Page 29 of Snowed In with the Jilted Duke

“Oh, I …” She realized too late they would need to open the dance by being the first couple onto the floor, and she blushed painfully. She was not as good a dancer as Penny. Everyone knew it, including her. And now she must dance with everyone’s eyes on her.

“There’s no need to worry,” Oliver murmured as he led her onto the dance floor. “I shan’t let you trip.”

“Thank you,” she replied with a starchy sniff to acknowledge his teasing, but placed her hand in his as they waited for more couples to join them for the quadrille.

Taking a deep breath, she curtsied to him as he bowed to her, and they began to dance.

After a few moments of stiffness, Oliver was relieved to see Pippa shake away her nervousness and dance without hesitation. This was how he remembered her before Penelope’s illness—quieter, more reserved than her sister, but witty and warm in her own calm way. He had always half-expected the mercurial Penelope to flit away from him like a bird, and perhaps now she had.

Now all he could see was Pippa, and the more he saw of her, the more infatuated he became. Not just her beauty—which was at least the equal of her twin’s—but her inner serenity, her warmth, her willingness to do what needed to be done to protect both of their families.

He twirled her through a turn of the dance, and she laughed.

And her laugh… He loved to hear her laugh.

The music ended and, reluctantly, Oliver relinquished Pippa to Yardley, who claimed her hand for the next dance. He crossed to the other side of the room and bowed to his Aunt Pengarth, a middle-aged lady who did not allow her increasing girth to keep her from her favorite pastime.

“Such a shame Miss Philippa is ill,” she said slyly as they waited for the musicians to strike up the next tune. “You and Miss Penelope seem quite, er, eager for your wedding.”

Oliver flinched, but tried to hide his reaction in a bow. “Penelope says she would not feel quite married if her dear sister was not there to witness it. Not to mention her father.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would be able to change her mind if you put yours to it, nevvy,” she chortled. Before she could say more, the orchestra began to play, and she plunged herself into the country dance as Oliver followed.

More questions about the postponed wedding came as Oliver danced with his cousins and aunts, many of them bawdier than he had ever realized his female relatives could be, particularly at their advanced ages. Not one of them spared his blushes. It was a relief when it was Cousin Beatrice’s turn for a dance. She would only ask him questions about the upcoming theatricals.

“I hope Miss Philippa is not expecting a part in the play,” Beatrice mused. “Though I suppose we could find her a few lines as a servant if necessary.”

“I doubt it will be necessary,” Oliver said hastily. “Philippa has rarely participated in our theatricals before.”

Beatrice frowned. “No, I believe you are wrong, cousin. I think she was Mrs. Malaprop when we performed Sheridan’s The Rivals three years ago. And very amusing she was, too.”

“I… yes, of course.” The production—and Christmastide—had been quite riotous. He had nearly forgotten since it had been the holiday before Penelope’s near-fatal illness. Before Pippa had kissed him, and everything inside him had shifted.

“I shall speak to Miss Philippa and give her the pages to play the Nurse,” Beatrice said with a firm nod.

“No! Er, that is, her cold is quite putrid and she would prefer to be left alone.”

Beatrice frowned. “Very well. If you insist. But it seems peculiar no one but her maid has seen her.”

To Oliver’s relief, she spun away to another partner in the figure of the dance, ending her questions. Devil take it, she was far more shrewd than he had given her credit for. Scanning the room, he spotted Pippa on the opposite side, thankfully close to the door, and made his way to her side.

“I must speak to you,” he said in a low voice, and she nodded, accepting the arm he held out to her.

As yet another cousin approached for his dance, Oliver fended him off. “Sorry, Abernathy, but I must have a word with my betrothed.”

“Of course, of course,” Abernathy said with a broad wink, and Oliver swept Pippa away.

The billiards room was brightly lit, awaiting the arrival of any gentlemen who became bored with dancing. Since he did not permit card-playing in the house, Oliver had decided to allow billiards as a compromise. It was possible to place wagers on the outcome, but that was possible for any activity at all if a gamester was determined enough.

It was the deck of cards that had become a symbol of his father's folly to him.

As a precaution, Oliver turned the key in the lock as he escorted Pippa through. The last thing they needed was family members stumbling on their conversation and wondering why they were discussing Penelope as though she was a third person.

As he watched, Pippa swished around the billiard table, regarding it with a curious eye. "Papa never allowed us to play billiards. He said it was unladylike."

For a moment, Oliver's mind flashed a picture of Pippa bent over the table with a cue in her hands, her barely covered breasts threatening to overflow her already low bodice… He swallowed hard to banish the image.

"It is not a game to be played in mixed company," he admitted. "But there are many ladies who play billiards."