"So soon?" June's voice emerged smaller than she'd intended.
April turned, her expression softening. "It must be soon, June. You know that."
Before June could respond, the door flew open once more. Dorothy Vestiere, Duchess of Wildmoore, swept into the room in a whirl of rose-scented perfume and rustling silk.
"My June Flower!" she cried, arms outstretched. "A bride at last! I may die peacefully now, knowing all my daughters are suitably matched!"
June found herself engulfed in her mother's embrace, nearly smothered against layers of expensive fabric. "Mama, please," she managed, extricating herself. "I can't breathe."
"Oh, you'll have plenty of time for breathing later," Dorothy declared, pulling back to study June's face. "But now we must discuss the wedding breakfast. And your trousseau! Heavens, there's so much to arrange, and so little time!"
June slumped onto a nearby settee, suddenly overwhelmed. "Is there no possibility of a quieter affair? Given the...circumstances?"
"Quieter?" Dorothy looked genuinely perplexed by the suggestion. "My dear girl, you are marrying a duke! The Duke of Icemere, no less! There hasn't been such a match in our family since—well, since your sisters married their dukes, but that's hardly the point."
"What is the point, Mama?" June asked, a thread of impatience entering her voice.
Dorothy drew herself up. "The point, my dear, is that Lady Pemberton and the dreadful Countess of Harwick have been whispering behind their fans about my June Flower for three seasons now. 'Such a shame,' they say, 'that the third Vestiere girl seems destined for spinsterhood.' As if twenty-two were practically decrepit!"
"Mama," April interjected gently, "I'm not sure this is helping."
But Dorothy was in full flow, pacing the room with dramatic gestures. "Can you imagine their faces when they learn you've secured not just any gentleman, but a duke? And such ahandsome one! With those eyes like summer skies and that jaw one could cut glass upon!"
June caught May's eye across the room, finding a sympathetic grimace that matched her own discomfort.
"The invitations must be sent immediately," Dorothy continued, hardly pausing for breath. "And your dress! Perhaps Mrs. Beaumont can alter one of your existing dresses. The cream silk with the pearl detailing would be lovely. Or do we have time for something entirely new? Oh, and flowers! We must have roses, of course, but perhaps lilies as well..."
June's mind drifted away from her mother's planning, circling back to the question that had plagued her since she'd awoken: Did Dominic truly want this marriage? Or was he merely fulfilling an obligation thrust upon him?
"June?" April's voice broke through her thoughts. "Are you listening?"
"Forgive me," June murmured. "I was just thinking..."
"About your handsome duke, no doubt," Dorothy said with a knowing smile. "I don't blame you, my dear. If I were forty years younger..."
"Mama!" all three daughters chorused in scandalized tones.
Dorothy waved away their protests. "Oh, don't be so provincial. I'm merely acknowledging what everyone knows—the Duke of Icemere is considered quite the catch. And now he's caught by my June!"
The phrasing sent a pang through June's heart. Caught. As if Dominic were a wild creature snared in a trap rather than a man entering willingly into marriage.
But he didn't enter willingly, did he?a small voice whispered in her mind.He was forced by circumstance, by August's anger, by the threat of scandal.
And what of his mysterious condition? The apparent certainty of his early death? Would she truly become a widow before she'd had time to be a proper wife?
Her family continued to chatter around her, discussing fabrics and flowers and guest lists as if this were any ordinary wedding rather than a hastily arranged affair born of scandal and secrets. The room seemed suddenly too warm, too close, the voices too loud.
I'm to marry a man who may not want me, who may be dying, who kissed me as if I were precious only hours before agreeing to a marriage he never sought.
June twisted her fingers in her lap, trying to quiet the riot of emotions surging through her. Excitement warred with dread, hope with despair. She thought of Dominic's lips on hers, thehunger in his touch, the reverence in his eyes. Had that been real? Or merely the practiced skill of a notorious rake?
"We should let June dress," May said at last, noticing her sister's distress. "There's plenty of time to discuss the arrangements over breakfast."
June shot her a grateful look as May ushered their mother and April toward the door. When they had gone, she rose on shaky legs to pull the bell for her lady's maid once more. The simple act of dressing would give her something tangible to focus on, a momentary distraction from the maelstrom of thoughts threatening to overwhelm her.
But as she stood gazing out the window, watching the morning light spill across the gardens where just last night she had danced in Dominic's arms, June couldn't shake the nervous flutter in her stomach or the sense that her life had altered irrevocably
And not in the way she had always dreamed.
