Page 167 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

“Ah, come to check on the wee beastie, have you? But you’re too late, Miss.”

Stacia’s jaw dropped. “He—he is dead?”

“Ach! No, lass,” the stablemaster said with a grimace, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. “I just meant that he’s gone with his lordship.”

“His lordship?” she repeated stupidly, her heart still pounding from her shock.

“Lord Shelton,” one of the grooms said, earning a look from Higgins that caused the younger man to quickly turn back to his task sweeping off snow.

“Aye, Miss. Gerald be right—the mark-wiss did take the master’s curricle and pair. The wee dog hopped in and when Lord Shelton put him out again, he ran behind the carriage.” Higgins grinned. “The hound, that is, not Lord Shelton.”

The two grooms chuckled and even Stacia smiled.

“But why would Terrence insist on going with Lord Shelton?”

“All the treats and bones is reason enough,” the irrepressible groom piped up, risking his superior’s chiding. But Higgins just chuckled and nodded, his eyes twinkling fondly.

“Lord Shelton has been bringing Terrence bones?” she asked.

“Between you and his lordship the little rogue is right spoiled. He learned to hide the bone you’d given him when his lordship came—and then did the same with you, Miss. A right clever little creature,” he added, clearly admiring such canine enterprise.

“And his lordship left—with the dog,” she hastily added. “Yesterday, you say?”

“Nay lass, the day before.”

“The day of the dance,” she repeated stupidly.

“Aye, left in the middle of the day—right after flying to the village and then flying back just as fast.” He clucked his tongue. “I told him t’would snow, but he just gave one of his laughs. I’m from the north, Higgins, where we know what real snow means.” Higgins gave a sharp laugh and shook his head. “Real snow! As if I don’t recall Scottish winters from when I was a wee‘un and it was stacked higher than my heed.”

Stacia couldn’t help noticing that his accent seemed to have become more pronounced.

So, evidently, had the two grooms, who snickered.

Higgins shot them a warning look before turning back to Stacia. “Gone to London he has.”

“London! What for?” she blurted before she could catch herself.

“Ha! A lad like his lordship? Likely needing a bit o—” he broke off when he recalled to whom he was speaking, cleared his throat, and then said rather lamely, “Don’t rightly know why, Miss.”

Stacia saw sympathy in his gaze and that was enough to make her skin burn in the chill morning air. “Thank you,” she said shortly, and then strode back to the house.

He went to the village first but quickly returned. Had he gone to see Mrs. Johnson as the maids had suggested? Had she not been available, so he’d gone to London to satiate his carnal needs as Higgins had implied?

You told him no. What he does is no concern of yours, is it?

Stacia tried to convince herself that was true, but her heart was not fooled.

By the time she reached her room she wanted to crawl under the covers and—

“Miss!”

She turned to find Dora hurrying toward her, a steaming pitcher of water in her hands.

“Oh, I’ve already washed, Dora. But thank—”

“No, this isn’t for you. But I do have something else.” She slipped a hand into her apron pocket and came out with a small, gold-foil wrapped package.

Stacia looked from the gift to Dora. “Are you my secret St. Nicholas?”