Every stitch, every fold spoke of luxury—of a life that did not quite feel like hers.Yet now it belongs to me all the same.
The diamonds around her neck, a wedding gift from Heath, sparkled in stark contrast to the soft, understated grace of her features. But it was her hair—arranged in an intricate cascade of curls, woven with pearls—that made her breath hitch.
She had never considered herself particularly beautiful. Yet at this moment, standing before the mirror, she could not deny it.
Fanny sniffed, wiping at her cheeks. “I should not cry, should I? Oh, but you are the most beautiful bride!”
Blanche turned slightly, her lips curving into a quiet smile as she reached for her sister’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I am glad you are here, Fanny.”
Before Fanny could respond, the door swung open, and in stepped Lady Gooldwer, one of her prized pugs cradled in her arms.
“Heavens, everything must be just so… there must not be a single detail out of place!” The older woman’s voice carried its usual commanding presence, her elaborate mauve gown adorned with enough jewels to rival a crown.
Fanny leaned in toward Blanche, whispering with a teasing lilt. “I believe Mother intends to upstage the bride.”
“She probably feels she deserves it after all the effort she has put into making this wedding perfect.”
Suppressing a laugh, Blanche straightened, watching as her mother bustled about, adjusting nonexistent creases in her sleeves, ensuring not a single strand of her perfectly arranged coiffure dared stray from its place. But then, suddenly, her mother stilled.
Her sharp gaze landed on Blanche, and for once, there was no critique—no instructions, no restless adjusting—only quiet admiration.
“You look…” Mother hesitated, something rare for a woman so decisive. “You look exquisite.”
Mother’s gloved hand settled gently upon her daughter’s shoulder, their reflections captured together in the mirror. The weight of her mother’s presence—so often imposing, so rarely soft—was unexpected.
The unmistakable sound of scrambling paws against polished wood nearly shattered the fragile moment. But, before they could charge forward in their usual chaos, Fanny swept in, her movements practiced, efficient.
“Oh, no, you little devils, this is hardly your moment.” She scooped up the most eager of the three, pressing a swift kiss on its wrinkled head before ushering them toward the far side of the room. “You shall not trample over this affair, not this time.”
Blanche exhaled, glancing briefly toward her sister before returning her focus to the woman standing before her.
The weight of the moment remained unbroken.
“I am proud of you, my dear.”
A sudden warmth spread through Blanche’s chest, her throat tightening with the weight of the words. “Thank you, Mother…”
Lady Gooldwer inhaled sharply, as though gathering her thoughts, her gaze lingering on her daughter’s reflection.
Then, softer than Blanche had ever heard her speak, she murmured, “I have not always been fair to you, have I?”
Blanche turned slightly, watching her mother through the mirror. “You have always done what you thought best.”
Lady Gooldwer let out a quiet sigh, her fingers tightening slightly over Blanche’s shoulder.
“Since your father abandoned us… Everything changed. I had to be strong—strong for this family, strong for Fanny. But it was you who carried the true weight of it, wasn’t it?”
Blanche swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat.
“You took care of us when I could not, Blanche.” Mother’s voice, though composed, carried a tremor of something unspoken. “Fanny still smiles because of you. And I…” She paused, lifting her chin slightly. “I am only beginning to understand how much of our family’s good fortune came from you.”
Blanche turned fully then, placing her hand gently over her mother’s. “I only did what needed to be done, Mother.”
Her mother let out a quiet breath—one last moment of softness before reality intruded.
With dignified precision, she straightened, clearing her throat as though regaining her usual composure. “Now, you must hurry. You are soon to be a duchess, Blanche, and I will not have tardiness be your first offense.”
The soft rustle of satin accompanied Lady Gooldwer’s departure as she swept through the doorway, her entourage of eager pugs scampering at her heels.
