Page 2 of The Duke's Christmas Scandal
In theory, the five sisters could have chosen one amongst themselves to be the heir, but their bitter infighting over their birthright grew to such extremes that even the king declined to intervene, lest he incur the remaining four women’s wrath.
Thus began a race to beget the next male heir.
Alas, the Susskind heirs were cursed with a surfeit of females.
No misfortune could last forever. Eventually, a few sons entered the prospective line of succession, but by then, all claims were so attenuated that it would have been difficult to fight off the other claimants. King Charles’ declining health precluded royal intervention, and thus the dukedom languished for more than a hundred years.
After four generations, all talk of connections to a dukedom had passed into family lore. The animosity had become so entrenched that no branch of the original family still maintained ties to the rest. Aunt Mags, however, remembered and kept a sharp eye out for any news of potential claimants. She wasn’t about to let her great-aunts win.
Pish,Aunt Mags had written back.If I wanted to be a duchess, I’d have applied to Prinny years ago. They would hardly grant it to an old woman, anyway.
“They” being the Select Committee for Privileges.
Ian felt his mouth tick upward at the corner at the memory. He could practically hear her cackling with glee that her own nephew was to be the new duke, thus ending a century-long feud that had torn the family apart.
A lump formed in his throat. What a shame that she wasn’t here to see it. The old woman had passed away just weeks before, in late October.
Damn Solomon Abernathy.
About a year ago, he had submitted a claim to the attorney general, Sir William Garrow, who in turn sent the application to Prince George, at which point his claim was reported in the papers and Aunt Mags read about it. The family being so dispersed and disconnected by this point, a public announcement was deemed sufficient for the task of providing notice to any other potential heirs.
At his aunt’s urging, Ian submitted his own petition, at which point Prinny decided he had better things to do than decide the fate of ancient dukedoms and punted the matter back to the Select Committee for Privileges.
From there, the matter became an elaborate and tedious game of chess. Upon discovering he had competition for his claim, Abernathy filed increasingly strident appeals and generally sought to tie things up in court. Ian strongly suspected he’d won purely because the Select Committee had tired of all the wrangling and chose the less obnoxious petitioner as the heir.
Technically, what sealed his fate was Ian’s birthmark.
The final step in this ignominious process was being called before the Committee to display his bare bottom, where a reddish spot roughly in the shape of a crown marked his skin, next to the utterly scandalous portrait of his grandfather showing the same mark on his bottom. A similar wine-colored stain was noted in birth of the last living duke, Ian’s great-grandfather, thus cementing his claim to the peerage.
Why was there a portrait of his grandfather, naked, in the first place? Well, the man’s mistress had been a skilled painter who greatly admired the nude male form. At least Ian had inherited his forebears’ enviable physique along with the telltale mark.
Tonight, he would raise a glass to mistresses with a talent for oils.
Enduring the indignity of having his posterior inspected by peers of the realm had been worth the humiliation, though. He’d been formally recognized as the rightful heir barely a week before Christmas, with all the rights, privileges, and complications that came with it.
Such as finding a duchess who wouldn’t mind living in a construction site for the next several years.
Difficult to imagine any innocent young lady of superior birth wanting to lodge in this wreck while he pieced it back together, stone by stone.
He gave the pony’s nose a final pat, noting the droplets glinting on its mane, indicating a recent arrival.
“Warm up, little one. I don’t suppose you can tell me where to find your master?” The animal’s ears pricked. He claimed the lantern and ventured forth once more into the frozen world in search of his surprise visitor.
CHAPTER2
OCTAVIA
Tavi removed her stockings and hung them to dry by the fire, which she’d made by setting fire to a broken old chair. She’d pulled its rickety partner close to the grate but hadn’t quite summoned the courage to test the seat’s sturdiness.
“What is this place?” she wondered out loud, simply to feel less alone. There were signs of life—a makeshift kitchen with a bucket of fresh water sitting on the counter, half a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth, and a basket of meat, cheese, dried fruit and eggs placed near the windowsill. Apart from that, this ruin looked like no one had set foot inside for decades. She hadn’t ventured far before concluding that this was the best room to rest in.
If only there was a giant stack of firewood next to the imposing mantel. Her pathetic blaze was dwarfed by its ravaged magnificence.
One could easily believe ghosts roamed these halls.
Shivering from more than the chill, Tavi clutched her shawl tighter. Despite the fire, she couldn’t get warm.
A low groan from the dark hallway made her bolt upright.
