Page 68 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Andrew met her gaze, no longer amused by her blatant lures.

After a moment, she blushed and became a bit flustered. “Er, a gift,” she said, not quite subdued, but no longer looking at him as if she would mate him and then eat him.

She gestured to the goods on the table—hair combs, ribbons, and the like. “These are some of my most popular items, although of course I have more in my shop. I might steer you in the right direction if you gave me a hint of who the gift is for?” She gave him a hopeful look. “Perhaps a sister? A mother?”

Andrew couldn’t help laughing at her persistence. “I noticed that Lady Kathryn and her companion lingered at your table. What were they looking at?”

She looked mildly disappointed by the question, but, like the practical businesswoman she was, quickly pivoted and gestured to a fan that was open on a stand. “Lady Kathryn was very taken with this.”

Andrew had seen many fans in his day—probably thousands—but this one was unique. There were a few lines of elegant copperplate—a poem, it seemed—the first letter of which was an intricate O with dozens of butterflies seeming to emerge from the center of it.

“It is an illuminated letter,” he mumbled.

“Indeed, it is. I have only ever seen one text with such work and this fan seems—to my admittedly untutored eye—to be every bit as good.”

“It is exquisite.” He looked up. “Is this what Miss Martin sold you?”

She gave a dramatic sigh. “Surely you cannot expect a businesswoman to reveal her sources?”

Andrew took that as a yes.

She unfurled another fan, exposing a field of wildflowers so realistic that Andrew swore a floral scent tickled his nostrils.

The next one displayed a field of deer. And the last had a portrait of a beautiful woman who was holding a fan.

Andrew gave a huff of amazement when he saw that the fan in the painting had another, even tinier, painting on it.

He glanced at the price, which was tastefully written on a card. They were expensive—far too expensive to sell in a village shop, he would have thought—but there was no denying they were worth the price.

“Which one did Lady Kathryn favor?” he asked.

“The flowers.”

Andrew nodded, his gaze again drawn to the one with the woman with the fan. It was stunning. He could hardly buy Miss Martin a fan that she had painted herself, but he needed something for the duchess. Andrew chuckled to himself at the thought of giving her such a feminine gift. It was easier to imagine his cousin’s wife wielding a broadsword than a pretty fan, but she would be in London for the Season. And she would have to make her curtsy before the queen. So…why not?

“I will take the flowers and the woman with the fan.”

“Excellent! Shall I wrap them up in pretty paper for you?”

Andrew nodded. For some reason, another face popped into his head—the little blonde girl, Needham’s daughter, Lucy. The industrialist was wealthy enough to buy her whatever she wanted, but it was Christmas, and Andrew was a guest in her father’s house.

“I will take the butterfly one as well.”

The shopkeeper didn’t bother to hide her glee. “I might close early today.”

He laughed.

Her gaze darted to something behind him and Andrew turned to find Neeham.

“Welcome, my lord,” the shopkeeper said, suddenly proper.

Evidently the viscount did not put up with any flirting. Good for Needham.

“Hello, Mrs. Johnson, Miss Finley,” Needham said politely.

Johnson! That was the name.

Needham grinned when he saw the honey Andrew was holding. “I see you are getting into the spirit of things, Shelton.”