Page 32 of Snowed In with the Jilted Duke

The next morning was Christmas Day. Pippa allowed Sally to dress her in a warm woolen day gown and wrap her in one of Penny’s newly purchased Kashmir shawls. With the drifted snow making the journey to the village church too difficult for such a large group, one of the cousins who had recently been ordained as a clergyman would lead a Christmas service in the drafty medieval chapel. Pippa could only hope the roof had been repaired since the last time she had toured it.

She paused for a moment on the stairs as she saw Oliver standing behind his grandmother’s Bath chair, clearly intending to be the one to bring her to the chapel on this festive day. Pasting a smile onto her face, she curtsied to the grim-faced dowager.

“Happy Christmas to you, Duchess.”

“If you say so,” the dowager grumbled. “I had looked forward to seeing Hugo for Christmas this year. My years grow shorter with every holiday.”

Pippa and Oliver exchanged a glance.

“It was necessary for Lord Hugo to do his duty,” Pippa said in a soothing voice. “But the rest of the family is here with you today.”

“I suppose so.” The dowager did not look any happier, but waved her hand for Oliver to begin to push her towards the chapel as Pippa fell into step beside them.

“Have you fixed the issue with the chapel’s doves?” She kept her voice low so the dowager could not overhear.

His head whipped around to look at her. “How did you know about that?”

“One of them… made a mess on Penny’s sleeve when we toured it years ago. She was not best pleased.”

His lips quirked before he returned his gaze to the corridor before them. “I cannot blame her for that, really. But the doves have been evicted and the roof made whole. It should be warm enough for Christmas services.”

Despite her resolve to keep her distance, Pippa quickly realized that everyone expected her and Oliver to be together. To sit beside each other in the front pew of the chapel for the service, feeling his body heat radiate towards her as his cousin droned his sermon. Share a hymnal with him. Sit with him at the festive nuncheon that followed the service when the dowager declared there was no need for protocol and everyone could sit with whom they liked.

When she said that, the whole room’s heads turned to Pippa and Oliver with a smirk. She ducked her head, face burning, as he took her hand and seated her next to him at the table.

And when the children demanded revels that night, they found themselves back in the ballroom, still hung with evergreen garlands and the kissing ball looming from the chandelier. A riotous game of Blind Man’s Buff was quickly followed by a round of Snapdragon, and Pippa could not help but be caught up in the children’s glee.

When she triumphantly held up a still-flaming raisin and popped it into her mouth, Pippa realized the whole room was looking at her with suppressed amusement.

She looked up to discover she was standing directly beneath the kissing ball.

“Kiss! Kiss! You must kiss her, Cousin Kendal!”

Pippa’s face flamed, and she glanced to see that Oliver was equally red. She was not the only one to remember what had happened the previous night.

Clearing his throat, Oliver stepped forward and kissed her decorously on the cheek, to the boos and catcalls of his family. From the chairs lined against the walls, his Uncle Pengarth stood up, tugging his laughing wife with him to stand beneath the kissing ball despite her lighthearted protests.

“Here, Kendal,” his uncle brayed. “This is how you do it!”

To appreciative hoots from the crowd, the older man swept his wife into a deep kiss that she emerged from blushing and a little breathless. The sultry look she shot her husband said she had appreciated it even more than the audience did.

“That must wait until they’re properly wed!” someone called from the back, and the crowd laughed again as Pippa wished for the floor to open and swallow her up. Oliver’s hand on her back should not have comforted her, but it did.

“Shall we have a round of charades?” Oliver said, and the enthusiastic response allowed them to end the moment.

As the dowager prepared to leave the room, she gestured to Pippa, who stood and curtsied.

“Walk with me to the stairs, if you please, Miss Penelope.”

“Yes, of course, your grace.”

“Grandmama.”

Pippa felt her face flush. “Grandmama.”

The dowager waved her hand at the chorus of “goodnights” from the family as a footman opened the ballroom door and Pippa pushed the Bath chair through.

“I must say you seem much happier about your impending marriage, my dear.”