“It’s a Christmas miracle!” Abernathy crowed in delight.
“It is indeed,” Simon said.
The jeweler turned to Diana. “I hope you like it, Your Grace.”
“It’s beautiful. Thank you very much. Are you on your way home?”
Abernathy blushed. “I’m going to my sister’s house.”
Simon reached into his pocket. “Now that I’ve found the ring, I must compensate you for it, Mr. Abernathy.”
Holding up his hand, Abernathy shook his head. “You already have, sir.”
“Nonsense. That was just a deposit.
“Let the difference be my gift to you, for your kind understanding when I thought it was gone.”
Simon pressed the money into his hand, knowing it would go to good use for this man and his sister’s family. “I insist. Happy Christmas, Mr. Abernathy.”
The man beamed. “Happy Christmas, Your Grace!”
Simon offered his arm to Diana and they started back toward the inn.
“Let me understand,” she said. “You paid Mr. Abernathy even though he’d lost the ring?”
“Yes.”
“And you bought a ring from Owen that you’d already paid for—at least partially?”
“Yes.”
“Then you didn’t tell Mr. Abernathy that his nephew had taken the ring and tried to profit from it?”
“Heavens no.”
She stopped and turned, putting her gloved hand against his cheek. “I have nothing to give you on this Christmas Eve, while you have this lovely ring and your amazing generosity.”
“You gave me the greatest gift of all, Diana. You’ve given me hope for a future I never would have imagined. Not after all that’s happened.” He pushed the familiar pain of loss away and clung to this joyous moment, to this woman standing before him.
“Happy Christmas, Simon.”
“Happy Christmas, Diana. Shall we pretend there’s mistletoe?”
She curled her hand around his nape and stood on her toes. “Yes, let’s.”
The Yule Log Hunt
This story features characters from The Duke of Desire, The Duke of Danger, The Duke of Kisses, and Never Have I Ever with a Duke. If you haven’t read them, click on the title to grab your copy now!
Christmas Eve 1822
Stour’s Edge, Suffolk, England
Part One
Sebastian Westgate, Duke of Clare, was outnumbered. How had he managed to be left alone with five children, only two of whom were his? “Don’t you have nurses?” he mused aloud.
“Papa, they are busy,” his daughter Leah, all of five and a half years, said with far more authority than she ought to have. “With the other children.”
Yes, the younger ones. “What about their mothers?”
Before Leah could answer, three small boys aged three and four began to wrestle in the middle of the floor. She turned her head, pursing her lips in a way that brought her mother to West’s mind, and charged toward the melee. “Stop that!”
None of them listened to her, so she raised her voice and tried again. When one of the boys yelled, “Ow!” West resigned himself to intervene. He tried to take a step but realized there was a small body clinging to his leg.
Wee Jasper Kinsley, Earl of Wethersfield and heir to the Duke of Halstead, stared up at West with wide green eyes. “Up, please?” When West didn’t immediately sweep him into his arms, Jasper added, “I wanta see.”
Ah, the lad wanted to watch the tussle. West couldn’t blame him for that. He plucked the boy up and carried him closer to the tangle of bodies thrashing about on the floor. “Better?” West asked.
Jasper nodded. Leah had continued to admonish the wrestling boys, telling them they would be in grave trouble when their mothers arrived. It wasn’t lost on West that mothers were the greater threat. He was nothing more than a soft-hearted jelly when it came to his three children, and it was to his wife, Ivy, that they listened. Which was for the best because West could think of no one worth listening to more, no one who could care for them—or him—better.
“What on earth is going on here?” Ivy’s voice carried through the room like a captain addressing her troops. She carried their youngest, Julia, who was not yet two.
“Benedict!” Emmaline Maitland, Marchioness of Axbridge, barked at the wrestling boys. The one with the bright blond hair extricated himself—or tried to, but Sebastian, West’s son, grabbed his ankle and pulled him back down.
“Sebastian, stop that!” Ivy said crisply. Sebastian promptly let Benedict go and blinked up at his mother. He and the remaining boy, Gray, which was short for Graham for he was named after his father’s best friend, the Duke of Halstead, ceased their sport, and all three scrambled to their feet.
Gray swept his hair from his forehead and cast a worried glance toward his mother, Fanny, who was also Ivy’s younger sister.
Fanny narrowed her eyes at her son. “Apologize to Aunt Ivy and Uncle West for causing a ruckus in their house.”
Emmaline inclined her head toward her son. “You too, Benedict.”
“Sorry,” they chimed in unison.
“Sebastian, apologize to your mother,” West said.
“Sorry, Mama.” Sebastian went to take his mother’s hand, and West saw the precise moment when his wife melted on the inside. Her green eyes took on that warm, maternal sheen that never failed to make his heart feel as if it might burst. That he’d found a love so strong and so pure would humble him until his dying breath and likely beyond.
“Why is everyone apologizing?” Lionel, Marquess of Axbridge and one of West’s closest friends, asked as he entered the drawing room. He carried their youngest, Caroline, who was the same age as Julia and was followed by West’s brother-in-law, David Langley, Earl of St. Ives whose arms were full with his youngest, Mary.
“The boys were wrestling,” Emmaline explained to her husband.
“Who was winning?” Lionel asked, and West couldn’t help but laugh. But then all the women either frowned or glared at him and Lionel, and they quickly sobered.
“What happened?” Fanny asked.
“There was only Papa here,” Leah answered, as if that response perfectly summed up why a fracas would break out. And West supposed it did.
“I shouldn’t have been left alone with them,” he said in meager self-defense.
Leah came to him and touched his hand. “It’s all right, Papa. I was here to help.”
West stifled a smile and caressed her cheek. “Thank goodness for that.” He winked at her then transferred his attention to the other adults. “Are we ready for the Yule log hunt?”
This provoked a chorus of excitement from the children, followed by laughter from the adults.
“I think that’s a yes,” Lionel said with a wry grin.
Graham and Arabella Kinsley, Duke and Duchess of Halstead, entered then. Graham carried their youngest, Charlotte, who was just a year old. “Did we hear that it’s time to leave for the hunt?”
Jasper wriggled in West’s arms as he reached for his mother. Arabella strode toward them and embraced him with a smile. “Thank you for watching Jasper while we tended to Charlotte. The nurses are ready to take charge of the small ones while we go on the hunt.”