Mistletoe Wishes: A Regency Christmas Collection

“Stop being so childish.” If either her sister or cousin harbored a shred of sincere affection for Blair, Philippa might feel guilty about claiming his hand. “What’s going on?”

“Amelia wants to make it up with you. She feels awful about the estrangement.”

Philippa frowned. That didn’t sound like the sister she knew. “Really?”

“Do you want to get married tomorrow without giving your only sister a chance to apologize?”

“So she’s forgiven me?” Philippa asked, not bothering to hide her skepticism.

“She will if you come and talk to her now.” Caroline paused. “If you don’t, I fear that the breach may become permanent. Is that what you want?”

Despite Amelia’s many sins against her, a feud wasn’t what Philippa wanted. The thought of standing in the church tomorrow while her only sister stared daggers at her was too depressing for words. “No.”

“Well, then.” Caroline rushed forward to grab her arm, hauling her to her feet and sending the book thudding to the floor.

“Caroline!” Philippa protested, stretching to pick up Persuasion, but to no avail. Her cousin was considerably bigger and more powerful than she was.

“Stop whining,” Caroline snapped. “You don’t want to miss this chance to become friends again.”

She couldn’t remember a time when she and Amelia had been friends, but from long habit, Philippa gave in to her cousin. It suddenly struck her that her marriage to Lord Erskine might offer benefits beyond his obvious attractions. While she abandoned a home she loved, she’d also escape her relatives and their petty tyrannies.

Possibly Blair was another bully, but his behavior so far hinted at a reasonable man lurking beneath his rakish wiles. On the other hand, he’d very likely leave her alone once he became bored with her. If that happened, she’d find purpose elsewhere, just as she’d found purpose in running the Sanders estate.

The resolution was less bracing than she’d intended.

With Philippa firmly in her grasp, Caroline bustled along the corridor, then down two flights of stairs to the ground floor. Breathlessly, Philippa asked several times about the hurry, but her cousin ignored her.

When they reached the library, Caroline paused outside the closed door and spoke in a piercing tone. “Oh, I do hope Amelia is here.”

Philippa’s confusion mounted. “You said she’s waiting for me.”

As she flung open the door, Caroline’s grip on Philippa’s arm tightened painfully. “There.”

Soft lamplight lit the library that Philippa’s uncle used for gambling and drinking, but never for reading. His father, the previous baronet, had collected the books lining the walls. In the hour before dinner, it was usually empty. But even as Caroline shoved Philippa hard in the back, forcing her to stumble inside, she caught a flicker of movement at the far end of the long, narrow room.

Philippa stopped on a horrified gasp as her cousin crowded hard against her shoulder. Her eyes took in the scene before her mind made sense of it.

In front of the hearth, lit to theatre by flickering flames, Blair stood with his hands around Amelia’s slender waist. Her arms circling his neck, her sister leaned into the hard chest that Philippa knew, oh, too intimately.

“Blair?” Philippa asked uncertainly, struggling to keep her knees from folding. She took another unsteady step forward, this time without Caroline’s encouragement.

At the sound of his name, Blair’s head jerked up as if he’d been struck. Without shifting away from Amelia, he stared at Philippa, eyes dark with what looked like anguish.

“Hell—” he muttered, although in the fraught silence, she heard him perfectly.

Still clinging to him like a barnacle to a rock, Amelia turned toward Philippa, her expression alight with spite and triumph.

“I don’t understand,” Philippa said dully.

Truly her principal reaction was confusion. But other emotions hovered close, ready to rip her apart. Anger. Self-disgust for trusting this man. Unbearable hurt.

The hurt was the most puzzling of all. She’d only known Erskine a matter of days. How could his deceit crush her like this?

“What’s to understand?” Amelia regarded her with contempt. “You can’t imagine a mouse like you could hold the Earl of Erskine.”

“Stop it!” With a total lack of chivalry, Erskine tried to tug Amelia’s arms from around his neck. But she fought his attempts to free himself.

If he’d been prepared to hurt her, he could have broken away. But of course he wasn’t willing to hurt Amelia, whatever wounds he inflicted on Philippa’s aching heart.