Page 23 of Yule Be Mine

“You will be the darling of the Season no matter what necklace you wear.” Penelope smiled at her sister’s happy reflection in the mirror. “I am quite certain the other young ladies won’t hold a candle to you.”

“You will be my greatest competition, Pen.” Charlotte rose and pulled her warm rose-colored shawl over her shoulders. “Don’t think you won’t, my dear.”

“I only hope—” Penelope couldn’t say it, not wanting to tempt fate. She truly hoped she wouldn’t need a Season at all if only Yule would make a declaration.

Charlotte gripped her hand. “He will come around, Pen. If he doesn’t by the start of the Season, I’ll have a word to him myself.”

“And what will you say to him, Charlotte? Marry my sister or else I will beat you about the head with my reticule?”

Charlotte broke into giggles, and Penelope joined her as they headed down the stairs. “Well, I shouldn’t be so violent, Pen, but I’d do something to knock some sense into him.”

Still chuckling, they entered the drawing room where the makeshift tree sat atop a large table ablaze with candles, presents piled underneath it. Penelope stopped to admire their handiwork—despite the fact they had had to make the decorations quickly, the tree looked very pretty indeed—then continued toward her parents who were speaking to some gentleman she didn’t know was here. Who would be calling on Christmas—

Penelope stopped mid-stride, recognizing the back, the set of the shoulders, the style and color of the hair that could only be… “Yule?”

He whirled toward her, his face transforming from dignified lines to a boyish grin that stretched wider and wider as he beheld her. “Penelope. Happy Christmas.”

At a loss for words or thoughts, she made a weak try at a smile and finally summoned the only thing she could say. “Happy Christmas.”

“Yule came over this morning to speak to you, Penelope.” Mama’s eyes were huge and shining. She shifted from one foot to the other, as though she could not stand still. “Would you like to show him into the small parlor? Alice has laid a fire in there.”

Still unsure this wasn’t as vivid a dream as the ones Scrooge had had, Penelope nodded, then led Yule into the snug little room where they had been receiving the friends and family who’d come by to welcome them back to England. “Would you like to sit down?”

“No, I think I’d better stand for this.”

She looked up at him, brows furrowed. “For wha—”

Without any further warning, Yule sank his mouth down onto hers, startling her so badly she had to grab onto his arms to keep from falling to her knees. His lips were firmer than the last time they’d done this, more insistent as well pressing against her mouth. The closeness of his body, the warmth they generated together was startling. Her whole body seemed to be heating to an amazing degree, tingles running up and down her arms, her legs, her spine. Along with those sensations came a strange urgency growing in the middle of her, something she’d never experienced before. Her head began to spin and Penelope feared she was on the verge of swooning right there in his arms when he broke the kiss. And though she was sorry, she could at least breathe again.

Penelope looked up at him, his eyes shiny and black as jet, and all she could think to say was, “There isn’t any mistletoe in here.”

He chuckled and tucked a stray tendril of hair back behind her ear.

The merest touch of his fingers on her skin made her burn.

“If you answer what I’m about to ask you correctly, we’ll never need mistletoe again.”

Penelope caught her breath. Was this really happening? Was she dreaming? “Do…do you want to court me, Yule?”

Slowly, he shook his head and Penelope’s hopes crumbled. Lowering her head, she fought against the tears that pricked her eyes.

He put his finger under her chin and raised it up until she couldn’t avoid looking into this smiling face. “No, Penelope, I don’t want to court you. I want to marry you.”