Page 37 of Snowed In with the Jilted Duke

Instead, he settled on kissing her, a kiss so sweet he was only able to break away when the restless horses started walking on their own, forcing him to take control of the reins.

“I will speak with your father the moment he arrives,” he vowed. “And if… if he agrees, I will have a question to ask you.”

“Papa is a reasonable man.” Her words were decisive, but her tone was diffident. “Surely he will agree.”

They could only hope.

11

The following evening, Pippa peeked between the makeshift stage curtains that had been set up in the ballroom. The family was gathered in chairs set up in rows, chattering to each other in a pleased way. Mother sat close to the dowager with ill grace, clearly not enjoying the prospect of watching a play.

Glancing up, Pippa could see that the stage stood a short distance from where the kissing ball still dominated the chandelier, so she would not feel obliged to kiss Oliver at every moment.

She might wish to, but she would not feel obliged.

Seeing him with his tenants had helped her see him in a new light. She had known he was proper and responsible, but she had seen yesterday that he was genuinely attached to the land and his people. He had discussed crops and improvements with an easy familiarity that had surprised her.

Clearly, the estate was important to him, not merely as a source of income, but as a living thing that needed to be protected and nurtured. He would be devastated to be forced to sell it to someone who might not care for it as he did.

Surely Papa would agree to allow them to wed when Oliver asked.

“Are you ready, Cousin Penelope?”

Pippa turned to see Beatrice behind her, a sheaf of papers in her hand. “I suppose so.”

Beatrice patted her on the shoulder. “No need to be nervous, cousin. We are all family here. Besides, you and Cousin Kendal have come along splendidly with your acting.”

“Er… thank you.” Pippa accepted the bundle of papers Beatrice handed her.

“Remember, the lines upon which you should enter are circled in red. I have my monologue as the Nurse, and then call you to the stage.”

Pippa nodded again, wishing she had never agreed to this.

But as with all of her decisions to this point, it was too late to quail now.

From the shadows behind the curtain, Oliver reached out and pulled her close.

“Nervous?”

“Yes.”

“No need. You will be wonderful.”

Pippa looked up at him, and he kissed her quickly before stepping away again as the boys playing the chorus bustled past them and positioned themselves for the curtains to part. Beatrice clapped her hands three times, and the show began.

It passed in a daze, with family members forgetting their lines, or forgetting who they were playing. The fatal duel was marvelous. Pippa’s heart was in her mouth as the boys’ swords clashed, but Oliver’s instruction held them in good stead and no one was injured.

But her scenes with Oliver… she was hard-pressed to recall they were only words from a play when he spoke them to her, that her feelings were only those of a long-dead poet and not words from her own heart as she lamented her impossible love and rejoiced when Juliet wed her Romeo.

And when she found Oliver “dead,” the tears in her eyes were real.

“Yea, noise? Then I’ll be brief / O, happy dagger / This is thy sheath. There rust, and let me die.”

She fell across Oliver’s body, and his arm instinctively moved to prevent her from rolling off, which nearly sent her into a fit of giggles. Fortunately, it was the arm away from the audience and did not disturb the solemn silence of the rest of the play.

She glanced through her lashes to see her mother watching her. To others, her expression might have seemed impassive, but Pippa could see how angry she was.

The curtains closed, concealing her mother and the rest of the audience. It was done.