Tempting Mr. Weatherstone: A Wallflower Wedding Novella (Originally Appeared in the E-Book Anthology FIVE GOLDEN RINGS) by Vivienne Lorret
Authors: Vivienne Lorret
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1822
P ENELOPE R UTLEDGE WAVED to her sister as the carriage disappeared from view. After a month of parties, shopping, and utter chaos, their father’s London town house was now quiet. Perhaps even too quiet.
“I imagine Eugenia will be glad to return to her own home,” her father murmured from the winged chair facing the desk, his head bent over this morning’s paper.
Even though he couldn’t see her, she nodded. “The children will be glad to have more room to scamper about, I’m sure.”
She moved away from the window and closer to the hearth, her fingers toying with the fringes of her shawl. While the fire was well tended, it still did not warm her. For the past week—or perhaps a bit longer—she couldn’t seem to escape this ever-present chill. Today, it was worse than before.
“I daresay, Marcus will be delighted by their return,” her father said with a smile in his voice. “Not to mention the happy news.”
Penelope stared into the fire. Yes. The news. Eugenia—her younger sister by two years—was expecting her third child.
Of course, Eugenia had married Marcus at the end of her first season, when she was not yet nineteen. Penelope, on the other hand, had had four seasons and two marriage proposals by the time she was two-and-twenty, but no husband.
It was her own fault, she knew. She’d found too many flaws in her suitors. If they weren’t handsome enough, then they were too handsome. If they weren’t simpletons then they bored her with their intellect. Too awkward, too graceful, too drab, too smartly dressed, too verbose, too quiet. The list was endless. All she’d wanted was someone who wasn’t too . . . anything.
Her shoulders sagged on a deep sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, she peeked over at her father. He merely turned the page, apparently unconcerned.
Hmph. It wasn’t the least bit contrived, and still her father did not inquire about the cause of such a meaningful sigh.
“Perhaps I should have accepted my sister’s invitation after all,” she grumbled. What good was having a father if he didn’t become alarmed by such a sigh?
“What was that, dear?” he murmured, still not bothering to look up.
“I was just thinking how lonely you would be if both your daughters were married.”
At last, he looked up, wiry eyebrows lifted in question. Wry amusement curved his mouth. “Have your sights set on a fellow, do you?”
Crossing her arms, she turned to face her father, not bothering to hide her irritation. “I am five-and-twenty, Father. It has been three years since my last season. By all accounts, I am well into spinsterhood.”
Unconcerned, he went back to his paper. “I’ve told you before that you could have as many seasons as you like. Fetch yourself a husband if you are so inclined.”
Fetch herself a husband? He made it sound as if he didn’t care in the least. Even when she had announced that she planned never to marry, he’d merely accepted her decision, stating his belief in the fact that she must know her own mind better than anyone else.
Which she did, of course. There was no arguing that. However, it still irked her that he didn’t care one way or the other. “There are fathers aplenty who force their daughters into marriage.”
He murmured his agreement without looking up.
“Some even make their dowries shamefully tempting.”
“Your dowry is handsome enough to tempt the right sort of man.”
Her fingers plucked at the fringes of her shawl, pulling on the threads to make them even before twisting them into knots. “Honestly, I don’t care about any of that. Truly. I don’t even want to marry. There isn’t anyone of interest to me. Not like the way it was with Eugenia and Marcus, anyway.”
She still remembered the night of her sister’s debut. Marcus had been the first to sign her dance card. “You could tell right away they were meant for each other. They had a spark from the very beginning,” she mumbled more to herself than to
P ENELOPE R UTLEDGE WAVED to her sister as the carriage disappeared from view. After a month of parties, shopping, and utter chaos, their father’s London town house was now quiet. Perhaps even too quiet.
“I imagine Eugenia will be glad to return to her own home,” her father murmured from the winged chair facing the desk, his head bent over this morning’s paper.
Even though he couldn’t see her, she nodded. “The children will be glad to have more room to scamper about, I’m sure.”
She moved away from the window and closer to the hearth, her fingers toying with the fringes of her shawl. While the fire was well tended, it still did not warm her. For the past week—or perhaps a bit longer—she couldn’t seem to escape this ever-present chill. Today, it was worse than before.
“I daresay, Marcus will be delighted by their return,” her father said with a smile in his voice. “Not to mention the happy news.”
Penelope stared into the fire. Yes. The news. Eugenia—her younger sister by two years—was expecting her third child.
Of course, Eugenia had married Marcus at the end of her first season, when she was not yet nineteen. Penelope, on the other hand, had had four seasons and two marriage proposals by the time she was two-and-twenty, but no husband.
It was her own fault, she knew. She’d found too many flaws in her suitors. If they weren’t handsome enough, then they were too handsome. If they weren’t simpletons then they bored her with their intellect. Too awkward, too graceful, too drab, too smartly dressed, too verbose, too quiet. The list was endless. All she’d wanted was someone who wasn’t too . . . anything.
Her shoulders sagged on a deep sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, she peeked over at her father. He merely turned the page, apparently unconcerned.
Hmph. It wasn’t the least bit contrived, and still her father did not inquire about the cause of such a meaningful sigh.
“Perhaps I should have accepted my sister’s invitation after all,” she grumbled. What good was having a father if he didn’t become alarmed by such a sigh?
“What was that, dear?” he murmured, still not bothering to look up.
“I was just thinking how lonely you would be if both your daughters were married.”
At last, he looked up, wiry eyebrows lifted in question. Wry amusement curved his mouth. “Have your sights set on a fellow, do you?”
Crossing her arms, she turned to face her father, not bothering to hide her irritation. “I am five-and-twenty, Father. It has been three years since my last season. By all accounts, I am well into spinsterhood.”
Unconcerned, he went back to his paper. “I’ve told you before that you could have as many seasons as you like. Fetch yourself a husband if you are so inclined.”
Fetch herself a husband? He made it sound as if he didn’t care in the least. Even when she had announced that she planned never to marry, he’d merely accepted her decision, stating his belief in the fact that she must know her own mind better than anyone else.
Which she did, of course. There was no arguing that. However, it still irked her that he didn’t care one way or the other. “There are fathers aplenty who force their daughters into marriage.”
He murmured his agreement without looking up.
“Some even make their dowries shamefully tempting.”
“Your dowry is handsome enough to tempt the right sort of man.”
Her fingers plucked at the fringes of her shawl, pulling on the threads to make them even before twisting them into knots. “Honestly, I don’t care about any of that. Truly. I don’t even want to marry. There isn’t anyone of interest to me. Not like the way it was with Eugenia and Marcus, anyway.”
She still remembered the night of her sister’s debut. Marcus had been the first to sign her dance card. “You could tell right away they were meant for each other. They had a spark from the very beginning,” she mumbled more to herself than to
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