Page 164 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

“So did my father! What college?”

“Trinity.”

“That was his, too. He was a medieval scholar.”

His lips twitched, closer to a smile, but still leagues away. “I studied mechanical arts. Which is often called the vulgar arts.”

She laughed. “Because it is practical, and therefor vulgar?”

“Just so,” he murmured, still unsmiling, although she thought she saw a glint of humor in his hooded eyes.

No sooner did Mr. Dennehy deposit her at the table where the Bellamy sisters had gathered than Mr. Dixon claimed her.

After that, she danced a set with the distinguished Mr. Davis.

Two hours later…

Stacia had danced every single dance, a first for her.

She was waltzing with Thomas—the strikingly handsome young footman Dora had accused of switching his affections—and laughing so hard at his description of his catastrophic first dance at a local assembly, that it was difficult to keep her feet as he led her smoothly and skillfully around the dance floor.

“It is easy to laugh now,” he said when they’d both stopped chuckling, “but the poor lass whose frock I almost tore off still gives me the cut direct when I pass her on the street in Little Sissingdon.”

“You dance divinely now. I would never have guessed that you were once such a menace on the dance floor,” she assured him. “Who taught you to waltz?”

Thomas swirled her around in a flamboyant show of skill. “Thank you, Miss Martin. My mother taught me and my brothers. She was a governess before leaving service to marry my father. She taught a goodly number of the people here. Everyone wanted to learn when Lord Needham told us about this ball.” He glanced around them at the crowded floor of dancers, most of whom had clearly newly discovered the waltz, and lowered his voice, “I know Dora helped you dress for the ball, Miss. Did she happen to, er, mention me?”

Stacia considered her answer a moment before admitting, “She said something about Lady Shaftsbury’s maid.”

Thomas grimaced. “I’ve only been on two walks with her—and one dance at the village Christmas fete—and all three times I could hardly say no to her without being rude. She’s pretty but laughed at everything I said, even things I’d not meant to be funny.”

“She is probably nervous around you.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Aye, maybe, but it’s caused no end of trouble for me with Dora ever since.” He lowered his voice so much that Stacia had to dance on her toes to hear him. “I drew Dora’s name in the secret gift giving but I don’t want to keep it a secret. I’m worried she might think my gift is from Charles.” His worried blue gaze slid to where Dora was, quite shamelessly, flirting with another footman, also tall, blond, and handsome.

“I don’t think there is any rule against letting her know it is from you,” Stacia said.

“It’s a claddagh ring,” Thomas said.

“Pardon?”

“My mother is from Ireland and the ring belonged to her mother.”

“What did you call it?”

“A claddagh ring. It has hands and a crowned heart on it.”

“Oh, that sounds like a fede ring. It’s a sort of promise ring,” she explained at his questioning look.

“Aye, this is a ring a man gives to his girl. The way she wears it tells others if somebody has her heart.” His cheeks flushed a dark red.

“I think you must certainly tell her it is from you,” Stacia said. After a moment she added, “You might also tell Dora what you told me about Lady Shaftsbury’s maid.”

Thomas looked thoughtful at that advice and his gaze slid across the room yet again to the woman who obviously had his heart.

Stacia took the opportunity to look yet again for the man who held hers.

The ballroom was filled with aristocratic men and women mingling with servants—even Lord Bellamy’s young friends were here dancing and waiting on giggling maids—but there was no sign of the man who had promised to be her slavishly devoted servant for an evening. Why had he waylaid her in the corridor if he was not going to be at the ball?

Stacia stayed at the ball beyond sense, beyond hope. She remained until ten minutes before midnight—which meant she had to all but run to return to her employer in time—and Lord Shelton never appeared.