“So we are.” Bennet’s face broke into a broad smile.

And then he tipped back his head and laughed into the rain.

“THIS BLUE IS VERY NICE, my lady.” Tiggle held up the gown in question, spreading the skirts over her arm.

George glanced at the frock so enticingly displayed and tried to muster some enthusiasm. Or at the very least care one way or the other. It was her wedding day. She and Tiggle were in her bedroom in her London town house, which was presently strewn with the bright colors of rejected frocks. George was having a hard time convincing herself the wedding was real. It was only a scant week since she and her brothers had talked to Cecil, and now she was readying herself to marry him. Her life had taken on the aspect of one of those horrid dreams where a ghastly doom was inevitable and nobody could hear the screams.

“My lady?” Tiggle prompted.

If she screamed now, would anyone hear? George shrugged. “I don’t know. The neckline doesn’t really suit me, does it?”

Tiggle pursed her lips and set aside the blue. “Then what about the yellow brocade? The neckline is square and quite low, but we could put in a lace fichu, if you like.”

George wrinkled her nose without looking. “I don’t fancy all the ruffles about the bottom of the skirt. Makes me look like a cake with too much marzipan decoration.”

What she really ought to wear was black. Black with a black veil. She looked down at her vanity and touched with one finger the little carved horse standing on it. The swan and the eel sat to either side of the horse. They looked rather forlorn without the leopard to guard them, but she’d left him behind for Harry.

“You’ll have to decide soon, my lady,” Tiggle said from behind her. “You’re to be wed in less than two hours.”

George sighed. Tiggle was being awfully kind to her. Normally, a bit of vinegar would have shown through her lady’s maid façade by now. And she was right. It was no use holding on to dreams. Soon she would have a baby. Its welfare was of far greater importance than the silly fantasies of a woman who liked to collect fairy tales.

“I think the green, the one embroidered with lilies,” she said. “It isn’t as new as the others, but it’s rather fine and I’ve always felt it became me.”

Tiggle gave a sigh of what sounded like relief. “A good choice, my lady. I’ll get it out.”

George nodded. She pulled out one of the shallow drawers at the top of her vanity. Inside was a plain wooden box. She opened the box and carefully laid the horse, the swan, and the eel inside.

“My lady?” Tiggle was waiting with the gown.