Page 67 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Chapter 13

Once Andrew had helped carry the monstrous bags of toys and gifts to the area designated for them, he glanced around at the bustling crowd, his eyes—without his permission—seeking out one small figure.

What about your resolution to avoid Miss Martin?

Bugger off.

His hectoring conscience retreated, likely to regroup.

“Here you are, Shelton!”

He turned at the sound of his nemesis’s voice. “Lady Kathryn. How delightful.”

“Oh, don’t look so sour,” Kathryn said, staring up at him with a dangerous glitter in her eyes that always made the hair on his neck stand up. “I just wanted to give you the name you drew.”

“You mean for the drawing I did not enter?”

“Yes, that one.” She flashed him a smug smile and then sauntered off toward the rows of colorful booths.

He unfolded the paper and snorted: Eustacia Martin.

For once, he could not be too angry with Kathryn for her meddling. He would enjoy buying a gift for the prickly young woman. And it was anonymous, so she never needed to know it came from him.

He repeated the name under his breath. “Eustacia.” It was a serious name for a serious woman. He decided it fit her quite well.

Andrew folded the paper, tucked it into his pocket, and resumed his search for Miss Martin.

She was standing beside Lady Kathryn and the two were leaning down to examine some wares.

Oh, Kathryn. Just what are you up to now?

Andrew suspected he would soon find out.

Although it was frigid and the sky was an ominous gray, the atmosphere was festive, and it was difficult to remain annoyed that he’d been dragged into the affair when there were so many happy, smiling people milling about.

Not only that, but he now had a gift to buy. Several, actually, as he had not purchased anything yet. They were to assemble in Chatham’s suite of rooms on Christmas morning to have an intimate family celebration before joining the larger one in the main drawing room. That meant he needed to buy gifts for four people.

Lord. What would he buy for the duchess? That would be a challenge.

Andrew joined the throng of shoppers and meandered in the direction of Kathryn and Miss Martin. The first booth was selling honey, the jars sealed with wax and covered with a bright square of cloth. Nanny Dougal—the terror of the nursery at Chatham Park for more than fifty years—had often made honey toast for Andrew and Chatham when they’d been little. Suddenly he had the strongest yearning to taste it again.

He glanced up at the old man sitting behind the table. “I’ll take two of these,” he said, deciding that he should probably bring a jar back to Chatham, where Nanny had recently celebrated her ninety-second birthday and still scolded Andrew whenever she saw him.

Once the jars were wrapped in paper and tied with thick twine that formed a handle Andrew moved along. He bypassed the next two tables, one selling seeds, and one offering an assortment of farming implements.

The next table was heaped with feminine fripperies, and two women sat behind it. One of them was the owner of the dress shop. He remembered her, of course, but could not recall her name.

Andrew thought about the piece of paper in his pocket and paused, his gaze flickering over the profusion of items on the table.

He smiled at the women. “Hello, ladies.”

“Good afternoon, Lord Shelton. If I had known you were going to visit our humble little fete I would have brought along your gloves.” The shopkeeper gave him the same lascivious smile.

“Lord Shelton,” the younger woman breathed, gazing up at him with adoration.

Andrew’s smile became strained. “I am looking for a gift. For a lady,” he added stupidly.

“What a lucky lady,” the older woman said, giving him another good once-over in case he’d missed the first one.