Bridget sat beside Irene with a notebook in hand whilst Penelope dramatically reclined upon the chaise as if the stress of selecting gowns might kill her before the ceremony ever occurred.
“It makes her look loud,” Penelope said thoughtfully. “Though perhaps that suits her.”
Joan gasped. “You little traitor.”
Charlotte pressed two fingers against her temple. “Must all of you quarrel over colours as if kingdoms depend upon it?”
“They do,” Bridget informed her solemnly. “This is a ducal wedding.”
Those words still startled Charlotte every time she heard them spoken aloud. A ducal wedding. Her wedding. The notion felt absurd enough that she half expected someone to burst into the room laughing and reveal it had all been an elaborate jest at her expense. Surely Victor would appear any moment to announce that the arrangement had been reconsidered and that he had regained his senses.
Harriet Brown, meanwhile, was busy tormenting her brother across the room. “Oswald, why is this house forever so stuffy?” she complained whilst dramatically fanning herself. “One might think you are attempting to roast your guests alive.”
The Viscount looked up from his newspaper with profound weariness. “Harriet, if the windows are opened, you complain of draughts. If they are shut, you complain of heat. I have concluded there is no pleasing you.”
“There is if you listen properly.”
“My dear sister, I stopped listening properly years ago.”
The girls burst into laughter whilst Harriet looked deeply offended for all of three seconds before she laughed too. Charlotte smiled despite herself as she watched them all bicker. She had missed her family desperately during her time at Mulford Manor, and now the house rang with familiar voices from morning until night.
Penelope suddenly leaned forward with wicked delight sparkling in her eyes. “Charlotte has said nothing at all about what she wishes for the wedding.”
“That is because no one allows me to speak long enough,” Charlotte replied dryly.
“Very well,” Bridget said grandly. “Speak.”
Charlotte hesitated. “I merely thought something modest would do.”
The room erupted into scandalized noise.
“Modest?” Joan cried. “You are marrying a duke.”
“A very wealthy, popular, handsome duke,” Penelope added dreamily.
Harriet pressed a hand dramatically to her chest. “Charlotte Brown, if you walk into that chapel looking modest, society shall think we raised you in a barn.”
Oswald folded his paper. “To be fair, Harriet, are country folk.”
Harriet threw a cushion at him.
Charlotte laughed softly, though inwardly her thoughts tangled themselves into knots once more. Victor truly intended to marry her. Every gown fitting, every discussion of flowers and invitations, every whispered mention of wedding breakfasts made the reality harder to escape. Yet still she could not quite understand why he seemed so calm about the matter when she herself alternated between panic and disbelief every hour of the day.
* * *
The following days passed in a whirlwind of preparations. Charlotte scarcely had a moment to herself before another modiste, jeweller, or servant appeared requiring some decision about the wedding. Her sisters treated the entire affair as if it were the social event of the century, which perhaps it was, considering the Duke of Mulford’s notorious reputation. Charlotte, however, often felt as though she were being swept helplessly along by a tide too strong to resist.
The fitting for her wedding gown proved especially overwhelming. The dressmaker fussed endlessly around her whilst pins gleamed between her lips and layers of ivory satin pooled around Charlotte’s feet like liquid moonlight. Tiny seed pearls had been sewn along the bodice, and delicate lace softened the sleeves whilst Harriet openly wept at the sight of her eldest daughter standing upon the fitting platform.
“She looks like royalty,” Penelope whispered dramatically.
“She looks terrified,” Joan corrected.
“I am terrified,” Charlotte muttered.
The dressmaker clucked her tongue. “Stand straighter, Miss Brown. A duchess must never slump.”
Charlotte nearly laughed aloud at that.
