Chapter 4
There was a reason the third-floor sitting room had been avoided by Lord Scovell that morning.
Because chaos lived there now.
It wasn’t polite chaos or the kind found at a tea party where someone forgot the lemon.
It was the kind of ribbon-fighting, pillow-throwing, perfume-clouded chaos.
The kind that came with three sisters, one best friend, a wedding taking place in nine days, and most importantly, the delicate nerves of a bride who had been trying very hard not to scream.
“Is it supposed to feel like this?” Aurelia asked no one in particular as she stared down at the samples of lace in a velvet box. “My lungs feel like they’re folding in on themselves. Can lungs do that?”
Celia jerked her head from behind a tower of hatboxes with a laugh. “Only if you have swallowed a corset—which I wouldn’t put past you.”
“I am not that hysterical.” Aurelia cleared her throat before turning to shoot her sister a look.
“Oh yes, very calm,” Nora chimed in immediately. “You’re practically a nun.”
“Why are there so many shades of white?” Aurelia groaned before holding up two swatches that looked exactly the same. “This one says Pearl Dust, and this one says Moonlight Blush. What is the difference?”
“Pearl Dust is for innocent girls,” Hyacinth offered from where she sat on the arm of a chair like a fashionable cat. “Moonlight Blush is for the ones who know better.”
“Just pick moonlight.” Celia rolled her eyes with a soft chuckle. “Or pick whichever won’t cause you to have a nervous breakdown.”
Aurelia nodded before slumping into a nearby sofa, her hair loose, and her usually composed expression beginning to crack. The sun was barely up, and already she felt like she had run a battlefield with nothing but a hairpin.
She loved her sisters. She adored Hyacinth. But weddings?
Weddings were nightmares in disguise, even though she had spent five years looking forward to it. The bustle, flowers, sparkles of new slippers… It was the kind of scene she had pictured for some young lady in one of her romance novels.
But not her. Never her.
“Is it strange,” Celia remarked, plucking petals off a pink rose, “that it’s all happening so fast? You barely know him.”
Hyacinth leaned back with enough mischief and curls. “You mean the Duke of Doom?”
Nora made a dramatic little noise. “He’s not doom. He’s actually dangerously gorgeous. That bone structure is a crime.”
“He’s also terrifying,” Celia added. “The stories I’ve heard.”
“There are always stories,” Aurelia interrupted lightly, then proceeded to smooth her skirt as though that would help to slow her heartbeat.
The room fell silent for a little while, as if they were all thinking of the same thing. Of the man with cold eyes and colder words. The man who didn’t smile, who didn’t explain, who made even Lord Scovell sit up straighter.
However, Hyacinth broke the silence as she tilted her head curiously and said, “But really, Aurelia… are you all right? You haven’t said much about how you feel.”
Aurelia straightened a little and plastered on a careful smile, the one she had practiced since she was fourteen. “It’s a good match,” she replied. “And it will make everything else easier.”
Nora squinted at her. “Everything else?”
Aurelia took a deep breath. “Yes. Everything else on my list.”
“You mean your goal, don’t you?” Celia paused and fixed her with a look that was both serious and amused. “Oh no, she’s doing it again.”
Hyacinth gasped softly. “You still talk about that? The list you wrote the night of your debut?”
Aurelia hesitated a second too long. “Yes.” She sighed. “I think this marriage will help.”
“Getting married to the duke will help you tick those boxes?” Hyacinth raised an eyebrow.
Aurelia nodded. “Once I’m a duchess, everything else becomes easier. I believe.”
“Even the matter of siring an heir?” Nora teased.
Aurelia shot her a look, then turned playful. “Especially that.”
Celia looked thoughtful. “You think this marriage will fix things.”
“I think this marriage will help things,” Aurelia corrected gently. “If I do it right.”
More silence ensued. Not a sad silence, just a gentle quiet.
It was evident that Aurelia was just saying all those things to convince herself that the marriage was something she should be thankful for.
Nora opened her mouth to speak, but a knock sounded at the door, interrupting whatever she had to say.
“The carriage is ready, my lady,” came the footman’s voice from outside.
Hyacinth stood up almost immediately. “Alright, ladies, to town we go! We have got so many silks to judge and lace to insult.”
“And one very nervous bride to dress,” Nora added with a giggle as she rose as well.
She crossed to Aurelia, grabbed her hands, and pulled her up.
“Well then,” Aurelia said, lifting her chin with something that looked very much like courage. “Let’s find a gown worth ruining my lungs over.”
The four of them quickly moved through the room with giggles and perfumes, their skirts rustling like flower petals.
And as the carriage rolled away from the estate gates, the faintest trace of the duke’s face was all Aurelia could think about.
The dress shop smelled of rose water, lemon polish, and velvet dust.
Within minutes of their arrival, the ladies had taken over the parlor.
Hairpins were tossed onto the cushioned chairs, and Aurelia stood on the small platform before the dressing mirrors.
Her bare feet were almost swallowed by the plush rug, and her arms were held out as two assistants adjusted pins along her spine.
The first gown was made of pale ivory silk, with the kind of texture that shimmered in the light.
“It’s too… solemn,” Hyacinth commented from behind. “You look like a duchess already—which is the point—but don’t you want to feel like a bride too?”
Aurelia turned slightly toward the mirror. Her friend was right, she did look the part. Regal and proper. In fact, almost unreal.
But something in her expression didn’t match the gown. And it bothered her because she had to brave herself for a life made of posture and pretense.
A third assistant brought in the second gown. It was made of embroidered petals that spilled down the skirts like falling blossoms. When Aurelia stepped into it, the fabric wrapped around her like wind in a garden.
Celia clapped her hands, cutting through the gentle silence. “You look like a fairy.”
“A fairy who’s about to be locked in a castle,” Nora murmured, her voice low but not unkind.
Hyacinth caught Aurelia’s eye. She could see that Aurelia wasn’t impressed by the glamour of the gown. “Try another?”
Aurelia took a deep breath and nodded.
The third gown was different. It was simple, but with a high waist and delicate pearl beading along the sleeves. The kind of gown one would not notice in a room, until one saw the way it moved and the woman inside it.
When Aurelia looked at herself in the mirror, she felt like something.
Not a duchess. Not a fairy. Just… herself. She felt like herself.
Determined. Kind. Tired, maybe. But still standing.
“I love this one.” She smiled at her reflection and smoothed her skirt, her fingertips brushing the satin gently.
“I agree. It fits you perfectly.” Celia beamed as she rose. “Your wedding will be beautiful, trust me,” she said, patting her on the shoulder.
“Of course it will be. I will be playing the piano,” Nora teased, and her brows suddenly flew up. “Remember the pianoforte?”
“Of course, I do.” Celia nodded with a growing grin.
“Oh no,” Aurelia muttered, turning away from the mirror.
She already knew what was about to happen. Her sisters were about to recount one of her most embarrassing childhood moments.
“I must tell Hyacinth.” Celia grinned wider. “It was years ago.”
“Story time,” Aurelia groaned with an eye roll.
“Aurelia had read somewhere,” Celia began, her hand still resting on her sister’s shoulder, “that no gently bred lady should be without musical accomplishments. So she set out to become a virtuosa.”
“She made it sound like a military campaign,” Nora added. “She even made charts.”
“I did not make charts,” Aurelia protested with a strained chuckle.
“Yes, you did. Color-coded ones.”
Hyacinth burst into laughter. “Was she any good?”
“Eventually,” Celia said, dragging out the word with a theatrical flair. “But for the first two years, it was as if someone had trapped a squirrel inside the instrument.”
“I cried during one of her recitals,” Nora confessed. “From pain.”
“You’re all horrible,” Aurelia said with a genuine laugh.
“She practiced until her fingers blistered,” Celia continued, her voice a little softer now. “Even when we begged her to stop.”
“Even when the housemaid gave her notice,” Nora added, smirking. “Or the embroidery phase.”
Aurelia shot her a mock glare. But Celia was not easily deterred.
“Yes, she was convinced it would become her signature talent,” she snorted. “She was so determined for that to happen that she couldn’t hold a teacup properly for a week after having her fingers pricked so many times.”
“I was bleeding through my gloves at the morning call,” Aurelia admitted, laughing again.
In the strangest and sweetest way, her heart ached. There was something oddly comforting in realizing that she never gave up.
The thought settled over them like warm tea.
It was true. Aurelia didn’t give up. Not on piano, or embroidery, or society, or her reputation. And certainly not her list. Not even when the next item on it involved marrying a stranger.
Her laughter faded as she turned back to the mirror. She was still smiling, but there was something behind it now. Like a certain heaviness that was hidden behind the satin and pearls.
Because a wedding gown wasn’t just a dress. It was a promise. And no petals or pearls sewn in the fabric could cover the truth.
She was here to marry a man she didn’t understand. A man who had touched her chin with such aching gentleness, then warned her not to hope for more. A man who had looked at her as if she were a question he didn’t want to answer.
Her fingers clenched the hem of her skirt.
The Duke of Whitmore.
Even his name felt sharp in her mind. It felt cold, like snow that never melted.
Although she hadn’t seen him since that night, he still lingered in both her dreams and fears. Even in the quiet moments between her laughter.
I will not be afraid of him.
That was what she told herself.
She wasn’t marrying a monster. She was marrying a man with a daughter who needed care. A man who had chosen duty over distance. A man who, if she were clever and patient enough, might someday see her.
Aurelia lifted her chin.
And if not, then fine.