Free A Winter Wedding by Amanda Forester

newspaper.
    “I just presented you with six choices, and you refused them all. And one without even giving me a hint of why she was unacceptable.”
    “That last one snorts when she laughs.”
    “Does she really? Had I but known, I would have never have suggested her.” Though her words dripped with sarcasm, it seemed to pass by Marchford unnoticed.
    “The point is, I cannot attend the Devine gala unmarried still.”
    “If you wish to be married within three days, you may have to settle for the chit who snorts.”
    “I do not believe you are treating this situation with the gravity it deserves.” He looked over his paper at her.
    “I would never contradict you,” Penelope said sweetly. She was quite enjoying herself.
    Marchford folded his paper with a great rustle. “This is not simply a matter of my own personal interest. I cannot conduct the investigations necessary in the service to my king if I am constantly being hounded by females wishing to become the next Duchess of Marchford.”
    Penelope was forced to concede he had a point. “I shall redouble my efforts, though it might help if you could…”
    “Lower my standards? Marry the next female who walks into the room?”
    “It would make my job easier.”
    The Dowager Duchess of Marchford glided into the room with a radiant smile.
    Penelope and Marchford exchanged a glance and a smile. “On second thought, perhaps not,” murmured Penelope.
    If the dowager heard her, she gave no hint of it and instead sat down to her coffee and crumpet with clotted cream, with a gleam in her blue eyes that signaled she was up to mischief. “Good morning, children. Lovely day, is it not?”
    Marchford’s eyes narrowed and he disappeared behind his newspaper again. Penelope was suspicious. In all the time she had lived with the dowager, she had always taken breakfast in her room. The dowager’s presence here in the breakfast room was greatly suspect. Adding to her alarm, Penelope had never seen the dowager in such a fine mood without it heralding some discomfort for either her or Marchford.
    “Yes. Lovely day,” came Marchford’s detached voice from behind the paper. “Anything in particular that makes it admirable to you, Grandmother? Perhaps the cold or the damp or maybe even the ice?”
    The dowager’s good humor never faded. “Yes, and the snow. Do not forget it looks like snow.”
    “You despise snow,” reminded Marchford.
    “Me despise snow? Whatever gave you such a notion?” Antonia stirred her coffee and attempted to look innocent.
    “Because you have told me so every winter that I have been alive.” Marchford glanced over his paper.
    The dowager waved an elegant hand at him like she was batting a fly. “Bah! What do you know of it? I used to race sleighs down country lanes before your father was even a twinkle in my eye. Ah, the times we had.” She smiled and savored her crumpet as if she were eating ambrosia.
    Penelope was truly concerned. Anything that had the dowager this pleased could only spell trouble. Marchford refused to look beyond his paper, and she suspected his bad humor was directly related to the dowager’s good one. Whatever had Antonia so pleased was clearly putting the duke in an ill temper.
    “Anything new happen to put you in a good mood this morning?” asked Penelope.
    Antonia smiled radiantly. “Yes, I suppose you could say so.”
    “Please do not hold me in suspense,” said Penelope. “Will you not share your good news?”
    “I was going to wait, but if you must know…” Antonia gave them both a wide, gracious smile and waited for Marchford to slowly lower his paper. “I am going to be married!”
    “Married?” Penelope set her cocoa down with a clank, almost spilling it on her lap. Married? Of all the things she thought she might hear from the dowager’s lips, marriage was not one of them.
    Marchford was silent. His features hardened into stone, but it was evident he was not entirely caught unawares. No wonder he