Page 38 of Yule Be Mine

“Well, Grandfather wagered with the six of us cousins of marriageable age that we couldn’t marry within the year.” Tom reached for another sandwich. “If we do, all of us win an estate, carriages, and ten thousand pounds.” He cocked his head. “Yule didn’t tell you any of this?”

“I daresay he did, but I may not have been paying attention.” That was a baldfaced lie, but Penelope needed to know more about this wager. “What happens if you don’t all marry?”

“Oh, well then none of us gets a thing and the others will have married for nothing.” About to take a sip of tea, Tom froze over his teacup. “Not actually for nothing, I assume. They would have married a woman they cared for at least. Or I’d hope they’d done so.”

“Have many of you married so far?” Penelope had to keep her question short as it was becoming difficult to speak.

“Only Alex and Sandy.” He grinned at her. “The rest of us are taking our time. But you and Yule are next, it seems.”

“Had your two cousins known their wives long before they married?” How had Yule not told her any of this? Suspicions were rising, but she tried to beat them down.

“Not at all.” Tom gave her a smirk. “Alex met Emma at a weekend house party and married her at the end of it. And Sandy met his bride at a ball in September and they were married in October. So Yule will be the first one to have known his bride for more than a month before the wedding.” Tom chuckled and reached for a seed cake. “I will tell you, I’m certain he was relieved when you turned up at the Kastners’ house party. Before that, he hadn’t a clue who he was going to marry. Said he might give me a run for last place in the marriage race.”

That made all too much sense to Penelope. When she and Yule had first met at the Kastners’ party, he’d been extremely standoffish toward her. In fact, he’d been so resistant, she’d had to pursue him until he’d finally given in. And once they’d agreed to marry, he suddenly hadn’t wanted to wait. It was as if he couldn’t wait six months to marry her. Had that been why he’d been so eager to bed her? If he got her with child, she’d have no choice but to marry him, neatly fulfilling his part of the marriage wager.

Gritting her teeth in an effort to keep her tears from flowing, Penelope mumbled an “Excuse me,” then rose and ran from the room, her budding suspicions all but confirmed. She’d managed to become betrothed to the one man she loved with all her heart and soul, only to discover all along he’d just needed a bride—and any bride would have done.

*

“This just camefor you, Mr. Quartermain.” His grandfather’s butler handed Yule an envelope as he sat with the afternoon paper in the drawing room. The address was scribbled in a hand so illegible, he could scarcely make out his own name. There was no return address, however the letter had been posted from Hertfordshire, so he surmised it had come from Penelope. Eagerly, he tore into the envelope.

He’d been detained in Town conferring with his grandfather about leasing a suitable estate in Hertfordshire for him to bring his bride to, near enough to both their families’ estates that he and Penelope could continue to cherish their society while enjoying the privacy necessary for newlyweds. Yule had informed his grandfather that if the wager went as scheduled, he’d like the estate—Mulberry Park—to be part of his share of the winnings. If not, he’d buy it from his grandfather if Penelope approved of it.

Yule pulled the letter out and flicked it open, frowning immediately. The handwriting was unmistakably that of a gentleman, though it was as illegible as the envelope’s direction. A glance at the signature had him shaking his head. “Tom? What the devil is Tom doing up in Hertfordshire?”

He read the missive, but two sentences in, Yule leaped to his feet. What the devil was going on at home? He glanced at the letter again, hoping to find the words different somehow, but they unfortunately remained the same.

Dear Cuz,

You’d better pop up here to calm down your bride-to-be. She’s gotten into a tizzy about the marriage wager for some reason, and now may not be willing to marry you anymore. Will see you when you arrive.

Yours,

Tom

What in blazes had his cousin said to Penelope…wait. He reread the letter again and uttered a vile curse. Tom had spoken to her about the marriage wager. And that had made her wish to change her mind about marrying him? As if she could do that now that they’d thrown caution to the wind and become lovers. Very active lovers too. Currently, Penelope possessed knowledge of the marriage bed some ladies didn’t discover until after they’d borne children.

“Tate!” Yule bellowed for the butler. There was nothing for it but to head to Hertfordshire as soon as possible to find out what mischief his cousin had stirred up this time. “Send a footman to King’s Cross to see when the next train to Welwyn leaves.”

“Very good, Mr. Quartermain.” Tate assessed the situation perfectly, and inquired, “Shall I inform your valet of your departure?”

“Yes, thank you, Tate.” Much as he wished he could strangle Tom for telling him so little, he feared he’d need his cousin’s assistance in straightening out whatever he’d said to offend Penelope. What could he have said about the wager that would have set her off so? He’d told Penelope about the marriage wager, hadn’t he? Try though he might, he couldn’t remember. He’d stop at the telegraph office on the way to the station and let Tom know when to send the carriage for him. What an utter mess. Yule stormed upstairs to change, each step feeding his anger.

Shaw was already packing his valise when Yule burst into his room. “I took the liberty of packing only the necessities for tonight and the next couple of days, Mr. Quartermain. When will you know if you will be remaining in Hertfordshire?”

“I have no bloody idea, Shaw.” Yule stood impatiently as the man stripped him then re-dressed him in a suit of serviceable dark blue for the grimy ride to come. “I have no clue what trouble my cousin has landed me in, or even if it’s a true crisis or simply a storm in a teacup. I won’t know until I arrive at Grandfather’s.”

“I do hope it is the latter, sir.” Shaw brushed the shoulders of the jacket and straightened it for good measure. “There you are sir. I’ll have your valise downstairs as soon as I’ve finished packing. What train are we to leave on?”

“I’m waiting for word from the footman. There used to be a five-forty that arrived in Welwyn at half-past seven, but I’ve not kept a check on the times of late, since Grandfather’s moved to London almost permanently.

“I’ll have everything ready, sir.” The valet gathered up the discarded clothing and commenced shaking them out and laying them neatly on the bed.

“Good man, Shaw.” Glancing once in the mirror to make certain he didn’t have the air of a lunatic, Yule set his mouth into a firm, rather than grim, line and left.

Shaw was as good as his word. Before the footman had returned with the next three departures of the train from King’s Cross station, the valet had the packed valise in the entry hall, and Yule’s overcoat, hat, and stick at the ready. Tate summoned the carriage and Yule departed like an efficient clockwork machine. He only hoped the entire trip and especially its conclusion would continue as well as the beginning.

*