My Fair Marchioness (Scandalous Affairs Book 3) by Christi Caldwell (best short books to read txt) 📗

Because here was where she’d committed the greatest of thefts, taking comfort and security for herself, while all the girls and young women such as her continued to toil. She broke her fast with chocolate biscuits and raspberries and warm bread and then dined on the finest meats.

Seated beside the duchess, having put her request to her some moments ago, Julia resisted the urge to squirm.

“You want to take the bread and biscuits,” the lady said bemusedly as she carved up a small piece of ham.

Let it rest. Going back to those parts of London would be folly, anyway. Yes, it was unlikely given her change of attire and properly cloaked she’d be recognized, but it was still folly…still a risk.

“Julia?” the duchess pressed.

Think of yourself. Think of survival. Julia scrabbled with the inside of her cheek; worrying that flesh with her teeth. Apparently she was a bigger fool than she’d ever credited. “Not all of it,” she brought herself to say. “Because of the staff and beggars who come calling. However, I just hoped if there is some excess beyond that…”

“There’s always excess.”

Yes, Julia had discovered as much in this world. Ironically, it proved the opposite of the state of wanting, where people like Julia always found themselves without.

“I can have one of the servants take the food by.” The duchess said something to one of the footmen, giving directives for Cook.

The crimson-clad servant bowed and rushed off, and Julia followed his departure with her gaze.

That was the safest course. It was a way of getting food to people who were in dire need, while also ensuring that no one identified her. But there was absolutely no guarantee that Rand Graham’s men wouldn’t be waiting for her return and looking more closely than they ought at every woman who entered his streets.

If she stayed behind, however, the servants would decide who was worthy and who was not. Or they’d simply toss the food out, without taking note of which child was the smallest or which woman the lamest. Julia, she knew these things.

“Is there a problem with that?” Her Grace asked, calling Julia’s attention her way.

“I would… help, Your Grace,” she said when the duchess was raising her teacup.

The regal woman froze with that cup halfway to her lips. “You would help with what?”

“Distributing the food.”

The duchess didn’t move. “You want to hand food out?”

“I trust it isn’t something done,” she said.

“It isn’t.”

Julia felt a splash of color splotch her cheeks. This wasn’t her world, and it would never be. As it was, she’d only allowed herself to a temporary arrangement that would soon come to an end. But she was reminded of all the ways in which she was different. “I do not wish to make presumptions about your servants, but they remain unaware of the inner workings of the streets. Certain people have power and collect those handouts only to sell them.”

“And you would be able to identify those in need,” the astute woman rightly surmised.

Julia hesitated and then nodded once.

The duchess rested a hand atop Julia’s. “It isn’t done.” She patted Julia’s hand. “But that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be, my girl.” Her Grace gave one quick squeeze, and Julia resisted the swell of emotion clogging her throat. “Also, you are to call me Aunt Katherine,” she said, patting Julia’s fingers once more.

Aunt Katherine.

Adairia would have loved this woman so very much. She wouldn’t have known what to do with her most times, but she’d have found her way with the warmth and love the duchess exuded.

A short while later, standing in the foyer, her arms laden with a basket, Julia took in the “small delivery” the duchess had arranged.

There was nothing small about it.

The front door hung open as servants rushed back and forth, filling not one, but two carriages, even the tops of the carriages, with baskets of the morning’s baked goods and what Julia would wager were even more items that had been baked after Julia had shared what she had with the duchess.

A servant came forward with a cloak, and Julia accepted it with a word of thanks. Shrugging into it, she reached next for the bonnet.

“Do you think that is enough, girl?” Her Grace asked.

“I think it is most generous.” Stretching up on tiptoe, she kissed the duchess on the cheek. “Thank you so much.”

A blush filled Her Grace’s face, and she waved a hand. “Go on with you.” Tears misted the lady’s eyes, and leaning close, she spoke in a whisper, her words agonized, her tones hushed so that query belonged only to Julia. “Was Adairia hungry often?”

Too often. Julia had lied to the duchess enough already. “Sometimes,” she murmured, opting for a glossed-over version of the truth.

Sucking a breath in through her teeth, Her Grace dashed the moisture from her cheeks. “Well, then, let us hope this shall help others like you and my girl.”

A young maid came forward with the last basket, heading for the doorway.

And Julia froze.

Harris stopped at the threshold to let the young lady pass before entering. “What have we here?” he asked as he doffed his hat. The sun’s rays streaming through the foyer played with all the many shades of blond and burnished gold in his hair, and despite herself, her heart leaped at the sight of him.

“Julia,” he murmured, his gaze locked with hers.

“My lord.” It was more a prayer than anything that slipped from her lips on a breathy whisper.

“You came by, dear boy,” Her Grace said, and did Julia imagine a reluctance as Harris slid his eyes from hers? “With you missing these past days, I thought you’d finally decided to return to your home.” The duchess softened that droll statement by turning her face and touching a