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He nodded and sucked in a breath. Was this the demise Stan had wished for? At least when Freddie fell, hit his head, and died, Fin and Stan would feel sorry for their mockery.
He scowled.
No, they likely wouldn’t. They were terrible friends.
Freddie concentrated on keeping his feet under him. His success would be the only thing to humble them.
He straightened and hurriedly slipped his arm around Pippy’s waist.
She did the same to him.
He smiled down at her. “Look at this!”
“Oomph,” someone called behind them, followed by a hard thump.
They both looked back over their shoulders to see Fin sprawled on his back.
Freddie quirked up a brow and grinned. “Lud, Fin. You look just like my pointer.” He turned to Pippy. “I believe I’m ready to venture out toward the center.” He moved his foot an inch or two and then followed with his other foot. He jutted his chin toward the center of the ice, not daring to use any other part of his body. “Lord and Lady Potsworth are not faring any better than I am.” He did not know why that made him feel better. The Potsworths were at least twenty years his senior. But he would take a victory where he could.
Pippy seemed to almost tiptoe beside him. He didn’t think it was her choice as much as her only option with him as an anchor about her waist.
He sighed. “How can you enjoy this?”
She shrugged. “It’s very enjoyable once you learn how.” She nudged him with her hip. “You need only learn to do it properly.”
“And how am I to do that?”
She pulled him tighter against her side. “I’ll teach you.”
“I accept.” He tightened his arm around her waist. Perhaps skating was not as loathsome as he originally believed.
Twenty
Everyone gathered in the parlor after dinner for games.
Pippy sighed. It was the thing she despised about house parties. Every night there was an activity—silhouettes, cards, or some other sort of game. Why could they not spend an evening in the library reading? Or retire to their rooms to recover from the day’s activities?
But that was not to be. Lady Dalmeer seemed determined that every waking moment must have some activity or other. It was exhausting.
She glanced over at Freddie as they walked into the parlor together. At least he was with her. She was uncertain how she would survive this party if it were not for him.
When he’d suggested their hasty marriage, she’d thought he’d changed from the man she’d known. His plan seemed frivolous, and he didn’t seem to take life seriously. But she’d come to realize his lightheartedness was a balm. And perhaps a sort of rebellion against the seriousness that played out around them. Indeed, when it was necessary, Freddie could be as serious as was required of him.
She wondered if the earl realized as much. From everything she’d seen and comments Freddie had made, the earl seemed convinced his son was not ready to assume the title.
Lord Kentwood could not be more wrong. Freddie would be every bit the earl his father was, and perhaps more. Unlike his father, Freddie set people at ease—a skill lacking in much of the nobility. Or that was her opinion.
He caught her staring at him and lifted a brow. “Did you see something you like?” He waggled his brows, but then went serious. “I don’t have a pea skin in my teeth, do I?” He covered his mouth with his hand. “The soup was not as smooth as I’d expect from my aunt’s kitchen.”
She smiled. “No. No pea skin. I was only thinking how pleased I am that if I must endure parlor games, at least you have to endure them with me.” It was not the exact way she’d been thinking about it.
His eyes widened in exasperation. “If you were an accommodating sort of wife, you’d let me cry off and go to the library.”
She laughed quietly. “Yes, I wished for an evening there as well.”
He lifted her hand to his lips. “Why do we not satisfy both our wishes?”
It was not a declaration of love, but it was enough for now. Could it be enough forever? It would have to be—there was little choice. But he was content. And that was as much as she could hope for in a situation such as theirs.
