Chapter Nine
Nora parted the curtains of the coach as the wheels hit another rut in the road.
‘I fear I’ll be sick,’ Sara said.
‘Breathe in deeply and look outside,’ Candace said.
‘Don’t be dramatic, Sara. We have a while to go before we reach London,’ their mother said.
Nora bit her lip to keep from responding. An angry retort wouldn’t help her sister. She understood her mother had had to fend for herself since becoming a widow. But she also wished she could show more softness at times.
From the pale tint of Sara’s complexion, her sister was in need of rest and fresh air. The temperature in the crowded coach had increased as the afternoon sun blazed outside.
Nora, too, was overly warm. She could blame the condition on the road, the heat or the fact that her sisters were crammed against her.
None of those factors were what upset her disposition.
The wheels of the coach hit another bump and jostled the riders.
Sara moaned. Candace gasped. Nora wanted to throw open the doors and jump out.
They were drawing closer and closer to Town.
And her wedding.
Her thoughts turned to Ralston who was riding in his crested carriage with Lord Adler. Was he feeling the effects of the journey? Or was he conversing with his friend regarding their return to Town and to their clubs.
So much would change. Nora would have to move from her childhood home, the only home she’d known, to the Earl’s Berkley Square mansion.
He’d told her about his long-time housekeeper, and Nora would depend on the woman’s competency after she wed and became a countess.
But what would his staff think when he returned with news of a soon-to-be mistress of the manor?
As for the Earl, would he properly introduce her to his household?
Would they welcome her or look upon her as an oddity when they learned of her scientific interests.
To make matters worse, what did she know of running a large estate?
She’d never bothered to listen to her mother.
She’d never intended to marry. Heavens, everything would change, and fast. Her anxiety tripled.
‘As soon as we return, we must visit the modiste.’
Nora gave her mother a blank look. ‘Pardon?’
‘The modiste. Did you not hear me, Nora? We have little time to spare.’ Her mother’s lips pursed in exasperation. ‘We have a wedding to plan.’
Nora felt sick, and it wasn’t entirely due to the swaying of the carriage. ‘Must we consider it so quickly?’
‘Yes, we must.’ Her mother tapped her chin with a forefinger. ‘There is the wedding dress, of course. In addition, you need an entire trousseau.’
A tingling of dread made her shiver. She’d stowed all the details of an upcoming marriage far away in the recesses of her mind. Now, with each passing mile that brough them closer to London, a different panic welled in her breast.
‘Blue would look good with your hair. Don’t you agree Sara and Candace?’ her mother asked the sisters.
Candace met Nora’s eyes, and a mutual understanding of distress passed between them. Sara clutched the cushions, her face looking more puce coloured than before.
The wheels of the coach rumbled over the cobblestone streets as they entered the city, and traffic slowed the carriage. Soon, Nora recognized her neighbourhood, and they arrived home.
The ladies filed out of the coach one by one. Sara alighted first, taking in deep gasps of air. Their mother was second. Then Candace and Nora. As they climbed the steps into their home, Nora’s mother’s voice rang out.
‘Hurry, girls! Not a minute to waste until the wedding!’
Madame Fleur’s dress shop on Bond Street was where the ton’s daughters were transformed into visions of fashion. The scent of rosewater and pressed linen filled the air as Nora stood on a dais before a cheval looking glass in the elegant salon.
Blue satin shimmered from the morning light streaming from a tall window and hugged her curves.
Elegant lace imported from Brussels edged the sleeves and neckline.
Nora took a deep breath and tried to expand her lungs an extra inch.
The dress felt too tight, constraining. She would not have picked satin.
Silk would have been her choice. She’d agreed to marry Ralston, but nothing in the weeks since had been her choice.
Not the quick betrothal, the dress or the wedding breakfast to occur at the Earl’s massive pile of stone.
It was now two days before their wedding.
Much of her insecurities had to do with the fact that since her return home, she’d barely spoken to Ralston.
Without a special license, they’d waited until the banns were read.
She’d seen him at church each Sunday. She’d glanced at his hawkish profile after the service before her mother had ushered her away.
He’d come calling twice.
Once, he’d brought flowers. The second time, a box of chocolates.
He’d stayed precisely half an hour. Both times, her mother had remained in the room as a chaperone and had acted as if they’d begun courting.
She’d insisted that since they were back in Town, everything had to appear proper.
Their conversations had been stilted and uncomfortable.
Thereafter, he’d been in touch with her mother through correspondence to make all the arrangements.
Three weeks of the banns had painfully passed.
He’d been different upon their return. During their short visits, even his tone had been cooler, more formal.
His stiffness was nothing like the relaxed Earl at the village fair who’d laughed with her after judging a pie contest. His cool glance lacked the twinkle in his eye beneath the fair’s lamplight.
She wondered if this was who he’d be as a husband.
Now, with each passing day since returning home, her insecurities had arisen. What if he’d lied? What if he’d claimed he would support her scientific interests just to get her to marry? His fear of scandal was self-serving.
Nora bit the inside of her cheek. When did she become so jaded? She must give him the benefit of the doubt. She should enter into marriage with a positive attitude, certainly not a suspicious one.
‘Stop fidgeting,’ her mother said.
‘It’s too tight.’
‘No, chérie. It’s a perfect fit.’ Madame Fleur adjusted the bodice. ‘You will be a lovely bride and will charm the Earl.’
Ralston did not act charmed around her. He appeared to act out of duty and an immense dislike of scandal.
‘You will have to return tomorrow for a final fitting before I have the dress delivered,’ the dressmaker said.
‘She can come with her maid,’ her mother said.
The dressmaker nodded as she adjusted the gown’s hem. ‘Soon you will be a countess, Lady Ralston.’
Lady Ralston. The name sounded foreign to her ears, like a borrowed title that she’d eventually have to return.
He was a wealthy man of the beau monde, an influential member of the House of Lords, and an earl.
Who was she? A proud daughter of English and Middle Eastern parents and a scientist. She’d never aspired to be a countess, let alone a politician’s wife.
Madame Fleur stepped back and eyed the gown with satisfaction.
‘Now for the rest. I have a nightgown of my own design.’ The measuring tape ever-present around her neck flapped as Madame Fleur turned and snapped her fingers.
An assistant appeared to bring forth a nightgown so sheer one could see too much. ‘It’s the finest silk.’
Nora would finally get something made from silk, only this was not what she had in mind.
‘The Earl will find you irresistible,’ Madame Fleur said.
Irresistible.
Nora swallowed. She wasn’t certain she wanted him to look at her that way, especially not on the wedding night. She’d feel like a woman playing a part she hadn’t auditioned for. The dressmaker nodded, then left the fitting room for more supplies.
Madame Fleur meant to compliment her by calling her irresistible, but her words had a different effect.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and she glanced from the sheer nightgown to the door.
Would it appear cowardly if she sprinted out of the dress shop to burst onto Bond Street, then hailed the first hackney she saw to take her home?
Her mother must have sensed her unease. ‘You will be fine, Nora.’
‘How do you know?’ It was an honest question, and her voice sounded weak to her own ears.
‘I was married once, remember?’ her mother said.
‘Yes, but Papa.’
Her mother’s voice was soft, but crisp and clear. ‘Was a man, just as the Earl is.’
She looked at her mother, really looked at her.
They hadn’t had an earnest conversation in a long time.
Not since her mother had wanted Nora to marry after her first coming out three seasons ago and they’d butted heads at the suitors Nora had rejected.
When her mother had decided upon Baron Umbridge they’d nearly stopped speaking.
She imagined her mother as a young woman, near to her age. Had she been nervous when she’d tried on her wedding dress? During her vows? Or when she’d left her home to move into a new one with her husband? Nora had never thought of her that way. She’d always been…well…just her mother.
Now that she was to get married, Nora looked at her parent in a different light. She supposed many young women on the cusp of marriage, the birth of a child or any other life-changing event did the same.
Conscious of the pins in her dress, Nora carefully stepped down from the platform. Satin whispered around her ankles, ‘Did you love Father when you wed?’