Page 8 of Snowed In with the Jilted Duke

Before he could ask which play Beatrice had chosen—because of course none of the rest of the family was allowed an opinion—Yardley strolled up, hands in his pockets and suppressed eagerness on his face.

“I say, coz,” Yardley said, “I don’t suppose there’s a deck of cards in the house.”

“No,” Oliver said. “You know I don’t allow gambling.”

“But… oh.” Yardley’s already ruddy face flushed even further, and Oliver knew he had forgotten. “That is—yes, of course, as you say.”

As his cousin deflated, Oliver suppressed a sigh. He knew it was impossible to completely ban gambling from the estate. Inveterate gamblers—the kind his father had been—would always find something to bet on. The coming snowstorm. The length of time it would take the yule log to burn down. Whether or not the wedding would finally happen.

But there was no reason for him to encourage it.

“The billiards room is down the hall, next to the music room,” Oliver said. “And, of course, the chess board is always open.”

Yardley nodded and wandered away again.

Cousin Beatrice waved to re-gain his attention. “The day, cousin. What day shall we put on the play?”

“Oh, er … the day after St. Stephen’s Day, perhaps?” Oliver was unsure how eager he would be to playact only three days after his wedding. Not that there would be much privacy for a newly-married couple with a houseful of guests, including the bride’s own sister.

His gaze was irresistibly drawn to where Pippa stood in a corner of the room, and that matrimonial knot in his throat tightened sharply, nearly choking him.

He must know. Before he was irretrievably wed to Penelope, he must know which of them he had kissed. Pippa was continuing to avoid him, so the only way to confront her would be to corner her now. Tonight.

And hope the prying eyes of his relatives prevented her from causing a scene, one way or the other.

Upon seeing Oliver and Penny near the fireplace, Pippa did her best to hide in the corner Oliver’s cousin had deposited her into until the dowager’s voice rang through the room.

“Would you be so kind as to play for us, Miss Philippa?" the dowager asked, but Pippa knew any request from the dowager was closer to a command than a mere request.

"Of course, your grace." Pippa crossed to the pianoforte, feeling all eyes on her as she moved.

"Something for the season. After all, Christmastide begins in a few days."

Pippa nodded and began to sort through the sheet music spread across the top of the pianoforte. As she had suspected, someone had already chosen a few carols and folk songs that were the dowager's particular favorites. She might be a querulous old woman, but her family did want her to be happy.

Someone moved to stand beside her, and she knew it was Oliver even before she turned to look at him. He did not meet her eyes, instead doing his own sorting through the music at hand.

"'Greensleeves' is a particular favorite of Grandmama's."

"Is it truly appropriate for the season, though? It's so melancholy."

"Realizing the person whose company you enjoy has only been toying with your feelings is always a melancholy realization."

Pippa flinched without meaning to. "I don't know what you mean."

Oliver continued flipping through the sheet music. "I know it was you I kissed the night of my engagement ball."

"You could not possibly know that." Belatedly, Pippa realized it was not much of a denial. She could see the corner of his mouth quirk up even as he continued to look at the sheets of music.

"Do you think I kiss women so casually that I would not be able to tell one from another?"

A wave of jealousy rose so quickly it nearly choked her. He had kissed Penny. He must have, or he would not say such a thing.

And to make it worse, she was the one in the wrong. Penny was his betrothed. Of course he must have kissed her.

But knowing that made her want to die on the spot.

Still not looking at her, Oliver chose a sheaf of pages from the pile and handed it to her. "This one."