Good afternoon, Lord Shelton. If I had known you were going to visit our humble little fete I would have brought along your gloves." The shopkeeper gave him the same lascivious smile.

"Lord Shelton," the younger woman breathed, gazing up at him with adoration.

Andrew's smile became strained. "I am looking for a gift. For a lady," he added stupidly.

"What a lucky lady," the older woman said, giving him another good once-over in case he'd missed the first one.

Andrew met her gaze, no longer amused by her blatant lures.

After a moment, she blushed and became a bit flustered. "Er, a gift," she said, not quite subdued, but no longer looking at him as if she would mate him and then eat him.

She gestured to the goods on the table—hair combs, ribbons, and the like. "These are some of my most popular items, although of course I have more in my shop. I might steer you in the right direction if you gave me a hint of who the gift is for?" She gave him a hopeful look. "Perhaps a sister? A mother?"

Andrew couldn't help laughing at her persistence. "I noticed that Lady Kathryn and her companion lingered at your table. What were they looking at?"

She looked mildly disappointed by the question, but, like the practical businesswoman she was, quickly pivoted and gestured to a fan that was open on a stand. "Lady Kathryn was very taken with this."

Andrew had seen many fans in his day—probably thousands—but this one was unique. There were a few lines of elegant copperplate—a poem, it seemed—the first letter of which was an intricate O with dozens of butterflies seeming to emerge from the center of it.

"It is an illuminated letter," he mumbled.

"Indeed, it is. I have only ever seen one text with such work and this fan seems—to my admittedly untutored eye—to be every bit as good."

"It is exquisite." He looked up. "Is this what Miss Martin sold you?"

She gave a dramatic sigh. "Surely you cannot expect a businesswoman to reveal her sources?"

Andrew took that as a yes.

She unfurled another fan, exposing a field of wildflowers so realistic that Andrew swore a floral scent tickled his nostrils.

The next one displayed a field of deer. And the last had a portrait of a beautiful woman who was holding a fan.

Andrew gave a huff of amazement when he saw that the fan in the painting had another, even tinier, painting on it.

He glanced at the price, which was tastefully written on a card. They were expensive—far too expensive to sell in a village shop, he would have thought—but there was no denying they were worth the price.

"Which one did Lady Kathryn favor?" he asked.

"The flowers."

Andrew nodded, his gaze again drawn to the one with the woman with the fan. It was stunning. He could hardly buy Miss Martin a fan that she had painted herself, but he needed something for the duchess. Andrew chuckled to himself at the thought of giving her such a feminine gift. It was easier to imagine his cousin's wife wielding a broadsword than a pretty fan, but she would be in London for the Season. And she would have to make her curtsy before the queen. So…why not?

"I will take the flowers and the woman with the fan."

"Excellent! Shall I wrap them up in pretty paper for you?"

Andrew nodded. For some reason, another face popped into his head—the little blonde girl, Needham's daughter, Lucy. The industrialist was wealthy enough to buy her whatever she wanted, but it was Christmas, and Andrew was a guest in her father's house.

"I will take the butterfly one as well."

The shopkeeper didn't bother to hide her glee. "I might close early today."

He laughed.

Her gaze darted to something behind him and Andrew turned to find Neeham.

"Welcome, my lord," the shopkeeper said, suddenly proper.

Evidently the viscount did not put up with any flirting. Good for Needham.

"Hello, Mrs. Johnson, Miss Finley," Needham said politely.

Johnson! That was the name.

Needham grinned when he saw the honey Andrew was holding. "I see you are getting into the spirit of things, Shelton."

Andrew gave an embarrassed chuckle as the other man's sharp gaze moved to the fan Mrs. Johnson was wrapping and his eyebrows rose. "Something for a special lady?" he teased, but then his eyes widened when they landed on the unfurled fans. "That butterfly fan—did you just buy it?"

"I did." Andrew hesitated and then added, "I hope you don't mind, but I bought it for your daughter."

Needham's face creased in an expression of surprised pleasure. "That is remarkably handsome of you, Shelton." He hesitated, an almost sheepish expression taking possession of his harsh features.

"Is something wrong?" Andrew asked.

"No, no. It's just that my wife has a rather interesting effect on butterflies."

"Indeed, she does," Mrs. Johnson chimed in. "Why, I recall when she was just a little girl at the church fete we have every summer. She must have had a dozen of the creatures on her!"

Miss Finley nodded. "I wish they were so attracted to me."

"It is true," Needham said at Andrew's skeptical look. "They love her. If there is one in the area, it will find her."

"Then you should have the fan," Andrew said. "I will take the last one for your daughter. It has deer on it."

"Lucy will love that. She is wild for creatures of all sorts."

Andrew nodded. "I've seen her with the little red squirrel." The beast had scared the hell out of him when it had thrust its rat-like face out of Lucy's hair one evening in the drawing room.

"She dotes on Silas," the viscount agreed.

Andrew turned to Mrs. Johnson. "I will take the deer and give his lordship the butterflies."

"My wife will love it." Needham looked delighted. Who would have believed that a businessman who struck terror into the hearts of grown men all over Britain with his hard-nosed bargaining could look so giddy at the thought of a fan?

Andrew felt an unexpected pang of envy. What he was envious of, he was not quite sure.

***

Stacia lightly caressed a delicate silver ring in the shape of a rose. It had been a long, long time since she had coveted something so much. And an even longer time since she had made such an indulgent purchase.

Unfortunately, it was simply too expensive. Besides, she wasn't at the fete to buy herself a gift. She'd purchased a jar of honey for Miss Ackers so all she needed was a gift for Lady Shaftsbury. And Stacia had already decided on a gift for her.

"I know you like him."

Stacia looked up from the ring at the sound of Lady Kathryn's voice. "I beg your pardon?"

The beautiful redhead smiled, her eyes brimming with mischief. "You heard me."

Stacia returned the ring to its velvet box, unease unfurling in her belly. "I heard you, but I don't know what you mean."

"Lord Shelton. You like him. Not just like him, but—"

Stacia took the younger woman's arm and pulled her away from the small cluster of shoppers at the jewelry table before demanding in a low, unamused voice, "What are you talking about, Lady Kathryn?"

"Shelton. I can see how you feel about him."

"Don't be ridiculous." But heat surged up Stacia's neck and she knew her face was betraying her.

Lady Kathryn leaned closer. "I believe he is not indifferent to you, either."

Stacia felt a stab of anger at the beautiful young woman's taunting. "You are talking rubbish! And it is—it is unkind."

It was Lady Kathryn's turn to look bewildered. "Unkind? But why would—"

"Just look at me. And then look at him ," Stacia hissed.

They both turned to where Lord Shelton and Viscount Needham were standing in front of a booth selling cheeses. The men were laughing, as were the farmer and his wife.

Actually, Stacia amended, the farmer was laughing, but the wife—a woman who was at least in her sixth decade—was gazing at Shelton with a poleaxed expression on her weathered face.

The same look that Stacia must have been wearing lately if Lady Kathryn's accusation was anything to go by.

Stacia wanted to curl up and die. How many other people had noticed her infatuation?

"So what if he is attractive?" Lady Kathryn asked, apparently the only female between seventeen and seventy immune to the gorgeous lord. "Just because he is handsome does not mean he cannot be attracted to you."

Stacia considered confessing to the other woman that she had overheard Lord Shelton's description of her. But that was simply too painful to admit. Instead, she said, "Handsome? He is perfect."

"Perfect?" Kathryn laughed. "I've lived in the same house with Shelton for months and I assure you that he is not perfect. He is a man with flaws, just like any other." Something bitter flickered in her gaze but was quickly gone. "What do you think of my sister Selina?"

Stacia blinked at the odd change of subject. "Er—"

"She is beautiful, isn't she?"

"Very." Indeed, Stacia had never seen a more beautiful woman.

"In fact, one might call her perfect ."

Stacia had to agree. Lady Shaftsbury was so lovely that it was hard to take one's eyes off her whenever she was near.

"I would agree that she looks perfect," Stacia said, unclear as to where the other woman was going with this.

"And her husband—what about him?"

"Erm, Lord Shaftsbury is a very handsome—"

"I am not asking about his appearance. My sister married a blind man, Miss Martin."

"Yes. But what—"

"Doesn't it strike you as ironic that one of the most beautiful women in England married a man who neither knows, nor cares, what his wife looks like?"

Well, when she put it like that .

"That is interesting," Stacia conceded. "But I'm not sure I take your point. They are obviously in love, so it doesn't matter that he cannot see her and doesn't—"

"He loves her. And he has never seen her."

Stacia considered the other woman's words before answering. "You're saying that he loves her despite her beauty."

Lady Kathryn nodded. "He loves her . Not her face—her eyes, her nose. But her. " She gave Stacia a speaking look. "Selina told me that the only reason she became friends with Shelton last Season was because he understood what it meant to be so attractive that people only ever noticed her appearance."

Stacia tried to feel sorry for the beautiful marchioness, but—

"You don't think somebody that lovely should have the right to expect more than adulation," Lady Kathryn said, guessing her thoughts with disturbing accuracy.

Stacia looked away from Shelton to the woman in front of her. Lady Kathryn Bellamy might not be the vision of golden perfection her sister was, but she was an extremely beautiful woman. Was she speaking from personal experience?

"I will admit that I find it difficult to empathize," Stacia said.

Humor glinted in Lady Kathryn's stunning green eyes. "At least you are honest. But back to Shelton. I've watched him for months. Not because I am attracted to him, but because I find him interesting. Despite his reputation as an inveterate rake, I can tell you that he has looked nothing but bored—albeit skillfully hidden by a mask of charm—in the company of every woman I've seen him around. The only times I've seen him exhibit even a spark of interest have been the few times I've seen him talking to you. Like yesterday, when we were skating. I don't know what the two of you were discussing—and I'm not asking," she hastily assured Stacia, "but whatever it was made him come alive."

Stacia stared at her for a long moment. "Why are you saying all this to me?"

"Because I know you have been… interested in Lord Shelton for a long time."

"How could you possibly know that?" Stacia demanded, her face yet again blazingly hot.

"Earlier this year I stayed with my aunt who lives just outside Norwich in a small village called Westwick." She gave Stacia a curious look. "Have you heard of it?"

"No. Should I have?"

"One of my aunt's neighbors was a woman named Mrs. Leary."

Stacia gave an irritated shrug. "Should I know her?"

"Her maiden name was Creighton."

"Oh." Stacia could not think of anything else to say.

"Mrs. Leary is now happily—no, I would say very happily married—to a gentleman farmer."

"Happily? I'd heard—"

"I know what you heard because everyone else heard it, too. Her husband is a delightful, handsome man who is very much in love with his wife." Her expression turned sly. "He is of Irish descent and has that attractive combination of almost black hair and dark blue eyes. Interestingly, Sarah's little boy is an exact miniature of his papa." She hesitated and added, "With his jet-black hair and dark blue eyes."

Sarah was fair—almost as fair as Shelton. Was Lady Kathryn saying the child was not Lord Shelton's? And happily married? Was she claiming that Sarah had been in love with some obscure rural farmer and yet conducting an affair with another man? It made no sense.

"I still do not see what this has to—"

"I knew you were my mother's companion from her letters to me."

"Yes?" Stacia prodded yet again when Lady Kathryn paused.

"Your name came up in conversation—I forget how—and Mrs. Leary said she remembered you quite clearly. She said you'd not only gone to school together but had come out the same Season." Lady Kathryn paused. "She mentioned how mad all the girls were for Lord Shelton. How you all hated her for attracting his attention."

Stacia knew what she was driving at and did not bother to deny it. Instead, she shrugged and said, "That was the case for dozens of women, not just our group of wallflowers."

"Perhaps. But dozens of young ladies are not here. You are here, Miss Martin."

"I'm not sure why you are rubbing my nose in my unfortunate infatuation from four years ago . None of that makes any difference because he is not interested in me. " She scowled as Lady Kathryn just regarded her calmly. "And even if he were, it would likely be the same sort of interest that destroyed Sarah Creighton's life."

"Did it?"

Stacia gave an exasperated sigh. "Why don't you tell me—plainly—what you are trying to say."

Before Lady Kathryn could reply, Lucy Needham nudged up between them, her eyes sparkling. "Look what I bought for Papa," she said, unwrapping a brown paper package to expose a wicked-looking blade with a hilt made out of an animal horn.

Stacia and Kathryn exchanged amused glances.

"I'm sure he will love it," Kathryn said.

Lucy pulled her lips between her teeth, glanced around, and then unwrapped a second, smaller package. "I had this made for Doddy."

This was a tiny squirrel that looked remarkably like the little rodent Stacia had seen riding on the girl's shoulder.

Lady Kathryn stared, chewing her lip.

"It is a beautiful fob," Stacia said when Lady Kathryn remained quiet. "And very lifelike."

"It is a seal, too," Lucy said, turning the little animal over to demonstrate an exquisite carving of a tree.

"A wych elm," Kathryn murmured, and then looked up from the distinctive Bellamy family device to the young girl and gave a slightly strained smile. "Doddy will love it, Lucy. Perhaps he will write more letters if he can use such a wonderful seal."

Lucy's grin was ear-to-ear. "Now I just need to find a gift for Phoebe, and I will be done with my shopping. But I don't know what she would like. I made her two handkerchiefs with her initials and a butterfly on each." She glanced at Kathryn. "But then I saw the ones you made for her. Phoebe said you did them when you were younger than I am now." Lucy pulled a face. "They are perfect! Mine look like I embroidered them with my feet."

"I'm sure she will love them," Kathryn said.

"Your work is so beautiful, and yet the duchess says you no longer do needlework?"

"No, I don't," Kathryn said abruptly. But then she smiled. "If you want to see some truly amusing embroidery you should look at Hyacinth's few attempts. Although I'm not sure where you would find one."

"Phoebe has one from her!" Lucy said. "In fact, she has one from each of you, all framed—so I have seen her work." She lowered her voice, as if the Duchess of Chatham might be lurking. "I thought it was a dog, but Phoebe said it was supposed to be a horse."

Lady Kathryn laughed. "That sounds about right."

Lucy's eyes suddenly lit up at something behind them. Stacia knew it would be Lord Bellamy even before she turned to look.

She couldn't blame the girl for being smitten with him. He was the male equivalent of his beautiful sister Selina. He would look like an angel come to earth if not for his broad grin and the two ridiculously huge cream cakes he held.

"Doddy!" Lucy squealed. "I will never be able to eat all that."

"I'll help you, Luce," Lord Bellamy promised.

They watched as Lucy laughingly took one of the cakes and the two wandered off, side-by-side, chattering away.

"I hope you won't tell my mother about my brother's friendship with Lucy."

Stacia gave Lady Kathryn a guilty look. "Er—"

"I am not angry," Lady Kathryn said before Stacia could conceive of something to say. "My mother has always tried to use us to spy on each other. It is a delicate balancing act of giving her just enough information to keep her satisfied but not enough to get anyone in trouble."

Stacia stared, horrified. Lady Addiscombe pitted her children against each other?

"You look surprised, Miss Martin. You forget that we were all subjected to her power for years." Lady Kathryn chuckled, but there was little humor in it. "Unlike you, however, none of us could quit."