Page 36 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Andrew grunted, bored with the subject of the companion. “Will your father be joining us?”

“Thankfully, we will be spared that gruesome event as he is spending the holiday at Oatlands with the Regent.”

He wasn’t exactly thunderstruck to hear that Addiscombe had chosen to carouse with the profligate prince rather than play chicken stakes whist with his family. Doubtless the earl would lose a packet over the holiday; money that Needham would have to pay.

“Do you know my father, Andrew?”

“I’ve met him, but I wouldn’t say that I know him.” The man owed Andrew money from years before, but it seemed indelicate to mention that.

“You mean you’ve played cards with him.”

He hesitated before saying, “Once or twice.”

“Did he lose?”

“He might have. I can’t recall,” he lied.

“When was this?”

“Ages ago. You would have been in leading strings.” Andrew could still recall what a dreadful cardplayer the man was. Doubtless he was greatly enjoying himself now that he could loot Needham’s bottomless pockets.

It wasn’t any of Andrew’s concern, but he hoped Sylvester didn’t get drawn into supporting the profligate old rooster. The dukedom might be wealthy, but a man with Addiscombe’s ability to waste the ready could drive it into the dirt fast enough.

He took a last draw on his cigar, pinched off the glowing end, and exhaled before saying, “I’m going back inside. Are you coming?” he added, his manners getting the better of him.

“No. I’ll stay here for a while,” she said, sounding oddly subdued.

“Suit yourself,” he said, and then left the moody adolescent to whatever was eating away at her.

***

I’d have to be desperate indeed to foist my attentions on such a drab, downtrodden little dab of a female!

Stacia couldn’t stop hearing the words, which echoed like the ring of an especially unpleasant bell.

I’d have to be desperate indeed to foist my attentions on such a drab, downtrodden little dab of a female!

The description had frozen Stacia to the spot, far more unpleasant than the smoke from Lord Shelton’s foul-smelling cigar.

Stacia had always considered herself to be a practical person. She was not beautiful, but neither was she ugly. Perhaps being average was even worse than either of those things? She’d never believed that to be the case until tonight.

Drab, downtrodden little dab of a female.

Was that really how people viewed her?

Stacia quietly eased from the conservatory and hurried back toward the ancient staircase, as if she could outrun the nasty words.

She glanced down at her gown as she climbed the stairs. Yes, it was a serviceable shade of brown, but what was wrong with that? As a matter of fact, brown suited her!

I’d have to be desperate indeed to foist my attentions on such a drab, downtrodden little dab of a female!

“Enough!” she hissed upon reaching the landing.

Lord Shelton’s head suddenly popped around the corner. “What was that?”

Stacia shrieked.

Shelton winced. “Er, sorry. I heard somebody say something behind me and assumed you were talking to me.”