Page 21 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

But the viscountess just laughed. “Katie! Where has my scruffy little sister gone? Who is this grand, elegant woman who has replaced her?”

Choked sobs answered her and Andrew looked away, unexpectedly moved by the obvious love between the siblings.

There it was again: love.

Andrew sighed and slid from his mount. He stretched his aching muscles and stayed back from the flurry of activity, feeling distinctly de trop as Sylvester greeted not only his new sister-in-law, but also her husband, Viscount Needham, a tall, powerfully built man who came out of the house trailed by a golden-haired, blue-eyed stripling who looked so much like Selina Bellamy that he could only be the heir, Dauntry Bellamy.

Behind the young viscount trailed a girl a few years younger. Andrew knew that Kathryn was the youngest Bellamy sister so this must be one of the other guests.

“Might I take him, sir?”

Andrew turned from the joyous reunion to find a groom politely waiting for Drake’s reins.

“Ah, yes, thank you. Give him an extra helping of oats,” he said, flipping the servant a coin that earned him a smile.

Andrew was just wondering if he could sneak past the cluster of embracing, laughing, crying Bellamy siblings when the sound of approaching carriage wheels made him turn.

Another grand coach, as large as Sylvester’s, was rolling toward them. The postilions and outriders wore black and silver livery and the team of six pale gray horses was as well-matched as any Andrew had ever seen.

Unease uncoiled in his belly as the coach neared. It had to contain one of the only two Bellamy siblings not currently squealing and hugging on the steps.

He swallowed as the carriage approached, his gaze flickering over the massive black lacquered equipage in search of an escutcheon.

But his eyes stopped dead in their tracks when they met a pair of celestial blue orbs in a face that could probably have launched a thousand ships, had Lady Selina Bellamy ever cared to engage in naval warfare.

As the coach rolled to a smooth stop the new Marchioness of Shaftsbury locked gazes with Andrew, her full, shapely lips pulling into a wry smile that made Andrew’s ears burn.

He sighed and strode toward her carriage, motioning the footman aside and opening the door himself.

It was time to face the music.