Four more days and she could see Seth.
It had been a week since she had seen him, though it felt like a lifetime. Restless, she had found no comfort in sleep. She spent her nights staring up at her canopy, listening to Caroline breathe in the bed next to her, and wished it was Seth instead. She didn’t know if it was better or worse that a fresh reminder of him arrived each morning. His bouquets spelled devotion, longing, and perseverance. She felt his love in every bloom, his absence in every moment, and shemissedhim. She missed his teasing grin and his too-loud laugh, the way his eyes matched the sky, and how it felt to be in his arms.
When had she begun to need him like this?
Aunt Valentine and Lord Bolderwood had formed an alliance and shouldered the burden of the wedding preparations. Other than some input on color preferences, there had been nothing expected of Cassandra, to her relief. If Cassandra had little input, she knew Seth had none, which might have been for the best. If left to him, they would likely be married in a barn. The thought became more appealing by the minute. And really, there was no need for pomp and circumstance. The only guests would be Caroline, the Dorchesters, Lord Bolderwood, and maybe Matthew, if he forgave her by then. A possibility that seemed less and less likely each day.
He hadn’t spoken to her. Not that he had time, if she were being fair. In between his duties as Viscount and setting up a new factory, she had scarcely seen him. He had swiftly stripped her of all administrative duties concerning the Cooper Estate and instead hired an accountant and a secretary. He gave Aunt Valentine anastoundingamount of funds to tend to the sisters’ needs. No small portion of that went to Madame Fournier, the woman with her nose in the air, sharp pins in her fingers, and the monumental task of clothing her.
She would need dresses, garters, slippers… and nightgowns of lace and silk. Her jaw dropped when Aunt Valentine presented the first flimsy garment. She flushed at the thought of wearing one for him. If she captivated him when he couldn’t see her, his jaw would more than drop.He might stop breathing.Suddenly too warm, she returned her attention to the dress shewaswearing.
“Do you think Mr. Reeves will like it?” Caroline asked.
“I think she could wear a flour sack and he would approve.” Jasmine grinned. “I wouldn’t worry about what it looks like. It’s not as if she’ll be wearing it for—”
“Jasmine!” Aunt Valentine shot a pointed look at Caroline.
Madame Fournier’s eyebrow twitched.
“Ohplease,Mama. Caroline could teachyoua few things.”
“I considerably doubt that.”
The corner of Caroline’s lips lifted innocently. Leaning on her toes, she covered her mouth and whispered into Aunt Valentine’s ear something that Cassandra could not hear but made the older woman turn scarlet. Sitting primly, she huffed out an indignant, “Well!”
Cassandra laughed, feeling light for the first time in days. She stopped to take everything in. Surrounded by mirrors, she saw herself from every angle and couldn’t find one she recognized. Somewhere hidden under the trappings of fabric and jewels, right out of reach, was the future Mrs. Cassandra Reeves. She would be a wife. A mother. Sheknew in her heart Seth would be a good husband and a good father.
For once in her life, she wasn’t afraid of the future, but impatiently awaited its arrival.
And Seth’s.
Four more days.
“Jasmine, take Caroline next door for an ice. There are other delicate items to add to Cassandra’strousseauthat young eyes—evenknowledgeableones—shouldn’t see.”
“She’s talking about what Cassandra will wear on her weddingnight,” Jasmine said matter-of-factly.
Without missing a beat, Caroline quipped, “It’s not a flour sack?”
As the bell above the door to the shop trilled with their exit, Aunt Valentine smiled comfortingly at Cassandra and held her hands. “Almost done, dear.”
“Is that Lady Dorchester’s voice that I hear?” Lady Sherborne shrilly sounded through the curtain.
Cassandra groaned.
That means Lady Honora is here, too.
“No, no, no. Chin up. Chest out. Shoulders straight,” Aunt Valentine said under her breath and gestured to her own mouth. “Smile.”
She opened the curtain.
“Prudence,” she sang, gliding over to her.
“Good morning, Lady Dorchester.” Lady Sherborne curtsied.
Behind her, Lady Honora looked as though her mother had dragged her there. Shadows darkened the skin under her eyes. Her brown hair was pulled into a chignon so severe it stretched the skin of her face and sharpened her eyebrows. She sneered at Cassandra, her usual ennui replaced by hostile disdain. Cassandra narrowed her eyes in response.
Not even Lady Worthing yet, and already acting the part.
