Page 26 of Snowed In with the Jilted Duke

It was most peculiar, but Pippa had not questioned it.

When she opened the door to her room, Mother was seated on the small sofa in front of the fireplace, still dressed in her evening gown. Pippa’s exuberance faded, replaced by wariness.

“There you are, Philippa. Come, let us speak.”

Heart in her mouth, Pippa obeyed, sinking onto the settee next to Mother, who regarded her with a frown.

“You and Kendal seemed quite... cozy.”

“I am supposed to be his betrothed, Mother. I could scarcely ignore him.”

“There was no need for him to be in your pocket all night merely to be sure the others believed you were Penelope.”

Pippa bowed her head to look at her hands folded in her lap. Mother was right, of course. She had allowed herself to be carried away, to believe that when Oliver looked at her with that warmth in his eyes that it was for her, Pippa, when it ought to be for Penny.

“Don’t misunderstand me. Kendal is a better actor than I had supposed. One might almost think he had feelings for you.” Mother paused. “But Penelope is his destined bride. Soon she will return and take her place back from you.”

Pippa’s stomach clenched, and she felt a little sick. That was what she was doing, was she not? This masquerade was only meant to protect Penny’s reputation. Instead, she was stealing her sister’s clothes, her new family, her betrothed... her whole life.

She had everything of her sister’s she had ever wanted, but only for now. Only until Penny returned and they each went back to their proper places. With Penny as Oliver’s wife, no matter how Penny herself felt about it, much less Pippa. Mother would not be gainsaid.

With an effort, she raised her head and looked Mother in the eye.

“Of course, Mother. That is as it should be. We—Ol—Kendal and I—are aware this masquerade is only a temporary stopgap until Penny is back.”

Mother’s gaze raked her face, and Pippa managed not to flinch, to meet her mother’s eyes calmly.

“Very well,” Mother said at last, and rose to her feet. “When I feel you and Kendal are perhaps getting too deep into your roles, I shall tap my cheek like this.” She demonstrated, her index finger rapping the hollow of her cheek. “Then you shall know when you have gone too far.”

“Yes, Mother,” Pippa murmured as her mother left through the dressing room door to her own room.

Mother was right. She must be more careful not to let herself become so enamored with her role that she forgot it was not her role at all.

She was merely holding Penny’s place open for her until her sister returned.

8

As Oliver descended the main staircase on the morning of Christmas Eve, a chill wind blew through the front doors, flung wide as Teasdale supervised the footmen bringing in armloads of evergreens and holly. They had been gathered and stored away in the stables to prevent bad luck from entering the house if they were brought indoors too early.

When Oliver reached the bottom of the stairs, Teasdale bowed to him.

“Time for the greens, eh?”

“Yes, your grace. The ladies are in the Gold Saloon.”

Oliver nodded, resolving to stay as far away from the Gold Saloon as possible lest he be drawn into the chaos of assembling garlands and tying ribbons whilst the ladies of the party argued over the right way to accomplish their task before that evening.

Though… perhaps he might take a look. A small one. To see if Pippa was there.

Only for a moment.

He followed the parade of footmen and peered through the door. Long tables had been brought down from the attics and most of the women of the party were already seated at them, laughing and chattering as they formed the greens and holly into garlands. The younger girls sat at a separate set of tables, scissors flying as they cut gold paper and ribbons into decorations to fasten to the garlands as they were completed. Two housemaids stood stationed at each end, passing through the room occasionally to sweep up pine needles, holly leaves, and scraps of paper and ribbon before they formed into piles.

His gaze went to Pippa, seated at the head of the garland-making table. A sprig of holly was pinned to her bodice, the bright green leaves and red berries standing out against the deep burgundy of her morning dress.

She glanced up and gave him a half-smile that encouraged him to cross to her despite the whispers and smirks from the other women.

“Good morning, Oliver.”