Page 10 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

Thalia quickly stood, gathering a slip of newspaper before pressing it against the exposed windowpane. The last thing she needed was the household getting sick. Not that their expeditions to the sewers helped in the matter, but at least this way, she felt like she was doing something to contribute.

Finally, the sound of the back door’s lock clicked, and Thalia’s heart skipped a beat. By sheer habit, she reached for a vegetable knife against the kitchen counter and stood, ready to run out the front door if needed.

“My, but the robins are looking rather handsome today!”

Thalia’s shoulders relaxed, the knife returning to its place. “And the flowers are perfectly in bloom,” she called back. “Now, come greet me properly, Robin! I’m here in the kitchen.”

The scuffling of feet followed soon by the appearance of a younger man, the spitting image of Thalia herself. His frame was far lighter, though, indicative of the constant challenges of survival given to him on the daily.

He kept his own dark hair cut short and close, his face clean-shaven and currently obscured by a cloth tied around his mouth and nose. That drew Thalia’s attention to her brother’s eyes—richly brown and tinged in a honeyed hope whenever the light caught against it. The sort of optimism she hoped would persist throughout his difficult life.

Robin made his way towards a rickety-looking chair, slipping out of his canvas trousers and undoing the strings of a thick apron. It all went clattering to the ground, though he seemed to wrestle with the lantern secured to his shirt via knotted rope.

“Here,” Thalia stepped across and over his pile, picking at the knot with her good hand. “You really ought not to tie this so tightly.”

“And risk losing it in the water?” Robin’s laughter didn’t seem entirely humorous, a tinge of genuine panic settled deep in the back of his throat. “No way; I’d rather you chastise me about my knots than be stuck in the sewers blind.” His gaze settled on her bandaged wrist, and he added softly, “How’s the wrist?”

“Better than it was a few days ago. I think it truly was just a sprain.” She knew Robin wanted to add something to the conversation, but he remained quietly fuming instead.

It wouldn’t do them any good to relive bad memories anyway, and perhaps that’s what kept him silent. Eventually, Thalia got the knot free, gingerly setting the lamp on the table as her brother continued to strip down. “Did everything go alright on your side of things?”

Robin nodded, eventually making it down to a pair of rather patched-up long johns. “Pretty decent haul to clean later—boys wanted to take advantage of the smog and do some resurrectionism.” He held up his hand, the other covering his heart in a sort of mock-promise. “That’s why I made sure to come straight home. A promise is a promise, after all.”

“And I appreciate you making it in the first place. Best to leave the dead as is.” Thalia paused, quietly watching her brother shift his work clothes into a slightly-worn basket, before adding, “Thank you again, Robin. I know it must be hard to pass up on opportunities, no matter how macabre they may be.”

He slid the basket toward the door, gesturing to it with a guilty groan. “I’m just sorry I have to put you through all this. It’s hardly the life you deserve, washing a tosher’s clothing.”

“You were in no way responsible for my current circumstance,” Thalia insisted. “I’m thankful you took me in at all. The least I can do is ensure your clothes aren’t completely putrid the next time you head out. Now, go on upstairs; there’s a warm bath waiting for you, and I’ll tell you all about Orion’s Hunt over a freshly-brewed pot.”

Robin’s expression wavered, a misty glaze casting over his eyes. “You really didn’t have to do all that, Thalia.”

“I absolutely did,” she replied with a teasing wink. “You positively reek, dear brother, and I refuse to share tea with you otherwise. I’m a sophisticated lady, after all.” She added a mock-curtsy at the end, pulling another snort of laughter from Robin as he made his way towards the staircase.

Once he’d completely ascended, Thalia allowed herself a heavy sigh before preparing the teapot over the fireplace one more. At least, until someone began to knock on their front door.

Thalia moved to open it, but hesitated, hand lingering just in front of the door’s knob. Robin had made a point to tell his crew to always use the back entrance, to call out their code phrase so she knew it was them.

The front door usually meant trouble—beggars, debtors looking to collect, the constables looking for one criminal or the other—and her brother was upstairs.

She debated on calling out to him, only for the door to rattle once more with impatience. Once more, the vegetable knife slipped into her hand, positioned behind her back as she peered through the door’s seam.

It took a minute to make out the shade, but once she did, Thalia gasped. Quickly, she undid the locks and threw the door open, completely taken aback to see the Duke of Stonewell standing on her front stoop.

“Y-Your Grace! I—you came so much sooner than I—how on earth did you find me?” Her eyes flickered to the stinking basket of clothing, and she cursed inwardly at the poor timing of it all.

“You mentioned your residency was in Whitechapel last night,” he explained, hardly seeming to notice the clothing—or the overbearing smell—at all.

“Yes, but Whitechapel is massive!”

“And its residents don’t typically consist of disgraced daughters of late marquesses. Or how they came to live with their half-brothers, the illegitimate sons of said Marquesses.” The duke arched his brow, his arms settling loosely against his chest. “You’re quite the topic of gossip around these parts, Miss Sutton. I would have thought you’d known as much.”

Thalia’s face flushed horribly. She did know, of course, at least to some extent. But to have rumors so rampant that a stranger could easily find her place of residence? It didn’t settle well in her stomach; she made a note to warn Robin, later. “W-well, that still doesn’t explain whyyouare here, Your Grace,” she said.

The duke’s expression remained terrifyingly neutral. “I’ve come to collect you, per our arrangement. Or were your last words to me not an acknowledgement of consent?”

“Well, n-no–” Thalia quickly shook her head, then decided to nod. “I mean, I truly do wish to accept your help, Your Grace.”

“If that’s the case, you may want to start by setting that weapon down.”

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