Page 23 of Snowed In with the Jilted Duke

"Good morning, Fenton." Oliver seated himself on the other side of the partner desk that dominated the room. Ledgers going back more than a hundred years lined the shelves, with the most recent one open in front of the other man, entries marked in his tidy clerk’s handwriting.

"I apologize for your being snowed in with the rest of us," Oliver said. "I will of course allot you the same amount of time already planned for your holiday once the snow has cleared enough for travel."

Fenton looked gratified. "Thank you, your grace."

Oliver cleared his throat. "I am looking for something in particular right now."

"Yes, your grace?"

"The agreement my father signed regarding my marriage contract."

"Ah." Fenton's brows drew down into a frown. "I will need a little time to locate it. I believe it is in the document safe, but I shall need to go through those papers."

"I would appreciate it. I need to, er, check some of the provisions ahead of the wedding."

"Of course, your grace."

With that settled, Oliver leaned back in his chair. "How has our wool done this year?"

After talking through a series of estate matters, Oliver’s stomach growled and he gave Fenton a quick grin that he hoped concealed his impatience.

“I’ll get my breakfast while you look for that agreement, shall I?”

“Certainly, your grace.”

As was her custom, the dowager duchess was already in the breakfast room. Not only was she an early riser, she preferred to be at the center of the gossip at all times. She had a finger in every pie in the household and could tell you which footman was courting two housemaids at once as easily as she could relate the latest on-dits from London. Nothing escaped her notice despite her failing eyesight and hearing.

He could only hope those handicaps would prevent her from realizing it was Pippa, not Penelope, circulating through the room.

He stood in the doorway and watched her for a long moment before she became aware of him. Unlike her previous visits to Gaitskill Castle, she spoke to his relatives with an ease that disarmed them. More than one of his relations had felt the sharp edge of Penelope’s tongue over the years.

Pippa, though...

She was as witty as Penelope, but with a kinder mien that his family responded to. Her position as the sister of his betrothed had put her at the periphery of the family group, but now she had moved to the center where she radiated warmth like a banked fire.

Finally noticing him, she looked at him over her shoulder and smiled, and he knew.

There was no need for a trip to London. No desire on his part to find another heiress to replace Penelope in another bloodless arrangement.

Everything he wanted was right here, in Pippa. He had never had the freedom to think of her that way before, but now he could not stop.

The dowager motioned him forward. “There you are. We had begun to wonder.”

“My apologies, Grandmama.” He crossed to her and bent to kiss her cheek. “There was some estate business that needed tending to.”

She nodded, and he moved to the sideboard to begin serving himself.

He could still picture Pippa sitting on it, looking so beautiful as she had leaned down to kiss him, he had been unable to resist her.

In retrospect, Beatrice’s intervention had been providential. He could not say what might have happened if they had been left alone for even another ten minutes.

Oliver took the seat next to his grandmother and began to eat, watching Pippa where she stood at the other end of the room. Feeling his eyes on her, she hesitated for a moment before crossing to him.

“Good morning, Oliver.”

“Good morning, P—Penelope.”

Her blush was delightful, but he hoped no one had noticed his stumble over her name.