Read Online Tempting Mr. Weatherstone: A Wallflower Wedding Novella (Originally Appeared in the E-Book Anthology FIVE GOLDEN RINGS) by Vivienne Lorret - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vivienne Lorret
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settled with a husband and family for her to realize that she wanted more.”
More? A desperate need awakened inside of him. He wanted more, too. But there was too much he risked losing in the process. Already he’d altered one thing between them, and look at how that turned out. She was leaving.
His mother sighed. “I know you fear that a single action or alteration on your part will put everything you have with Penelope at risk. What you don’t see is that by doing nothing, you risk even more,” she said simply, then lifted her palms, weighing her words with one, then the other. “All you have to do is decide if what you have now is worth risking for the chance at greater happiness.”
“I could lose her,” he said before he could stop the words from tumbling out.
His mother blinked up at him, surprised by his admission, but pleased. She gave him a watery smile. “Or you could gain so much more.”
Chapter Eight
C HRISTMAS E VE WITH the Weatherstones had been a standing tradition for the past fifteen years. For Penelope, it was to be her last.
After next week, she would be living with her sister and celebrating next Christmas with Eugenia’s family. Of course, her father would most likely travel to Plymouth for the season, as well. So this could very well be the last year for any of them.
She did her best not to think about it when she arrived and saw the country house decorated with fragrant pine wreaths and red and silver bows. She tried not to think about it at dinner when Ethan mentioned they were having the last of Minerva’s pickled beets—which, according to Abigail, he’d made a special trip to London in order to bring them back for this occasion. And she tried not to think about it now, as they sat in the living room, listening to Abigail play joyful carols on the fortepiano.
Penelope felt anything but joyful. Weren’t there hymns or carols that expressed one’s melancholy on this holiday? She sighed, thankful the sound was disguised by the final trilling notes of “Here We Come A Wassailing.”
In fine spirits, her father clapped and stood up from the settee beside her. “Marvelous playing, Abigail. I could listen to these happy tunes for hours,” he said as he made his way to the tree and plucked a ribboned scroll from one of the branches. “Which reminds me of a special gift I thought of just for you.”
Having drunk far too much Christmas punch, he presented the scroll to her with a flourish. Smiling, Abigail eagerly took the scroll, slipping the ribbon off with haste like a girl unwrapping her first doll.
“James Rutledge, you spoil me,” she tittered in delight. “Why it’s the perfect piece of music for this day. However did you know?”
Hooking his thumbs beneath the fabric of his lapels, he rocked back on his feet and grinned. “I’ve had my suspicions for a while now. It is Bach’s most celebrated work.”
Abigail took his hand, thanked him, then stood to retrieve a small package wrapped in brown paper, handing it to him. “For you.”
Her father made a show of shaking it by his ear and wiggling his eyebrows as if he’d guessed some great secret before he unwrapped it. “My favorite pipe tobacco. How thoughtful, Abigail.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Thank you.”
Penelope watched them with a bittersweet joy. They were all such good friends, close as any two families could be. She would miss this. She would miss this very, very much.
Ethan jumped up from his chair, which was unusual for him. This evening, he’d had a sort of nervous energy about him. He never fidgeted, but she’d noticed him toying with his napkin at dinner, then, just a moment ago, pulling on the fringes of a pillow.
It was almost comical in a way because she was not fidgeting. Instead, she was unusually reserved, sitting on the settee with her hands sedately clasped in her lap.
“I believe I saw a familiar-looking package in the tree for me, Pen,”
More? A desperate need awakened inside of him. He wanted more, too. But there was too much he risked losing in the process. Already he’d altered one thing between them, and look at how that turned out. She was leaving.
His mother sighed. “I know you fear that a single action or alteration on your part will put everything you have with Penelope at risk. What you don’t see is that by doing nothing, you risk even more,” she said simply, then lifted her palms, weighing her words with one, then the other. “All you have to do is decide if what you have now is worth risking for the chance at greater happiness.”
“I could lose her,” he said before he could stop the words from tumbling out.
His mother blinked up at him, surprised by his admission, but pleased. She gave him a watery smile. “Or you could gain so much more.”
Chapter Eight
C HRISTMAS E VE WITH the Weatherstones had been a standing tradition for the past fifteen years. For Penelope, it was to be her last.
After next week, she would be living with her sister and celebrating next Christmas with Eugenia’s family. Of course, her father would most likely travel to Plymouth for the season, as well. So this could very well be the last year for any of them.
She did her best not to think about it when she arrived and saw the country house decorated with fragrant pine wreaths and red and silver bows. She tried not to think about it at dinner when Ethan mentioned they were having the last of Minerva’s pickled beets—which, according to Abigail, he’d made a special trip to London in order to bring them back for this occasion. And she tried not to think about it now, as they sat in the living room, listening to Abigail play joyful carols on the fortepiano.
Penelope felt anything but joyful. Weren’t there hymns or carols that expressed one’s melancholy on this holiday? She sighed, thankful the sound was disguised by the final trilling notes of “Here We Come A Wassailing.”
In fine spirits, her father clapped and stood up from the settee beside her. “Marvelous playing, Abigail. I could listen to these happy tunes for hours,” he said as he made his way to the tree and plucked a ribboned scroll from one of the branches. “Which reminds me of a special gift I thought of just for you.”
Having drunk far too much Christmas punch, he presented the scroll to her with a flourish. Smiling, Abigail eagerly took the scroll, slipping the ribbon off with haste like a girl unwrapping her first doll.
“James Rutledge, you spoil me,” she tittered in delight. “Why it’s the perfect piece of music for this day. However did you know?”
Hooking his thumbs beneath the fabric of his lapels, he rocked back on his feet and grinned. “I’ve had my suspicions for a while now. It is Bach’s most celebrated work.”
Abigail took his hand, thanked him, then stood to retrieve a small package wrapped in brown paper, handing it to him. “For you.”
Her father made a show of shaking it by his ear and wiggling his eyebrows as if he’d guessed some great secret before he unwrapped it. “My favorite pipe tobacco. How thoughtful, Abigail.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Thank you.”
Penelope watched them with a bittersweet joy. They were all such good friends, close as any two families could be. She would miss this. She would miss this very, very much.
Ethan jumped up from his chair, which was unusual for him. This evening, he’d had a sort of nervous energy about him. He never fidgeted, but she’d noticed him toying with his napkin at dinner, then, just a moment ago, pulling on the fringes of a pillow.
It was almost comical in a way because she was not fidgeting. Instead, she was unusually reserved, sitting on the settee with her hands sedately clasped in her lap.
“I believe I saw a familiar-looking package in the tree for me, Pen,”
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