Page 19 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Hy had begun to agree with her husband as the weeks had passed. Her little sister was devious and made the two men suffer in endlessly ingenious ways. She seemed to know exactly what taunts would incite them to behave like idiots. The three squabbled, fought, and wagered like a trio of adolescents.

Even Hy, who did not possess much of a sense of humor, could not help being diverted by some of Katie’s antics. She felt a twisted sort of pride in how easily her seventeen-year-old sister consistently bested the two seasoned ton veterans.

One of the main reasons she had agreed with Sylvester when he had suggested bringing Shelton to Wych House for the Christmas holiday was because she didn’t think the man deserved weeks of peace and quiet away from Katie.

She still didn’t trust Shelton, but he was Sylvester’s only close family aside from his horrid mother and the men had once been as close as brothers. Sylvester believed with all his heart that Shelton could still be salvaged.

Hy was not sure she agreed, but she loved her husband fiercely, and if having Shelton along made Sylvester happy, then tolerating the handsome rake’s presence was a small enough price to pay.

***

Outside the Duke of Chatham’s Coach…

Andrew shivered as a chill wind cut through his heavy layers of clothing. The journey had been a frigid one, the weather uncharacteristically cold even for December. The sky was a relentless slate gray, and the sun burned sullenly, unable to penetrate the leaden clouds and offer any warmth.

Their ducal cavalcade of three coaches and six outriders—including Andrew and his cousin—was drawing ever closer to the ancestral home of the Bellamy family. With every mile that passed the unease in his belly grew stronger.

He had been a fool to accompany Sylvester, his duchess—a woman who hated Andrew, and rightfully so—and the duchess’s pestersome little sister to their family’s country house to spend Christmas.

But Sylvester, who appeared to be so mellowed by marriage as to have gone soft in the head, had engaged in underhanded dealing to force Andrew’s compliance.

“You are my only close family, Drew, and I would like to spend Christmas with you. We have not done so in years, and I have greatly missed you. Surely you yearn for those long-ago celebrations when we were lads as much as I do?”

Andrew had been alternately shamed, embarrassed, and pleased by his cousin’s candid affection. And also nearly reduced to tears.

He had attempted to conceal his emotional response by quipping, “Your mother is family and she is not going.” When Sylvester had merely raised an eyebrow, Andrew had felt a genuine stab of alarm. “Good God, Sylvester! The Dowager is not accompanying us, is she?”

The duke had laughed. “How easily you snapped at my bait, Drew. No wonder Kathryn enjoys teasing you so much. I think you have forgotten that my mother despises me even more than she does you.”

Andrew hadn’t forgotten because the Dowager Duchess of Chatham had given them all—Sylvester, Andrew, the new duchess, Kathryn, and that fool Fowler, as well as all the servants and neighbors—daily proof of what a disappointment her son was to her. It was bloody irksome to sit by and watch the Dowager insult Sylvester in every imaginable way.

But it had been amusing to see how Sylvester had not permitted his mother to engage in the same belittling behavior toward his new wife. Indeed, it was the first time Andrew had seen actual anger flare in his cousin’s eyes. And that was an emotion he had been trying to goad out of Sylvester for eleven years.

“Not only will it be good to spend time together, but it will give you an opportunity to begin mending the breach between you and Lady Shaftsbury.”

Ha! A breach. More like a canyon.

And yet here Andrew was, quickly approaching the ancestral home of a woman he’d wronged terribly. Even though his abduction of Selina Bellamy had led to her meeting her husband—a marriage that was evidently a love match—that still didn’t excuse his cruel behavior.

Andrew felt the telltale prickle of somebody watching him and turned toward the coach. He immediately regretted the impulse when he met the malicious green gaze of the duchess’s fiendish sister.

Kathryn smirked, puckered her lips as if she were blowing him a kiss, and then winked.

Andrew was annoyed when his face heated. He scowled at the little monster and swiftly looked away.

Christ! How could he constantly be unmanned by a seventeen-year-old country chit?

He was nearing five-and-thirty years of age and yet he found himself incessantly lured into arguments and wagers and competitions with the little viper. Even worse was the fact that he had lost almost every single argument or verbal joust with the maddening hellion, who possessed the olfactory senses of a bloodhound, tracking him down no matter where he had hidden on his cousin’s vast estate.

The only consolation—and it was slight—was that she tormented Sylvester’s blockheaded best friend Baron Angus Fowler just as relentlessly.

Unfortunately, Fowler would not be at Wych House to draw the redheaded witch’s fire for the next few weeks. Chatham had invited the man, but Fowler had wisely rejected Sylvester’s offer and scuttled home to Scotland with some pitiful excuse of spending Christmas with his own family.

The coward.

Andrew sighed.

“Why the heavy sigh?” Sylvester asked.