Page 40 of Yule Be Mine

Chapter Fifteen

The day had dawned cold and rainy, typical weather for January in Hertfordshire as Penelope looked out across the frozen lawn after another sleepless night. The wretchedness of the morning certainly fit her mood, grim and gray. Her face was still swollen from all the crying she’d done the past few days, her heart irreparably bruised by Yule’s perfidy.

Never had she felt so absolutely stupid as when Tom had told her Yule was part of a wager in which he had to marry in order for him and his cousins to win. Yule’s puzzling about-face behavior toward her now made sense. From the moment he’d met her at Mr. Kastner’s house party, he’d made it clear that he wasn’t interested in her. Yet she’d persisted, pestering him, trying to make him like her just because she’d had this silly tendre for him all the time she’d been growing up. Ever since he’d given her Mrs. Phillpotts.

She glanced over at the little rag doll, resting serenely on her pillow as she’d done ever since Yule had given her to her when she was seven. Now the poor thing was terribly bedraggled, with bits of her clothing missing and her mop cap permanently askew. Still, Penelope couldn’t go to sleep at night unless Mrs. Phillpotts was clutched in her arms.

Dragging herself from the window over to the bed, she grabbed the rag doll and peered into her face. “He doesn’t love me, Mrs. Phillpotts. I suspect now he never did. So I don’t know why he gave you to me. I believed at the time it meant he liked me, that he cared about me at least a little.” She tried to smooth down the turned-up hem of the doll’s dress, but it refused to behave and curled right back up. “I was wrong about that. And I was wrong to think I could change his mind. He tried to tell me when we met again, but I refused to listen. I kept pushing him until he gave in and that persuaded me he loved me. Only he didn’t.” A single tear slipped from her eyes and trickled down her cheek, then dropped onto Mrs. Phillpott’s endlessly serene porcelain face. “He just said those things so I’d marry him and win his wager for him.”

The most galling part of it was that she’d still likely have to marry him. Oh, but he’d laid the trap all too cleverly. He’d seemed fine with the long engagement until they were finally engaged. Once that was done, he changed his tune and tried to persuade her that six months was too long a time to wait. And stupid girl that she was, she’d played right into his scheme. She’d been the one to hit upon how they could anticipate their wedding night and as soon as she had, her fate had been sealed.

Of course, she hadn’t seen it that way at the time. She’d been thrilled to experience all the mysteries of the marriage bed while not actually being married. Because they were going to be married and live happily ever after because they loved one another. Or so she’d thought. But Yule had deceived her. He’d not been in love with her. If he had been, he’d have told her about this wretched wager and assured her that he was marrying her because he loved her, not because he needed to marry someone. Oh, no, she was only the convenient young lady who agreed to have him.

According to Tom, Yule had had no other prospects in the way of marriageable ladies. And who would blame them, if they knew he only wanted to marry because of the wager? He must have been afraid she’d hear of it and renege on marrying him. That was why he’d been mad to get the special license and when that wasn’t possible, he’d managed to get her mother to agree to waiting only for the banns, which would be completed this coming Sunday. Well, it would be a cold day in hell when she married Ulysses Quartermain.

Unless she was now carrying his child.

“Penelope?”

She jumped at the unexpected sound of Charlotte’s voice. “What is it?”

“Mama wanted to know if you were coming down to breakfast.” As if she couldn’t bear to look at Penelope, Charlotte stood outside the room, the door opened just a crack.

“I’m not hungry.” She hadn’t been able to eat much at all since that awful day.

“You must keep up your strength.”

“What for?” Her life was probably over. Or if not, was going to be completely miserable if she had to marry a man who didn’t love her. Given a choice, she’d rather starve to death.

The door opened wider and Charlotte stared at her, her eyes furtive. “Yule is downstairs asking for you.”

Penelope’s heart gave a huge leap as though it wanted to escape her chest and rush down the stairs of its own accord. She turned her back on Charlotte, so her sister couldn’t see the longing that must be evident on her face. If she’d thought to persuade herself she didn’t still care for Yule, her reaction to news of his presence said she was a fool. Despite how miserable she’d been for the past days, she did love him still.

So where did that leave her? Did she simply forgive him and move past his betrayal? Could she bring herself to marry a man who would wed her only to win a wager? Marriages had been made for less honorable reasons, she supposed. But did she wish hers to be one where she loved him desperately and he cared little for her?

He’d seemed to care very much when they were in bed together, giving each other incredible pleasures. She suspected he would continue to do so if they married. With no true feeling behind the act, however, would the pleasure continue to satisfy her? Or him?

Penelope drew in a hitching little sob. There was so much she needed to consider before she could see him again. “Tell him I am not well,” she called to her sister. “He must come back tomorrow or the day after. I…I have to think of what to say to him.”

“All right. If that’s what you wish.” Charlotte closed the door with a quiet click, leaving Penelope to the silence of the room.

At least that request would give her a little time to try to decide what she was going to do. Of course, as her parents didn’t know she and Yule had been intimate—she could wait and see if anything untoward would come from their numerous couplings in carnal embrace. If there were no consequences, then she’d have more choices available to her. However, if she was with child, there would be no question but she would have to marry him. It might be best to wait then.

The sound of the front door slamming shut reverberated all the way up to her chamber. Yule had apparently gone, without entreating her further. The tiny hope that he would have sent Charlotte back to beg Penelope to come downstairs—perhaps signaling that he did care for her at least a little—extinguished abruptly, like a candle being snuffed.

Tears pricked her eyes, an anger such as she’d not felt in ages rolling over her. Her gaze fell on Mrs. Phillpotts, still clutched in her hand. A connection to Yule she’d treasured for years. No more. With an anguished cry, she flung the little rag doll into the fireplace. It landed squarely on the blazing flames and immediately began to smoke.

Stricken, Penelope jumped from the bed, ran to the fireplace, and snatched the doll back, beating out the flames that had caught on the disheveled clothing. Penelope hugged Mrs. Phillpotts to her, the smell of the scorched cloth acrid in her nostrils. She couldn’t stand to think of having to go a single night without holding the doll in her arms. It was her one link to Yule all these years, to the memory of the boy who hadn’t wanted her to be friendless. “Oh, Mrs. Phillpotts.” She squeezed her eyes shut and held the doll close. “What am I going to do?”

*

One hour earlier

The sun hadn’tclimbed too high in the sky the next morning before Yule and Tom had set out in the carriage for the St. Claires’ home. Even though he was still angry at Tom for bringing this catastrophe down on him, Yule still wanted him there, not only for moral support, but so he could eventually apologize to Penelope for causing all the trouble. Once Yule could speak to her, he could explain and reassure her that the wager had nothing whatsoever to do with his desire to marry her.

Crisp snow made the carriage wheels crackle as they hurried toward the smaller estate nestled at the bottom of a hill—the manor house Yule remembered well from his childhood. Pale red brick trimmed in white, the structure didn’t seem to have changed at all in ten years. Thick ivy grew in the front and curled around the side of the house, seeming to anchor the building to the ground. He’d played here with Victor and Penelope every chance he could. Funny he was coming back now, a gentleman every bit as uncertain as the boy had been fearless. Of course, then he hadn’t been in love with Penelope.

The carriage pulled to a stop and Yule jumped down and strode to the front door.