A Winter Wedding Read Online Free Page A

matrimonial suggestion,” said Pen in an undertone as they picked their way through the guests back to the entryway. “Frances is the niece of Lord Admiral and Lady Devine, a nicer family you could not hope to find. Frances will make her debut this season and is expected to do very well. You could save everyone a good deal of fuss and bother by making an offer before she needed to complete the season.”
    “Quite a business for you, this Madame X,” observed Marchford coolly.
    “Indeed,” replied Pen without apology.
    “Though I do thank you for extricating me from that situation.” His eyes warmed and he inclined his head to her.
    “Glad to be of assistance,” said Pen lightly. Her conscience pricked her momentarily, for she knew he would not thank her for the young lady she was about to connect him to; yet one look at his infuriatingly handsome face was enough to set her back on her devious course.
    They reached the entryway and were relatively alone as they waited for the Devine family. “Forgive my curiosity,” continued Penelope. She had tried to resist asking but could not contain herself any longer. “You hardly are in need of a matchmaker. Why not find your own bride?”
    “No!” Marchford was so emphatic it startled Penelope. “I do not want a romance, only a bride.” Gone was the amusement from his eyes. He was serious in his aversion to love. But why?
    Penelope reached out to touch his hand but caught herself in time. Lord Admiral Devine and his family arrived at that moment, distracting him from her awkward gesture. Marchford was naturally acquainted with Admiral Devine and his wife, and the introduction to Frances was quickly made. Frances was quite pretty and quite young, maybe fifteen at best, and her gown was the pinkest pink Pen had ever seen.
    Penelope was shamelessly delighted. Marchford less so.
    “May I have the honor of leading you into the ballroom?” asked Marchford politely.
    Frances giggled and clapped her hands. She stepped away momentarily to give her wrap to one of the footmen.
    “I fear I am robbing the nursery of its brightest ornament,” Marchford hissed in Pen’s ear.
    Pen stifled a laugh.
    “Since I will be occupied for the near future in unavoidable conversation, do keep your eye on Jonathan, that footman.”
    “Why?” asked Penelope.
    “Something shady about his footwear. Do not forget the only reason I returned to London at all is to discover the spymaster.”
    Marchford’s request was a serious one. He had been engaged in flushing out French spies from society for the past several years, both abroad and at home. The fact that he trusted Penelope with such work made a happy thrill run down her spine.
    “Which one is he?” she asked, keeping herself from giggling and clapping her hands in excitement in the manner of a certain youthful debutante.
    “He is taking the child’s wrap now.”
    Frances returned and Marchford led her into the ballroom with the look of a long-suffering saint. Penelope refused to feel guilty.
    Penelope loitered for a few minutes, watching the footman take coats as guests arrived. He was not doing anything of any particular suspicion. Soon, however, he handed over his duties to another footman and disappeared through a side door, which Pen guessed led to the servants’ passages.
    Penelope followed her quarry down a servants’ stairwell at a discreet distance. No member of society could do the same. That was the nice thing about being a companion; one could go almost anywhere and nobody would notice. Or if it wasn’t nice, at least it was helpful.
    The footman, an attractive man of at least six feet tall, walked down the corridor with a swagger of confidence he would not have dared show in the drawing rooms upstairs. He entered the kitchen and Pen followed, the heat warming her face even before she entered the room.
    He selected a tray that held three decanters of hard spirits and began to refill them. It was winter, and the cold put