Tempting Mr. Weatherstone: A Wallflower Wedding Novella (Originally Appeared in the E-Book Anthology FIVE GOLDEN RINGS) Read Free

shades that it appeared each strand was unlike any other. Some of them pale like butter, others glistening like corn silk, some earthy brown, a chestnut here and there . . . It would take a lifetime to catalog every color.
    He situated the tray the way he liked it, lining it up corner to corner with his desk. He noted the two cups and the addition of cream as well as marmalade, most likely from Hinkley’s assumption that Penelope would join him.
    But Ethan knew her better than that.
    She was still fuming at him, her cornflower blue eyes darkening to midnight. Her lips were pursed in disapproval, making her mouth appear smaller and less generous than it normally was.
    “Would you like some tea?” he asked, already knowing her answer.
    She uncrossed her arms and pressed her hands to the edge of the desk, leaning forward in a way that caused the fringes of her shawl to brush against the tip of his quill. A strange jolt rushed through him.
    “Believe me when I say, you do not want to know what I would like at this precise moment,” she hissed. And before he could summon the will to blink, let alone breathe, she took a spoon from the tray, scooped up a dollop of cream, and proceeded to stir it into his dish of marmalade. “Enjoy. Your. Tea. Sir.”

 
    Chapter Two
    E ARLIER TODAY, P ENELOPE had managed to surprise him after all.
    Now, Ethan wasn’t certain that she would keep their standing family dinner engagement.
    He didn’t like not knowing. He didn’t like wondering if a message would arrive any moment, stating that Mr. Rutledge and his daughter were not coming. Of course, in all these years, no such message had arrived. The Rutledges had always come for dinner, unless they invited Ethan and his mother to dine with them.
    Such was the way of things between their families. In this regard, they were unlike any other families in their circle. They had been closely knit from the very beginning, sharing a bond of profound loss in the same year.
    Fifteen years ago, after his father had died at the family’s seaside estate, his mother moved his elder brother, Edmund, and him to a country house in Surrey. The very day, they were introduced to their new neighbors, the Rutledges, and summarily invited to dinner.
    That night at dinner, he’d learned that Pen’s mother had died of a fever a few short weeks before his father’s accident. With a whisper between them, they’d offered condolences. He still remembered the look in her eyes. On the surface, they were sure and strong, but in their blue depths, he saw the despair she carefully concealed for the sake of her family. She must have seen the same concealment in his gaze, too, because a look of commiseration had passed between them, forging their friendship.
    From that point on, their dinners together had become a monthly event. Soon, once a month had become twice a month. Then, during that first summer before he and Edmund had returned to school, twice a month became once a week.
    Years drew on, and the closeness remained. His mother and Rutledge formed a kindred friendship, often likening each other to siblings. The Rutledge girls had their seasons. Edmund grew into their father’s viscountcy, while Ethan learned he was rather good at numbers and investments.
    Three years ago, Ethan had purchased a town house just doors from the Rutledges’. It seemed the thing to do since their families were still close and would likely remain that way. Around that same time, Penelope had made her announcement of never marrying. Shortly thereafter, their dinners had become as frequent as four nights a week.
    Now, after all these years of expecting the same dinner to go on in the same manner . . . this time, he wasn’t entirely certain.
    Apparently, uncertainty made him sloppy. He’d gone through three cravats— three —before the knot was right.
    As he entered the study and saw that his mother was the only one in the room, he felt downright surly. “Good evening, Mother,” he