“Still, it bodes well for the future.” Charlotte smiled into the night. “It was a very effective kiss. I’ll wager Alasdair won’t need to look at Vyvyan La Blue’s Guide to Connubial Calisthenics more than once or twice!”

Five

“This is the worst day of my life. Tell the carriage to leave, Caroline, it won’t be needed, as I have no intention of going anywhere.”

Silence met that pronouncement. Charlotte kicked at an innocent embroidered footstool and glared at the reflection of Caroline’s maid, pressed into service to prepare her for what was supposed to be her day of days. Her day. Ha, she could just burst her stays laughing over that bit of comedy.

“You just have cold feet. Mama says all brides feel that way. Why, I myself was sick all over my dressing room on my wedding morn. Mama says there are only two times when it is allowable to be sick—your wedding day and when you’re breeding.” Caroline looked closely at her friend. “You’re not breeding, are you, Charlotte?”

“Just a hearty dose of shame.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Charlotte sighed and decided that while feeling sorry for herself might not be the solution to all her problems, it certainly couldn’t make her feel any worse.

“How has this come to pass, Caro?” she asked, looking forlornly in the mirror at the lovely image facing her.

“Your marriage? Well, first you dressed up as Henry VIII—”

Charlotte glared her to a stop. “The question was oratorical, Caro, it wasn’t meant to be answered. Truthfully, there’s no answer to it, any more than there’s an answer to the question of how all my plans could go so badly awry, how Alasdair could think to shame me in this manner, or how he could possibly expect me to take my rightful place in Society if he carries through his nefarious plan to wed me in such an appalling manner.”

Caroline studied her friend’s midsection. “Are you sure you’re not breeding? You sound just as dramatic as my dearest Algernon’s sister Tess when she was carrying the twins, and that’s saying quite a bit. Dearest Algernon said that Tess on a bad day could have out-emoted Mr. Kean.”

Charlotte shook a rosebud at her friend. “I am having the worst day of my life and all you can do is go on about shooting the cat on your wedding day and staring at my middle parts as if I were going to burst suddenly into motherhood. Truly, Caroline, I think you could be a bit more sympathetic and aid my wallow in self-pity rather than trying to distract me with nonsense about actors and such! Today is promising to be a veritable blot of excuses on the humility of my soul, and it would only be kind of you to recognize that fact!”

“What?” Caroline tried to puzzle out the mangled last sentence of Charlotte’s tirade. A blot of excrescence on the humanity of her soul? She shook her head and decided her time was better spent in calming the bride than trying to figure out what she was saying. Charlotte was clearly overwrought. She would focus her friend’s attention on much happier thoughts. “Never mind. It matters not, Char. Those blossoms look lovely in your hair. The day is fine, you are the prettiest bride ever, and Lord Carlisle will soon be yours. You can’t possibly be serious about not going anywhere—you’re getting married today! Today is your most favored day, not one that will shame you. Everyone knows you can’t make your wedding day the worst day of your life. It’s a bad omen if you even think that.”