Chapter 9 #2
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.
Before Blanche could fully gather herself, Fanny pressed forward, throwing her arms around her with unrestrained affection.
“You have always taken care of us. Today, it is your turn to be happy.”
As her sister pulled away, Blanche turned to the mirror, taking in the woman reflected before her. For years, she had believed herself small, invisible in ways that had nothing to do with stature. But today, there was quiet strength in her posture, certainty in the way she carried herself.
I am doing the right thing for my family.
Outside, the rhythmic clatter of hooves signaled the arrival of the carriage—its gleaming ebony finish a testament to Heath’s impeccable taste.
Lady Gooldwer wasted no time. “Come, come—no dawdling! This is the event of the season!”
Fanny shot Blanche a conspiratorial smile. “All will go splendidly, Mother. You need not fret over every detail.”
Lady Gooldwer scoffed, adjusting the bejeweled clasp at her throat as she stepped into the carriage. “That is precisely what someone who has never planned a wedding would say.”
Blanche chuckled, settling inside. Through the window, the London streets blurred past, the city alive with the pulse of the day.
Then, as St. George’s Hanover Square loomed before them, a hush fell. Blanche’s fingers curled around the edge of her gown.
A flicker of warmth spread through her chest at the memory of the park and Heath’s touch. The way his lips had lingered against hers. It had unsettled her then, sent a rush of heat through her veins.
And now, standing before the chapel, she could still feel it.
Fanny nudged her gently. “You are flushed, dear sister. Surely the anticipation of being wed is thrilling you.”
Blanche stiffened, hoping the color in her cheeks would fade.
The heavy oak doors swung open with a deliberate grace, revealing the grandeur within.
St. George’s Hanover Square rose before her, its vaulted ceilings stretching toward heaven, bathed in the glow of countless chandeliers.
The air was thick with quiet anticipation, murmurs fading into reverent stillness as Blanche stepped forward.
And then—her gaze found him.
Heath stood at the end of the aisle, every inch the commanding presence the world knew him to be. Yet, as her eyes met his, something flickered beneath the surface—something unreadable, something undeniably real.
She reached him, the space between them narrowing until the barest brush of his fingers grazed hers.
“I wondered if you might flee, Lady Blanche,” Heath murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “I must admit, I had a speech prepared should you bolt.”
Blanche inhaled, steady despite the storm beneath her ribs.
“Then I am afraid you shall have to save it for another occasion, Your Grace.” A tilt of her lips, a gleam in her eyes—subtle, but unmistakable. “I fear I am quite determined today.”
A quiet hum of amusement traced Heath’s expression before the ceremony began, the world narrowing into this singular moment—this irreversible step forward.
She swallowed, willing herself to steadiness. Whatever lay ahead, she would face it with grace.
She had entered this chapel as Lady Blanche. She would leave it as the Duchess of Woodrey.