Sleepless Before the Wedding
The silk whisperedagainst Amelia’s skin as the dressmaker fussed with the hem. She stared at her reflection, hardly recognizing the woman in the elegant ivory gown.
“You’ll need to stand straighter, my lady,” the dressmaker muttered around a mouthful of pins. “The line of the dress requires—”
“I stand as straight as I’m able, Madame Beaumont.” Amelia’s fingers twisted in the delicate fabric. “Perhaps we should consider a different style.”
“Nonsense,” Elisha said from her perch near the window. “The dress is perfect. I’m sure our esteemed madame will create something magnificent with the measurements she has if you need to rest. You look like you’re attending your own funeral rather than your wedding.”
“Aren’t I?” Amelia caught her friend’s eye in the mirror. “In three days, I’ll be Lady Hereford, bound to a man who finds me barely more tolerable than a head cold.”
“Hold still, my lady,” Madame Beaumont commanded, tugging at the skirt. The movement caused Amelia to shift her weight, her wooden leg protesting after standing so long.
“I need a moment,” she said, stepping carefully off the fitting platform. “Some tea, perhaps.”
Once the dressmaker had bustled away, Amelia sank onto the divan next to her friend, her composure cracking. “How am I to dothis, Elisha? The dress, the ceremony, the… wedding night. My leg—”
“Stop.” Elisha gripped her hands. “Your leg has never defined you. Don’t let it start now.”
“It will when I’m sharing a home with a man known for his appreciation of physical perfection.” Amelia’s laugh held no humor. “Have you seen the women he favors? I’m hardly in their league even with two good legs.”
“You’re not seeing what I see.” Elisha’s voice softened. “The way he watches you when he thinks no one’s looking.”
“With horror, no doubt.”
“With fascination.” Elisha squeezed her hands. “As if you’re a puzzle he can’t quite solve.”
“Fascination,” Amelia repeated softly, unsure how to feel about this observation.
In three days, she would become this man’s wife. The thought terrified her, but why did it make her nervous with anticipation as well?
*
“I assume thedowager marchioness had opinions about your choice of bride?” Lancaster’s voice held careful neutrality.
“Mother threatened to disinherit me,” Hereford said, leaning against White’s leather-padded window seat with forced casualness. “Then she remembered she can’t.”
Patrick Adams choked on his brandy while Lancaster tried to hide his smile behind his glass. The three men had retreated to their usual corner of the club, seeking refuge from the torrent of gossip Hereford’s hasty engagement had unleashed.
“‘Have you lost your mind?’” Hereford mimicked his mother’s shrill tone. “‘A newspaper editor? A cripple? Charles, darling, what of the succession?’” He drained his glass. “She’s written to every eligibledebutante’s mother in Hampshire, apologizing for my temporary insanity.”
“And yet you’re going through with it,” Patrick observed.
Hereford’s fingers tightened on his empty glass. “Better me than Norwich.”
“Is that the only reason?” Lancaster’s shrewd eyes studied his friend. “You’ve been rather distracted lately. Especially when a certain lady editor is mentioned.”
“Nonsense.” But Hereford’s gaze drifted to the window, where a glimpse of a woman with chestnut hair passing on the street had caught his attention. Not Amelia. She would be at theReview’soffices at this hour, but the similarity made his pulse race inexplicably. “She’s made her opinion of me quite clear. I’m merely saving her from a worse fate.”
“And yet you’ve read every edition of her newspaper for the past few months,” Patrick said. “Including that rather pointed editorial comparing your behavior to that of a lazy housecat.”
“Know thy enemy.” The words felt hollow even to his own ears.
“Enemy?” Lancaster’s smile widened. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“I must be mad,” Hereford muttered, turning back to his friends. “Marrying a woman who can barely stand the sight of me, all because Norwich…” He broke off, the memory of Norwich’s words about Amelia warming his bed still rankling.
“Because Norwich what?” Patrick pressed.
