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“What does that mean?” Simon asked, feeling his words come slowly in apprehension.
“It means that she is a seamstress.”
“Was.”
“To the ton, she will always be.” Georgiana hissed with the words, as if it were a great secret and awful to speak of, even though they were alone in the room.
“What do I care for what they think?” Simon shrugged.
“You do not know how bad this will be. Clearly, you are determined to stick your head in the sand and think nothing of it.” Georgiana moved to her feet and stepped away, shaking her head back and forth. “You will soon find not all is as easy as you hope it will be. You will see how they condemn you, hate you for making such a connection. You will be cast out of all good society.”
“Mother, do you not think this is overreacting a little bit? This is like seeing a spot of rain and being certain a thunderstorm is about to come.” Simon laughed at the idea, just once as he stood to his feet and returned to the mirror, trying to fix his cravat. “Nothing will go wrong. Rosaline and I will be happy, and I tell you this now.” He paused, waiting until his mother looked at him in the mirror. Once their gazes were connected through the reflection, he went on. “You will come today and wish us well. You will be happy for us. Or you will not come at all.”
She looked horrified, her green eyes going wide and her thin lips parting. For a second, Simon thought she might have been fighting tears again, but no tears came and as she approached his side by the mirror, all trace of wetness in her eyes was gone.
“Let me. You’re making a mess of it.” She took his shoulder and turned him around, then fiddled with the cravat, adjusting it for him. “There. It is perfect now.” Standing back, Simon glanced at the mirror to see she was right. “It seems you are all set for the wedding.”
“I am. Thank you.” He nodded at her then looked to the door. Part of him longed to run to Rosaline’s side, to be with her now and to forget this argument with his mother, but then out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the black bracelet on his mother’s arm and the way she fidgeted with it.
I must mend this relationship. It may not be easy, but my mother and I must improve our connection. I refuse to live my life in arguments forever more.
“Please, Mother,” he offered his arm, “say you will come to this wedding and be happy for me?”
“I will.” Slowly, she took his arm, as if hesitant. “Yet please, Simon, take heed of my warning. Your friends will pull away from you after this. Your life…it will not be as it was.”
