"Thank you, Papa," she managed, forcing her lips into a smile that felt brittle as spring ice.
August cleared his throat. "I believe we should all proceed to the drawing room now. The guests are growing curious, and it would be best if we were all assembled when the Duke arrives."
"Excellent suggestion," Dorothy agreed, already gathering her fan and reticule. "June, don't forget the pearls. May, dear, do make sure your sister's train doesn't wrinkle as we descend the stairs."
"I'd like a moment alone with my daughter first," Albert said quietly, his tone making it clear this was not a request.
Dorothy paused, clearly torn between social obligations and her husband's wishes. After a moment's hesitation, she nodded. "Of course. We shall await you both downstairs. But do not tarry overlong." She ushered May and August out the door, closing it softly behind them.
The sudden silence in the room pressed against June's ears. Her father regarded her with gentle concern, his eyes—the same amber shade as her own—missing nothing.
"How are you faring, my dear?" he asked simply.
June swallowed hard, gathering her composure like a shield. "I am well, Papa. Truly."
He moved closer, his cane tapping softly against the wooden floor. "Are you indeed? You don't appear well to me. You look like a doe sensing a hunter nearby—all wide eyes and trembling limbs."
"I—" June began, intending to offer some reassurance, but found the words sticking in her throat. How could she explain the tumult of emotions churning within her? The fear, the uncertainty, the strange, unwelcome flicker of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, Dominic might have chosen her even without August's intervention?
"I'm sorry," she said instead, the words falling from her lips like stones. "For the scandal. For forcing this situation. For disappointing you."
Albert shook his head, reaching out to take her hands in his. "My precious girl. You have never disappointed me. Not once in all your twenty years."
"But this wedding—" June protested, her voice threatening to break.
"Is unexpected, yes," her father acknowledged. "But not unwelcome. At least, not to me." He squeezed her hands gently. "Do you know what I see when I look at you, June?"
She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.
"I see a woman of extraordinary intelligence and strength. A woman who deserves a match equal to her qualities." His smile was tender, touched with a father's pride. "And despite the circumstances, I believe the Duke of Icemere may be just such a match."
June stared at him, astonished. "How can you say that? He's being forced into this marriage."
"Is he?" Albert's eyebrows rose slightly. "I wonder. August told me of your... encounter... in the moonlight. It did not sound to me like the actions of a man acting under duress."
Heat flooded June's cheeks at the memory of Dominic's kiss, his arms around her, the hunger in his touch. "That was—different," she stammered. "Physical attraction is not the same as wanting marriage."
"True enough," her father conceded. "But it's a starting place many marriages do not have." He released her hands to cup her face gently. "All shall be well, my June Flower. Everything happens for a reason, though we may not always see it at first."
The tenderness in his voice nearly undid her. June felt tears prickling behind her eyes, a pressure building in her chest that threatened to burst forth in a flood of emotion she could not afford to release. Not now, not when composure was her only protection against the uncertainty that awaited her.
"I love you, Papa," she whispered, throwing her arms around him in a sudden, fierce embrace.
Albert held her close, his hand stroking her hair as he had when she was a little girl frightened by a storm. "And I love you, my brave, brilliant daughter. Now and always."
For a moment, they stood together in silence, June drawing strength from her father's steadfast presence. Then, reluctantly, she stepped back, straightening her shoulders and blinking away the moisture from her eyes.
"We should join the others," she said, forcing firmness into her voice.
Albert nodded, offering his arm. "Indeed we should. I believe your mother may send out a search party if we delay much longer."
June managed a small smile, tucking her hand into the crook of her father's elbow. With careful steps, they made their way from the bedchamber, down the grand staircase, and toward the drawing room where her future awaited.
The murmur of voices grew louder as they approached. June could distinguish her mother's animated tones, May's gentler cadence, and the distinctive, slightly nasal quality of Lady Worthington's speech. Her stomach clenched as they paused outside the double doors. Behind those panels of polished wood waited a room full of people expecting to witness a joyous occasion—not knowing they were participants in a hasty remedy for potential scandal.
"Ready?" Albert asked quietly.
June nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her father patted her hand reassuringly, then signaled to the footman to open the doors.
