Page 4 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

Lord Townshend became as illuminated as one of the manuscripts he loved so much. “It is the most beautiful work I have ever seen. One hundred and forty pages. Just imagine that, Miss Martin!”

Stacia didn’t have to imagine it; her father had spoken of the newly discovered prayerbook until she felt sure she’d start bleeding out of her ears.

As always when the subject of illuminated manuscripts was raised, Lord Townshend nattered on quite happily without any contribution from her, leaving Stacia to her own thoughts.

Thoughts which were, unfortunately, still fixated on Lord Shelton.

She had no right to mock Townshend’s mania for ancient manuscripts when she was so obsessed with the Marquess of Shelton.

It was always easy to spot the marquess, no matter how crowded the function. All one had to do was follow the yearning gazes of at least half the young ladies in attendance.

Tonight was no exception, and Stacia easily located her quarry in the tightly packed sea of humanity.

Predictable, corrosive jealousy churned in her belly at the sight of Shelton dancing with Miss Sarah Creighton.

Stacia was heartily sick, not to mention ashamed, of how badly she wanted to be in Sarah’s slippers. But she could not make herself stop.

The only thing that kept her from going mad was the fact that so many of her peers were watching the pair dance and suffering from the same affliction.

Misery was not the only thing to love company. Jealousy appeared to be fond of it as well.

“—the scrolling alone is unparalleled!” Townshend’s joyous voice broke into her jealous musings.

Stacia nodded and smiled vaguely, which was enough to keep her dance partner chattering happily.

Bitterness churned in her belly. Sarah is not that much prettier than I am. Why can’t he laugh and smile at me? Why doesn’t he seek me out to honor with a dance? Why, why, why?

Infatuation, Stacia decided unhappily, was exhausting.

Five weeks later, after Lord Shelton had destroyed Sarah’s reputation and future by spending an entire evening with her alone and then refusing to marry her, Stacia tried to convince herself that she had been fortunate to have avoided such a scoundrel’s attention.

But jealousy and envy far outpaced any relief she experienced. Sarah, for all that she could never show her face in public again, would at least have some pleasant memories to reflect on when she was old and gray.

That was more than Stacia would ever have.

A month later, when the ton gossipmongers discovered that Sarah Creighton was with child, Stacia felt certain that no vestige of adoration for Shelton could survive such damning news.

And yet…

And yet her yearning for a man she barely knew—and which the intellectual part of her despised—was in no way attenuated by his atrocious behavior.

So, who really was the greater fool? Sarah for capitulating to Lord Shelton’s wiles, or Stacia for wishing it had been her?

How could infatuation be so tenacious? How could she want him so desperately even though he was, in every way that mattered, so unworthy?

The thought obsessed her for weeks, ruining any chance of enjoyment for what remained of what would be her first and only Season.

Ultimately, the only thing that managed to put a stop to Stacia’s obsessing was the unexpected and devastating death of her father.

Her grief at the loss of her kindly, absent-minded parent was compounded by the horrible discovery that she’d been left with a legacy that was scarcely enough to keep body and soul together.

Her cousin Geoffrey, the new Viscount Clayton, made it clear there would be no home, at least nothing long-term, for her under his roof.

Stacia would have to work for a living and her choices were simple: companion or governess.

And then—two weeks after her father’s death—a third choice presented itself.

The Earl of Townshend called on her and the shy, tongue-tied lord haltingly proposed marriage.