Page 20 of The Duke's Christmas Scandal
Ian set about rolling up the mattress. He didn’t want to leave it until his next visit, lest mice turn it into a nest. He needed to hire a land steward and an agent, once he gained access to the accounts associated with the dukedom. With most of the people who decided his fate away for another fortnight, that would mean another few weeks’ delay. Until then, his elevation was mostly an abstraction.
The bedding and pillows went into a sack, but not until after he’d held them to his nose to inhale the lingering scent of Tavi’s hair.
He cleaned the makeshift kitchen, packing away the extra food and baskets. The very last thing he did was put out the fire.
Beside it sat the “tree” Tavi had set up, complete with its sad red ribbons from her stocking. Ian’s mouth quirked up at the corner, even though it made his heart sink just a little bit more.
Out into the blinding bright world. He slit his eyes against the sun and snow and trudged through the drifts, nearly bent double by the heavy sack on his back.
When he made it to the barn, his vision took almost a full minute to adjust. Ian tossed the rolled mattress into the wagon and missed. It bounced off the wall and thudded to the ground. He cursed. On his second try, the thick roll landed in the flatbed. Springs squeaked. A horse whickered.
“You’ll be hauling this all the way back to Manchester,” he advised Cinnamon, his chestnut gelding. “Best buck up. It’ll be a long, cold haul.”
Thirty minutes later he had the horse hitched to the wagon, his ruin of a home locked and boarded—to what point, he didn’t know; there was nothing to steal—and was about to mount up when he spotted a smallish package sitting near the door and froze.
“Shit.”
Tavi’s gift.
He couldn’t let a baby and a new mother go without the clothes Tavi so carefully crafted for them. Not at Christmas.
His heart gave a thump.
Yes, he was a duke. But a desire to keep his uncomfortable secret was no reason not to make a little Christmas delivery of his own. She’d mentioned her sister lived in Newcastle upon Tyne.
A grin split Ian’s face as he smacked his horse into a trot. Drifting snowflakes stung his cheek. He whistled a merry tune into the brisk air.
* * *
Octavia
Tavi paidto put Nutmeg in the crowded public stable some distance away from Grace’s rented flat. From there, she trudged through the dirty slush-covered streets. The address wasn’t a slum, but this row of listing multistory buildings wasn’t far above a slum, either.
She found the uninspiring doorway to her sister’s lodgings, an address she had memorized from their frequent exchange of letters, but never visited in person.
“Ick.” Tavi juggled her satchel so she could hold her skirts out of the melted snow on the stairs. The smell of overcooked cabbage permeated the air. A noisy family lived on the first floor, with children shouting and pots banging.
“How is Grace managing these steps?” she huffed a few minutes later, to no one in particular. At the second landing, she stopped to rest. A thin wail echoed down from above.
“I’m coming, little one.” Tavi hoisted her luggage and stomped up to the top floor. “I have a nice gift for you,” she huffed. At the top was a door with a barely-visible number marked on its surface.
It took Grace forever to let her in. Tavi took one look at her sister’s red-rimmed eyes and the tiny bundle in her arms and dropped her things beside the door.
“How can I help?”
Grace burst into tears.
“I can’t believe he left me here all alone,” she sobbed. “And I haven’t anything to cook for Christmas dinner. I haven’t been able to manage the stairs and I can’t leave this one alone to go to the market...” Graced bounced the fussing baby.
“Everything is going to be alright,” Tavi said firmly. She sent her sister back to bed with orders to nurse. Despite her aching toes, she went back down all those steps to the market where she was able to buy a pullet for a bargain price, along with potatoes, a cabbage, and onions. It wasn’t much, but for two people, it would suffice.
All the time, her ire at Grace’s absent fiancé grew.
What kind of man abandoned his pregnant bride-to-be? At Christmas, no less?
Surely Solomon Abernathy had meant to be here for the birth of his son. Mr. Abernathy never struck her as a reliable sort, but Grace loved him and felt certain he was set to rise in the world. Something about a dukedom that had fallen into abeyance. It sounded far-fetched, but itwaspossible. Unlikely, but possible.
Back upstairs, with her basket from the market Tavi put the chicken on to roast with the potatoes and then went back down to fetch water. She put a kettle on to heat and went to check on her sister.
