Page 21 of The Duke's Christmas Scandal
Grace sat on the edge of her bed, utterly exhausted.
“Would you like me to take him?” Tavi asked.
“Please.”
Tavi accepted the infant, marveling at his smallness. Only three days old, his head was still squished into a cone from the birthing process. “You’re a sweet boy, aren’t you?” To her sister, she asked, “What’s his name?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Christopher, perhaps, after Father? Or Noel. In honor of the season.” She yawned. The poor woman probably hadn’t slept since her son’s arrival, which was no good for either of them.
“Noel is a wonderful name.”
Tavi took her nephew into the other room and washed him, changing his nappy and re-wrapping him in the makeshift swaddle. This would be a good time to give Grace the gift, but her sister had fallen asleep. Her stomach rumbled as the scent of roasted chicken filled the air.
The baby slept in a basket near the fire while she set the table, singing a Cornish song:
The first Nowell, the angels did say/was to certain poor shepherds in fields where they lay/In fields, where they, lay keeping their sheep…
This flat was grim and Grace’s prospects worse, but Tavi meant to help her sister in every way possible. If her mind wandered to Ian and the time they’d shared at Fellsgrove—more often than she’d like—then it was her secret to hold close to her heart.
When she heard Grace stirring in the bedroom, Tavi took her a pitcher of warm water to wash with.
Tavi went to her satchel and opened it. Her stomach sank through the floor. Tears burned her eyes.
She’d lost it.
All that work, for naught.
Grace and Noel’s Christmas gift was gone.
CHAPTER10
IAN
Ian tried three stables before he found one that had space for his gelding and the wagon. It took an hour of inquiries before he learned of Grace Dawson’s unassuming residence.
He mounted the stairs with trepidation.
There were a lot of very steep stairs. How recently had her baby been born? He thought Tavi had said quite recently.
At the top landing, he hesitated.
A baby’s wail steeled his resolve.
Ian knocked. He waited with bated breath.
A woman with hair like Tavi’s, and similar features, opened the door.
“Do I know you?”
“I’m looking for Octavia Dawson.”
She frowned. “Wait a moment.” The door slammed shut. Feminine voices carried through the thin barrier.
Ian’s pulse thundered in his temples. He startled when the unoiled hinges screamed.
“What are you doing here?” Tavi demanded. Her eyes were red-rimmed as if she’d been crying. The scent of baked chicken hit his nose. Ian’s stomach gurgled.
“You left something.” He held up her gift. Tavi gasped, clasping her hands over her heart.
