Page 1 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Prologue

London

Four-ish Years Earlier

“Allow me to introduce you to Viscount Clayton’s daughter, Miss Eustacia Martin,” Lady Crowley said, beaming at the Marquess of Shelton.

Lord Shelton smiled at Stacia, took her hand, and bowed over it. “It is an honor to meet you,” he said, smiling down at her, the skin crinkling delightfully at the corners of his unearthly blue eyes.

The air left Stacia’s lungs in such a rush that she felt as if he’d punched her. She was vaguely aware that her mouth was agape but could not shut it. An elbow in her side reminded her to drop a shaky curtsey. She said, in a voice that was all but inaudible, “It is a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

But the glorious golden god had already released her hand and moved on.

“And this is Lady Louisa, the Earl of Cumberland’s daughter,” Lady Crowley continued, introducing yet another of the four wallflowers the poor woman had been engaged to chaperone that Season.

The loss of Lord Shelton’s attention—brief as it had been—left Stacia with a chill, as if clouds had covered the sun.

The Marquess of Shelton had arrived at the ball so late that Stacia and her friends had given up hope that he would make an appearance. He had scarcely entered the ballroom when a clutch of chaperones and marriage-minded mamas had fallen upon him like crows flapping around a corpse, although the simile was a poor one. The chaperones actually looked more like tropical birds and there was nothing whatsoever corpselike about the Marquess of Shelton.

He was without a doubt the most beautiful man Stacia had ever seen. He towered above her—although that was not so unusual given that she was barely over five feet—and possessed hair that really did look like spun gold. His face was classical perfection with a chiseled jaw, lips that were firm and shapely, and eyes that defied description. And then there was his figure. Stacia swallowed as she yanked her hungry gaze from his face and stole a quick but thorough look at his broad chest and shoulders before moving down to his skintight pantaloons which displayed his muscled thighs and calves in a way that should have been illegal.

Not only was he physically stunning, but whenever she saw him socializing—usually from afar, unfortunately—he was always smiling and laughing, emanating warmth even beyond the fortunate female he might be speaking to.

As if that was not enough, he was also a highly decorated officer and heir to the Duke of Chatham.

It hardly seemed fair for one man to be so blessed.

Stacia was still ogling his magnificent body when it moved on to the next clutch of debutantes awaiting an introduction.

“He is even more perfect up close,” Lady Louisa said in a breathless voice.

“A person or thing cannot be more perfect, Louisa,” Miss Edith Barkley chided.

“If anyone could be more perfect, it would most certainly be Lord Shelton,” Stacia felt compelled to say.

“He is so perfect that he does not look real,” Miss Sarah Creighton said.

All of them nodded at the truth of her statement.

Lord Shelton did not dance with any of them that night. Indeed, he didn’t dance at all. After he’d been introduced to upwards of forty young women a collective sigh of disappointment went up in the ballroom when he disappeared into the card room and was not seen again.

A week later, at yet another ball, Stacia happened to be standing with two different girls and their chaperone when the older woman introduced her charges to Lord Shelton.

Stacia opened her mouth to say they had already met, but Shelton graced her with the same glowing smile and crinkled eyes, bowed over her hand, and said, “It is an honor to meet you,” before moving on to the next girl.

Stacia could scarcely manage a curtsey and mumbled a response in such a quiet voice that even she could not hear the words.

He had forgotten her. She was forgettable.

Did she cry a little that night when she was in her bed and re-living the night? Yes, just a little.

Fine. More than a little.

Four nights later Lord Shelton did something even worse. He looked through Stacia yet again—and most of her other friends—but this time his brilliant gaze snagged on one of them.

Sarah Creighton.

“Will you do me the honor of dancing this waltz with me, Miss Creighton?”