Page 6 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

“Are you saying that excuses his reprehensible behavior?”

“No, of course not. However, it does not erase his heroism, either. He”—the Colonel shook his head, visibly conflicted— “Shelton did things for this country that not many men would, or could, make themselves do. I cannot think of a braver man.”

Stacia frowned and turned back to find Lady Hamilton gesturing for her to come closer.

The colonel offered his arm and for once, Stacia was glad of her elderly admirer’s presence.

“My dear Miss Martin, you must come and meet Lady Lydia’s nephew. And you too, Colonel.”

Stacia had a moment to collect her wits as Colonel Kelley pushed forward, as eager as any debutante to meet one of England’s foremost war heroes.

“A pleasure to meet you, my lord,” he gushed.

Shelton smiled politely. “Colonel Robert Kelley? You were with Fletcher, weren’t you?”

The Colonel’s ruddy face darkened with pleasure. “By Jove! You’ve heard of me, have you? That is a treat, sir! Yes, I did serve under Fletcher.” He nodded enthusiastically and opened his mouth, no doubt to continue gushing, but Lady Hamilton had other plans.

“And this is my companion, Miss Stacia Martin, Viscount Clayton’s daughter,” she said, thrusting her way into the conversation.

Lord Shelton turned away from Kelley, took Stacia’s reluctantly proffered hand, and bowed over it. “It is an honor to meet you, Miss Martin.”

Stacia stared up into his eyes, disbelief and fury breeding like rabbits when she realized that—yet again—the blasted man did not remember meeting her.

It felt as though she stared into the blue depths for at least a minute, but it couldn’t have been longer than a few seconds. Shelton, obviously accustomed to women gazing at him fatuously, gave her a faint smile—nothing that could be misconstrued as encouragement, of course—released her hand, and then turned to answer something his aunt was asking.

All the way home from the Pump Room her employer chattered happily about Lord Shelton’s unexpected visit to his great aunt and what treats Lady Lydia was planning for his visit.

Over the following two weeks and four days that Lord Shelton remained in Bath—feted by all and sundry, his deplorable treatment of Sarah Creighton completely forgotten, as if the denizens of Bath had collectively suffered amnesia—Stacia was at no fewer than nine functions with the man.

Not once at any of those dinners, parties, assemblies, and yes, one picnic, had Lord Andrew Shelton exhibited any indication that he recalled meeting Stacia in London.

She hated him.

When he finally left town, she breathed a sigh of relief, her muscles unclenching for the first time in weeks.

Good riddance to bad rubbish!

That is what Stacia told herself.

And yet…

And yet when Colonel Kelley offered Stacia marriage—and a life of leisure with a man who if she did not love, at least she liked and respected—Lord Andrew Shelton’s beautiful face rose up in her mind like a specter.

For the second time in her short life Stacia found that she could not accept an offer of marriage, and at least part of the reason could be laid at the feet of Lord Shelton. Oh, not because she loved him—she did not even like the man. And certainly not because she held out even the faintest hope that he would ever notice her.

No, the reason she could not tie herself to one man, while so mindlessly infatuated with another, was because she would not be able to bear it if somebody did the same thing to her.

Six-ish Months Earlier

Somewhere on the Great North Road

Andrew Derrick, the Marquess of Shelton, looked from his cousin the Duke of Chatham, to Baron Angus Fowler—the man who had just blackened Andrew’s eye—to Lady Hyacinth Bellamy, who was apparently the brand-new Duchess of Chatham.

All three were regarding him as if he were an especially noxious toadstool that had sprung up in their midst.

“Where is my sister?” Her Grace demanded through clenched teeth.

Andrew dabbed some blood off his lower lip and winced—there would be swelling in addition to his black eye—and then looked up at the new duchess and smirked in a way he knew made people want to hit him. “Congratulations on your nuptials, Your Grace. No hard feelings, I hope?”