Page 5 of Snowed In with the Runaway Bride

A shutter closed on Pippa's face. "Oh, I would not want to intrude on you and your new husband. I shall be quite content at home."

Penny nodded, entirely unconvinced, but unable to stay awake much longer. When the fatigue struck, it was almost worse than the pain. She slid under the half-turned covers and lay her head down.

"Sally, wake me in time to dress for supper, please."

"Of course, Miss Penny," was the last thing Penny heard before she slid into an exhausted sleep.

When she finally awakened, it was full dark outside and Sally was lighting more candles around the room. To Penny's surprise, Pippa was still in the window seat, gazing out into the darkness.

"Are you all right?" Penny asked.

Her sister's head whipped around to stare at her. For a frightening moment, her twin looked like a stranger, her eyes clouded with whatever thoughts had taken her so far away from this room.

Then Pippa laughed and said, "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Penny frowned, realizing that Pippa was in an old, familiar wool dressing gown faded to a dull gray and frayed on the edges while Penny wore splendid silk and velvet.

"Why on earth did you bring that old thing, Pippa?"

Her sister shrugged, that unfathomable look crossing her face again. "It's comfortable."

"But..." Penny knew she and Mama had ordered new clothes for Pippa as well when they had chosen Penny’s trousseau. Why was she not wearing any of them?

Sally stuck her head out of the dressing room. "Miss Penny, the bath is ready for you."

"Thank you, Sally." Penny swung her legs from the bed and stood up. She already felt better after her rest, and the hot water of the bath should soothe her swollen joints.

She was very afraid she knew why her twin was so quiet, but she could not think how to solve it. If Pippa had developed a hopeless infatuation with Kendal, there was nothing to be done about it now. The wedding was bearing down on them like a runaway carriage and Penny could not see how to get herself—or her twin—out of its path.

Feeling at loose ends once Penny and her family went upstairs to rest, Hugo wandered to the billiards room, where several of his cousins and uncles had already set up a game. They welcomed him with handshakes and backslaps, and one of them pressed a cue into his hand.

“I hope you’ve been practicing, my boy,” his uncle Pengarth boomed. “I’ve a feeling I could win today.”

“Where would I practice aboard ship?” Hugo said, concealing his sly grin as he bent over the table. In one smooth motion, he broke the formation of the billiard balls, sending two of them skittering into pockets on either side of the table. The men around the table groaned.

“It’s a matter of geometry, gentlemen.” Hugo paused to chalk his cue. “And a sailor always knows the calculations to bring himself safely home.”

As the game proceeded, Hugo relaxed in the uncomplicated company of his family as they teased each other good-naturedly. Brandy and port were produced by a footman, and the game became more riotous as the hour passed.

“We must have a wager!” Cousin Rawleigh slapped the surface of the billiards table, his voice already slurred with brandy well before the evening meal.

Hugo flinched and turned to glare at his boisterous cousin, who shrank back, shame-faced.

“Oh. Beg pardon, cousin. I forgot.”

With a nod, Hugo returned to his shot, but his concentration had cracked. His father had nearly lost their patrimony to gambling debts, and only his agreement with mill owner Josiah Montgomery had saved the family from ruination. The Duke’s heir would marry Montgomery’s eldest granddaughter before her twenty-fifth birthday in exchange for payment of the Duke’s gaming debts and a carefully controlled allowance.

Even the death of both principals to the agreement could not break it. Montgomery had been far more shrewd than Hugo’s father when it came to matters of business.

Oliver did not allow gambling under the roof of Gaitskill Castle, and Hugo agreed with him. The penalty Oliver had been forced to pay for their father’s fecklessness was too high.

His concentration was further strained as the conversation turned to the wedding, which was to be held on Christmas Eve, three days from now.

“She looks far better than she did even this past spring,” Uncle Pengarth said before shaking his head. “Shame about her heart.”

The tip of Hugo’s cue scraped against the felt of the table, and he straightened abruptly to stare at his uncle. “What?”

His uncle turned to look at him, nodding gravely. “Her heart. It was a rheumatic fever, you know.”