Chapter Twenty-Nine
“It’s beautiful, Mama,” Jasmine whispered.
Mama pinned the mantilla veil at the crown of Jasmine’s head. She adjusted it to fall around her arms, shoulders, and back. Jasmine twirled slowly in the mirror for a full view. Sheer lace with scalloped edges cradled her like wings, draping delicately over her ivory wedding gown.
“It was your abuela’s,” Mama said. “I wore it on my wedding day, and your daughter will wear it on hers too—if you take good care of it.”
The weight of womanhood settled on Jasmine’s shoulders with the lace, and she wasn’t certain she could do this—step fully into her role as a wife, a viscountess, and one day, a mother herself. She didn’t know the first thing about what to do, but she had an excellent example to live up to.
How far her mother had come.
She had once run barefoot on the beaches of Spain. Now she wore silk slippers in London ballrooms. But she hadn’t lost her wildness by marrying a nobleman—she had honed it. She ruled every room she stepped into, and everywhere she walked, she left footprints for Jasmine to follow.
She met Mama’s eyes through the mirror and confessed, “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you.” Mama’s voice broke, and she gently held her. “You need to know that I’ve always been proud of you.” Her eyes misted, and her Spanish accent slipped through. “Estoy orgullosa de ti. Tienes la fuerza de un toro, el corazón de un león y eres lo mejor que tengo en la vida.”
A sob caught in Jasmine’s throat as Mama kissed her cheek, then handed her a bouquet. The white roses and pink camellias were tied with a silk handkerchief—littered with colorful flowers she had stitched for Matthew. But before she became his wife, she needed to tie up a loose end.
“Mama?”
“Yes, my darling?”
Jasmine hugged her with all the love in her heart.
“Thank you for all of your meddling.”
Mama gave a watery laugh and dabbed a tear from her eye. She wagged a finger at her. “I’m not finished with you yet. You may be a married lady, but you’ll always be my baby. I’ll be worse as a grandmother.”
Jasmine grinned. “I don’t doubt it.”
Wiping another tear from her eye, Mama moved to read the clock on the mantel. “It’s almost time. I’ll go fetch your father.” She moved to the door, but lingered before leaving. “I love you.”
Jasmine returned her smile. “I love you too, Mama.”
After her mother left, Jasmine gathered enough bravery to look out the window.
It truly was a marvel how quickly it had all come together.
Within two days, her backyard became a cathedral.
A cloudless blue sky acted like a canopy over rows of white chairs on green grass.
Potted flowers lined an aisle leading to a laurel-covered arch.
Underneath stood a vicar, Mr. Sanderson, Seth—and Matthew.
Wearing a charcoal suit with a silver waistcoat, he greeted guests with a wide smile. Huddles of pastel dresses and dark tailcoats moved over the lawn, and Jasmine was most surprised by the amount of people there.
There wouldn’t be an empty seat.
One would think there wouldn’t be anyone in attendance, but not only was hers the biggest scandal of the season, but it was also the biggest story.
A far-reaching tale of how Lord Lincolnshire heroically carried Lady Jasmine to safety after Duke Kendall failed to provide necessary medical treatment.
The flames of gossip were fueled by Mama’s righteous fury, a copy of a physician’s bill given to the papers, and witnesses.
Honest ones.
All three Benevolent Ladies were on the street that night.
Lady Alverton, Lady Linwood, Mrs. Winslow—and their husbands.
All stepped forward the morning following her attack, attesting that they heard Matthew ask for help, only for Duke Kendall to stand in his way and mock him.
It turned out the ladies’ benevolence only extended so far when faced with injustice.
An attack on one was an attack on all, and when those women fought, they went for blood.
Jasmine couldn’t wait to count herself among their number.
A woman’s words can break a man in one breath.
She would build an empire with hers. Within moments, she would speak the most important words of her life, but she wasn’t confident she could speak at all.
Moisture collected in her palms, and her heart beat as fast as a rabbit’s.
After all of her years avoiding marriage, she was about to walk down the aisle and promise to obey Matthew Cooper.
She might have laughed at the irony, if her corset allowed more air.
A knock at the door captured her attention, and Papa entered the room, dressed in a deep navy tailcoat with a silver waistcoat and cravat. Gentleness softened his features, and he whispered, “You look just like your mother.”
“Thank you.” She turned back to the mirror and smiled at her reflection. “I think so too.”
Papa’s brow furrowed, as if unsure what to say—a first for him. She waited for him to gather his thoughts.
“I didn’t know how to raise a daughter,” he admitted quietly. “I thought it better left to your mother, but in doing so, I’ve lost valuable time with you. Time I’ll never get back. What’s worse, my inaction has caused you harm.” He paused and swallowed hard. “I must know… do you resent me for it?”
“No, Papa, I don’t resent you.” She rushed to him and threw her arms around him. “I love you. Mama made me strong. For better or for worse, I am who I am because of both of you. I’m proud to have you as my father. Thank you for allowing me to marry Matthew.”
“I should have done it sooner.” He released a sigh. “I should have listened to you, and I deeply regret not doing so.”
“I’ll forgive you if you’ll forgive me,” she said.
“We’re all doing the best we can to take care of each other, and we’re communicating as a family now, are we not?
That doesn’t change because I’m married.
” She gave him a half-smile. “I’ll be just down the road, and you’ll join me for breakfast on Saturdays. ”
“I won’t miss it,” he promised. “Tell me one more thing, daughter.”
“Yes, Papa?”
He cupped her cheek tenderly and met her eyes. “Do you love him?”
There wasn’t a question about it.
“Yes, I love him.”
He offered her a warm smile, and then his arm. “Are you ready?”
She took his arm and gave him a firm nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Their footsteps echoed in the home as he led her from her childhood room, down the hall to the grand staircase, then finally onto the lawn.
A string quartet struck up a gentle melody, and the guests stood as she approached.
Through the crowd Jasmine found Mama at the front and remembered her advice.
Chin up. Chest out. Shoulders straight.
The smile came easily.
Because Matthew waited at the end of the aisle. He stood tall—with a boyish grin on his lips and wonder on his face.
Effortlessly, her steps led her to him.
Her father kissed her cheek, then placed her hand in Matthew’s. Jasmine handed her bouquet to Cassandra, who matched Caroline in a mint green dress. There were tears in their amber eyes. Jasmine wanted to hug them both, and she would—as their sister.
She turned to Matthew to see unshed tears in his eyes.
Goodness, she would have to be strong enough for the entire family.
Standing with Matthew now, she finally felt up to the task.
She laced both of her hands with his and gave them a gentle squeeze.
He ran his thumb across her knuckles and pulled her in closer.
The scent of his cedarwood pomade mingled with the floral scent of her bouquet, grounding her.
His smile warmed her soul, and the tension melted from her shoulders.
Every voice muted. The crowd disappeared. In the next breath, it was only the two of them. Simply her and Matthew in her backyard—making promises to each other.
Why did I put so much pressure on this?
Repeating the vicar’s words, she vowed herself to Matthew. For better, for worse, she promised to love and cherish him through all the trials that life would throw their way. When asked if she would take Matthew as her wedded husband, the only answer was, “I will.”
When he slid the emerald wedding ring on her finger, it sparkled in the sunlight, fitting as if it was made for her—like the man standing before her.
Then he sealed his lips to hers, with all the sweetness of a first kiss.
Gentle, chaste, and a second longer than was proper.
When they parted, Jasmine met the shining eyes of her husband.
The crowd formed once more, standing in unison, they clapped and celebrated their union.
Matthew offered her his arm and gave her a devilish grin. “Shall we, Lady Lincolnshire?”
The reception flew by in a blur of felicitations, clinking glasses, and toasts.
Jasmine Cooper, Viscountess Lincolnshire, scarcely had time to breathe between thanking each guest. During a lull, Matthew had briefly stepped away, and Mama took that opportunity to thrust her into the sphere of social politics—as a lady of the ton.
Jasmine followed her mother, watching her maneuver the drawing-room like a chessboard.
Now that she knew what to look for, Jasmine could see a woman’s work in action.
A fluttering fan, a frown in just the right way, and voices edged with an abundance of concern.
Gossip spread underneath in what wasn’t said, and the Benevolent Ladies pulled the strings.
“I was the one who found Lady Dorchester.” Mrs. Winslow sighed. “His Grace couldn’t be bothered to send word to her mother.”
“It’s deplorable,” Honora said. “Why, my late husband would have never ignored a woman in need.”
Lady Alverton waved her fan and clucked. “Indeed.”
“Lord Lincolnshire looked like a fairy tale prince, carrying her out.” Lady Linwood reached forward to hold Mama’s hand. “He’ll be a wonderful husband to your daughter, Lady Dorchester.”