Page 47 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

“You have not spent much time in the country.”

“No, hardly any. But how did you guess?”

“If you had, you would know that post offices and pubs are the two social hubs in village life.”

“What about the church?”

He made a scoffing sound. “There is no gossip and ale at church, Miss Martin.”

She snorted.

“Do you want me to do it for you?”

“Er, that is very kind of you.” Indeed, suspiciously kind. “But I will do it myself after skating.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You have a day of leisure?”

“Lady Addiscombe has a migraine.”

Lord Shelton grimaced. “I would not wish those on anyone. Not even the countess.”

“You are familiar with them?”

“Unfortunately.”

When he did not offer anything more, Stacia said, “Lady Needham said they are quite awful and often last for days.”

“They are and they can,” he said grimly.

The walked in silence.

Stacia had no idea why he was beside her. Guilt, perhaps?

Just then they crested a slight rise that overlooked the pond. Beside it was a giant blue and white striped pavilion.

“My goodness!” Stacia said.

“It looks like something out of a medieval tale,” Shelton said. “One almost expects a fool wearing motley to come cartwheeling out.”

Stacia was delighted by the enchanting scene. There were huge copper braziers filled with glowing coals, a dozen tables with fluttering white cloths held down with yards and yards of ribbon, bunting, and greenery, and the centerpiece on each table was an enormous silver bowl heaped with nuts, sweets, and oranges.

“Ooh, oranges,” she said before she could stop herself.

“Would you like one?” he asked.

“Perhaps in a little while,” she said, not wishing to appear greedy.

Chairs and benches abounded and there were warm-looking lap rugs in piles.

“What say you, Miss Martin? Shall we skate?”

Stacia turned from the magical scene to the man beside her, who was equally magical, his golden hair glinting under the pale winter sun and his eyes so bright and beautiful they were like pieces of a summer sky.

“You don’t need to keep me company, my lord.”

“I don’t have to do anything I don’t wish to do,” he retorted. “I am asking because I want to.”

“Because you feel guilty.”