His For Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page A

away without even the faintest idea of what she would do once the deed had been done.
    But what else was there to do?
    Just stand there and let Bertrand put her hand in Yardley's and make her live her life as a prisoner in her own home?
    For that surely was what he'd do, no mistake about it. She saw it happen to Aunt Melissande and her cousin, Rachel, too cowed to do much less but live their life with a tired, subdued air that put Ivy's teeth on edge.
    “I won't,” she whispered. “I will not let him dictate my life. I'll live it as I see fit.”
    And perhaps it was a good thing she was a far distance away from Seneca before Adeline stole every last penny she had and her stack of carpetbags, leaving her mistress with only the clothes she wore.
    Ivy stared at the wooden ceiling, still unable to come into grasp that her lady's maid could do such a thing. They had grown up together when Adeline was hired at the age of eight to be Ivy's companion.
    She waited at that platform for three days. Three very long days, to which she could see no solution.
    Indeed, the only reason Ivy did not cave in and go back to Seneca was quite simply, she had no way of getting back.
    Would it have been better?
    To go back to New York?
    Surely, by this time, she would already be wedded to that dolt, and frightening thought, growing fat with his child.
    Just the very idea was enough to cause a wave of nausea rise in the back of her throat and Ivy wiped at her wet face, unable to distinguish where the bath water started and her tears ended.
    Ah, but how wonderful it was to be clean again.
    She brought the small bar of soap to her nose and breathed in deeply of the scented rose petals that made her dizzy in its potency.
    Who knew when she would get clean again?
    Just then, the housekeeper, the woman with the kind eyes and no-nonsense attitude, bustled back in, a gown of white and blue over one arm. “Are you finished then?”
      “Yes.”
    “Good.” Mrs. Chang snapped the gown in the air. “This should fit you. Well, better than anything of mine will. Let's see if we can't get you all dry and ready for lunch. I can't imagine the state of Elliot and Timothy's stomach. I'm half afraid they've gone to the inn for lunch, even though I've told them a thousand times it's better to eat at home. At least, they know what they're eating. Who knows what Addie puts in her food, that's what I say.”
    Ivy stood up and let Mrs. Chang dry her body, the towel moving briskly over the bruises that made her wince every time she touched them.
    “Tch,” said the housekeeper. “It's a shame, it is. But better to bump into Mr. Whitley than anyone else. Did you know he's got half the town's eligible girls lining up to be his wife?”
    “That's certainly no surprise,” said Ivy as she stepped out of the tub, trying not to look at the scum floating on top. “He is not married?”
    “No,” replied Mrs. Chang as she handed her a pair of white stockings and undergarments. “And it's a keen shame. He has only been here in Branford for a little more than a year, and a man of his age, well, you would think would be looking to find a wife.” She laughed then. “Although, perhaps I should be glad if he doesn't. I may no longer have a job here. Now, let’s do something about your hair, hm?”
    The house seemed quite empty, although there was a fire burning cheerfully in the brick fireplace and Mrs. Chang placed a wooden stool in front of it.
    Ivy took a seat on the stool, both hands on the bottom of the seat and the housekeeper pulled a small wooden comb from one of her many apron pockets.
    With only the sounds of the fire and the smell of the beef stew, Ivy nearly fell asleep.
    Mrs. Chang cleared her throat as her fingers gently worked through the tangled hair that had only gotten worse after the bath. “Ivy, did you say your name was?”
    “Yes, Mrs. Chang.”
    “Why are you here?”
    Ivy stiffened. “I do not have anywhere else go.”
    The housekeeper made a