Page 28 of Snowed In with the Jilted Duke

Oliver was in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, a rapier in his hand. Two of his young cousins—John and Charles, the ones playing Mercutio and Tybalt—stood next to him, also armed, and imitated him as he thrust the sword forward, leaning into a lunge, his strong thighs outlined against the thin wool of his trousers.

“Stage fighting is not the same as a true duel, of course,” he said. “You must be able to feint and move in a way that makes your opponent appear to be in danger when he is not. No one wants to attend to a genuine wound during a play.”

“But why does Tybalt despise the Montagues so, Cousin Kendal?” the older of the two boys asked.

Oliver lowered his sword and turned to face him, his expression serious. “That, cousin, is one of the mysteries of Shakespeare. Each actor must decide for himself why Tybalt is so devoted to the family’s honor, even at the cost of his own life.”

As she watched him discuss the play with his cousins, the two boys paying close attention, Pippa felt an odd twinge in her chest. He would be a wonderful father, patient and kind, taking the time to guide his children along the right path rather than ignoring them as so many men of his class did.

Cautiously, she withdrew and tiptoed down the rest of the corridor to reach the back stairs. It would never do for her to interrupt such an earnest discussion. She would leave Oliver to it.

After another family supper, everyone dispersed to dress for that evening’s entertainment: the traditional Christmas Eve ball. In normal times, visitors would arrive from around the county for it, but this year they had been lucky the musicians hired from Carlisle had arrived at the village of Little Dufton before the snow made other travel inadvisable.

Pippa descended the stairs with caution, though her feet wanted to fly when she saw Oliver waiting at the bottom. She had once again been wracked with guilt when Sally finished dressing her, for the emerald green ballgown with its gold lace overdress and embroidery had been one of the gowns she had most coveted when Penny was being fitted for it.

And now here she was, wearing that very dress… pretending to be Penny.

The thought deflated her a little as she extended her hand to Oliver for him to bow over. His eyes paused on her décolletage, which continued to swell rather more than she was comfortable with after so long in nothing but high-necked dresses. She had tried to talk Sally into allowing her a fichu for the ball, but the maid had firmly refused and pushed her out the door.

Oliver continued to hold her hand as he looked her over with admiring eyes. “You look ravishing, pigeon.”

“Thank you. Er… you look very nice as well.” Despite it being merely a family event, Oliver was dressed in full evening kit, complete with form-fitting black silk breeches. Even after this masquerade was over, he would always be the model by which she judged all other men.

“I hope you will save the first waltz for me.”

“Of course.” She shook her head and lowered her voice. “In truth, I do not expect to dance much.”

“Of course you shall. You are the future Duchess of Kendal tonight, are you not?”

She nodded, a lump rising in her throat. For tonight, yes. But only for tonight.

“Come.” He turned, her hand still in his, and began walking to the ballroom doors. A footman bowed and opened them.

Inside, swags of red brocade hung from the walls and shimmered in the candlelight. The garlands the ladies had made that day swooped from the corners of the ceiling to the center of the room where the kissing ball hung beneath the chandelier.

She sighed in delight and he squeezed her hand.

“You should be proud,” he said. “This is your work.”

“I had many helpers.”

“But you organized it. You instructed them. And everyone is pleased the tasks were accomplish so smoothly.”

Pippa ducked her head a little to hide her blush, but warmth spread in her chest at his praise. It banished a small measure of the cold shame of taking her sister’s place.

Music floated to Pippa’s ears, the sound of instruments being tuned, and she clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, the musicians were able to come after all!”

“I sent the stablemaster down to the village in the sled to fetch them for the last leg of their journey. Otherwise, we would have had to rely on Cousin Elizabeth to play the piano for us.”

“A dreadful thought.”

Oliver lowered his voice. “We must be prepared to answer questions. After all, Penelope and I were to have been wed today.”

“Yes, of course,” she murmured. She had deflected questions all day, insisting to the others that the delay was necessary, for she could not bear the thought of marrying without her twin sister and her dear Papa there. If the rest of the family thought the wait was a peculiar decision, they did not say so out loud, though they might hint at it. Oliver had sent a note to the vicar the previous evening, so they had had no fear he would suddenly arrive that morning and expect to perform the ceremony.

The tuning of the instruments ended with a flourish, and the leader of the small group turned to look for Oliver in the crowd for direction. Oliver nodded to him and turned to Pippa, extending his arm with a bow.

“Shall we?”