Page 39 of The Duke Who Saved Christmas
It was freezing.
It had snowed just enough this afternoon that the paths in the village square were no longer a grey slushy mush, but rather a grey slushy mush with a fresh inch or so of snow on top. I wasn’t sure which was better—being able to see the slush and know where to step or being allowed to be wilfully ignorant of where the danger spots were.
From someone who had to walk on it, I wanted to know.
On the other hand, as someone who would also see other people walking on it, I kind of didn’t want to know.
I wasn’t so grown up that I couldn’t laugh at people falling over. Especially when those people were tourists.
I didn’t understand the appeal of driving into the middle of nowhere and getting lost on country lanes just to experience a bit of Christmas spirit. Castleton surely wasn’t the only village that had some Christmas vibes going on, but you wouldn’t believe that tonight.
I also didn’t know why they were switching on the lights on a Tuesday evening, but here we were.
On a Tuesday.
In the cold.
With three times the normal number of people here.
I was having the time of my life.Not.
Like I hadn’t had a long enough day already. Aside from having to spend an hour of my precious time with Thomas at the tree farm and having an afternoon of crises from my future brides—some real, some exaggerated, as brides tended to do—I was just really tired.
And the pig had pooped in my bed.
I wasnothappy about that.
I glanced around, thinking about what Gramps had told me earlier. Emily, the Duchess of Castleton, also known as Thomas’s mother, would be turning on the lights.
Hm.
Was she stilltheduchess? Or was it dowager duchess? If Thomas was single, did the dowager part matter?
I’d have to Google that when I got home.
Either way, I’d promised to meet Beth here and had resigned myself to seeing Thomas again. Beth had told me earlier that he’d gone into some weird protective role over her, and the idea of him overcompensating for being an obtuse twat was more than a little amusing to me.
I just hoped he’d let her breathe tonight.
I mean, I could smell the Belgian waffle stand from where I was standing, and I wanted to eat my weight in them without being judged.
Given that I’d make a snide comment to Thomas if he were to eat that many waffles, it was fair to assume he’d do the same to me.
I was just really tired of being cold.
“Oh, what if Beatrix is cold?” Nana asked, holding the tiny pig against her chest.
“She’s wearing a jumper,” Hazel said, eyeing the pig. “And antlers. Also, she’s a pig. She’s fine.”
“But she’s so tiny.”
“The pig is not cold!”
I couldn’t believe I was a part of this conversation.
I couldn’t believe this was actually a conversation that was happening anywhere between any adult humans.
Kids? Sure. Adults? No.
