Unlike others, it wasn’t in her nature to shun someone for the choices they made, even if society dictated such an action. Especially if that person was a friend. She truly could not fathom doing such a thing.
But her so-called friends had no qualms about doing such a thing to her. And that was when she had stopped caring about what they thought. She couldn’t imagine how much worse they would be if they had learned of her pregnancy.
“Come on.” Rona pulled her up out of the chair. “Enough of this moping about. It is a happy day. An important one and you want to look your best. Time for a bath.”
Two hours later, Whitney was bathed, her skin scented with the lavender soap she’d used to wash. Rona was brushing her hair to a shine before pulling it taut into a chignon at the base of her neck. She pulled a strand of hair loose from each side and curled the locks around her fingers so they fell in loose waves to frame Whitney’s face.
“You look beautiful, miss. Your husband-to-be will be taken aback by the beauty he will be marrying.”
Whitney blushed, her cheeks heating at the compliment. “I am not certain about that. Like me, my future husband has his own reasons as to why he needed to find a wife at the Lyon’s Den.” She smiled slyly. “Though I do know he’s handsome, so there is no worry there. But I do hope there is more to him and his personality than dashing looks. And strong shoulders,” she added with a wicked whisper.
“Miss!” Rona scolded.
She turned in her chair and met Rona’s eyes. “Wait until you see him, Rona. He’s oh so very handsome. Dark hair, dark eyes. He’s tall. And his body.” She smacked her lips. “He strained the seams of his jacket. His forearms were sinewy with muscle. With long fingers on his large hands.”
Rona bit back a smile. “It would seem you got a good look at the man,” she admitted.
Whitney grinned devilishly. “Oh, I did indeed. When mama and I arrived we were ushered into a room that overlooked the gambling floor. We could see everything going on down below. There were two men playing the game mama had concocted. And what an odd game it was.”
“What was it?”
She gave Rona a quick summary of the game and the tasks the men had to complete while the woman put the finishing touches on her hair.
“When I saw the two men, one drew my attention straight away. But it wasn’t the first time I had seen him,” she admitted.
Rona’s brows shot up in surprise. “No? Does your mother know that.”
Shaking her head, she studied her hair in the looking glass, turning her head from side to side. “No. I didn’t mention it to mama. It’s not like I had met him anyway. He just happened to be passing by the modiste when mama and I visited earlier this week. But he was very memorable.”
“He must have been,” Rona called over her shoulder as she made her way to the wardrobe to pull out a rose-colored gown.
“Once I noticed he was one of the two men that were gambling for my hand, I hoped and prayed that he would be the one to garner the victory.”
“What of the other man?” She laid the gown on the bed and rummaged around the wardrobe for stockings.
Whitney grimaced. “I did not find that man attractive at all. I suppose he wasn’t ugly. His features were pleasant enough, but the way he held himself and sneered at anyone that he encountered was very off-putting. It made me realize right away that he was not the one I wanted to spend my days with. I can’t even imagine what I would have done if he’d won the game.”
“Well, lucky for you, you don’t have to contemplate such an outcome.” Rona motioned her over and held up the gown.
Once her stockings were on, she slipped on a pair of cream slippers. A pearl necklace and pearl drop earrings her father had gifted her on her last birthday completed the look.
She stared at her reflection in the looking glass, hoping that her husband-to-be would find her attractive.
Chapter Eleven
Christopher sat inthe carriage outside of the Watkins’s estate and tried to get his nerve up. It wasn’t only his future wife that waited inside. He had no concerns in dealing with her. He was confident in his abilities to charm the lass.
But her parents? They were a different story. He was unsure how much they kenned about him, and it wasn’t as if every father was knocking down the door of a gambler to have them marry their daughter.
“My lord?” His coachman asked as he waited for Christopher to exit the coach.
“Aye. Thank ye.”
He took a deep breath and pushed off the bench. The estate that stood before him was grand. The beige stone was brushed clean. The drive’s pebbles matched the color of the walls and blended perfectly to make an attractive welcome. Colorful flowers of pinks and blues filled huge pots that lined the steps that led to the front door.
Not able to delay any longer, he climbed the steps and rapped the knocker against the door. It was but a moment before the door swung open and he was welcomed inside and then ushered into a room that looked like it must be Sir Watkins’s study. A huge desk was centered on one side of the room in front of sturdy bookshelves filled with everything from novels, magazines, papers, and statues.
“Lord Campbell,” a deep voice called from behind him. “I apologize for the mess of my study. I’m usually much neater than this.” He stuck out his hand for a shake. “Adam Watkins.”
