Page 88 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

Before she could answer, the door creaked, and Augusta stepped inside. She was wearing a white-and-gold dress, suitably plain and modest for the mother of the bride. Well, stepmother.

“Would you give us a moment alone, Laura?” she asked politely.

Laura nodded and slipped wordlessly out of the room. The door closed behind her, and for a moment, Thalia and Augusta stood still, staring at each other through the mirror.

“You look beautiful, my love,” Augusta murmured quietly. “Your dress… is it comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you. Laura and Mabel made some alterations.”

“Well, I have an early present for you,” Augusta said, taking something out of a muslin-wrapped pouch. “Something borrowed.”

She revealed a necklace, a delicate green pendant hanging on a finely wrought silver chain.

“Emeralds,” she explained, clasping it around Thalia’s neck. “Green suits you. I’m glad you picked this gown to wear.”

A lump formed in Thalia’s throat. She touched the pendant, tears pricking her eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t take you with me to pick out the dress, Augusta,” she whispered. “Things just… they just happened so fast.”

“Oh, my darling girl, I wouldn’t worry about that. I don’t mind. All that matters to me is that you are happy. And that brings me to my next question.”

Augusta gently took Thalia’s shoulders and turned her so that they were facing each other.

“Are you happy, Thalia?” she asked softly. “Your brother is thrilled that you are marrying a duke. I’m sure he thinks that he’s quite discharged his brotherly duties now that you’re marrying such a distinguished, rich fellow, but I know that there’s more to it than that. So, I’ll ask you again, Thalia. Are you happy?”

“I’m not sad,” Thalia answered carefully.

That did not fool her stepmother, of course. Augusta’s hands dropped from her shoulders, and she eyed her narrowly.

“Really, Thalia. I am being serious, you know.”

“So am I. The Duke is not… not the sort of man I imagined marrying.”

Augusta’s eyes crinkled in sympathy. “No, I never thought that he would be. How does that make you feel?”

Thalia shrugged. “I never imagined I’d marry.”

“Well, it’s not too late to change your mind.”

She almost laughed aloud. Of course, it was too late. It was too late the moment she and Christian shared that kiss. In fact, it was probably too late earlier than that, perhaps the first time she had let him kiss her. Perhaps their intimacy in the conservatory marked a turning point.

She wished she could ask her stepmother about it. That would do no good, of course. Augusta would be furious. She’d probably try to stop the wedding, and that would lead to Thalia being ruined forever. She would go straight to Jonathan, probably expecting that he would challenge Christian to a duel or something like that.

Jonathan was hopefully too clever to challenge anyone to a duel. She could only pray that he wouldn’t use the occasion as an excuse to put her in an asylum.

Many people in Society knew about some woman or other who was packed off to a convent or, more likely, to an asylum. There was always a semi-plausible reason, like a transparent veil drawn over the real reason.

The real reason was generally one of two things: either a male relative wanted her money, or she had disgraced the family in some way and become an inconvenience.

For example, Lady Prunefeather, a staunch, middle-aged woman, had married again after her husband died and became plain Mrs. Brown. However, Mr. Brown had thought he would get his wife’s thousands when they married and was greatly outraged when he found out that the money would remain hers.

A few years went by, and the marriage soured into unhappiness with debts on his side and loneliness on hers. And then, quite without warning, he announced that his wife was insane. Sleepwalking was listed as a symptom, along with melancholia and ‘unfeminine appetites’, whatever those were. A pair of doctors, both of whom were old friends of his, agreed with his assessment, and Mrs. Brown went to the asylum while her husband joyfully descended upon her bank accounts.

The story had been extensively reported on in the newspapers until another acquaintance of Mr. Brown’s in the publishing world put a stop to it. As far as anyone knew, Mrs. Brown was still in the asylum, and Mr. Brown was still rich.

Even the memory of that sent a shiver down Thalia’s spine. She’d heard of other women, ladies engaging in extramarital affairs or unmarried girls sneaking off to the woodsheds with stableboys.

Why, hadn’t Lord Boles sent Lady Boles to the asylum for sharing her bed with the butler, when all along he kept a mistress and a whole host of lovers that he didn’t even try to hide?