I scowled at my reflection.
“Sit up straight.” Aunt Amelia gently swatted my backside with the fan. “Your posture is all wrong. If you slump tomorrow, your tiara will tumble right off that smart head of yours. You want to appear pleasing to your bridegroom, don’t you? I cannot—”
“What Mother is attempting to say is she loves you and is only fussing because she’s worried something will go wrong and you won’t have a marvelous day. Isn’t that right, Mother?” Without waiting for a response, Liza handed me a box with a big red ribbon. I held it up, curious. Judging by its weight, it felt like some sort of garment. “It’s a little something I saw in the fashion district. It’s for your wedding night, but you might want to try it on to make sure it suits you before then.” I went to untie the ribbon but she placed her hand on mine, stopping me. “Open it later.”
Pretending as if she didn’t hear that last instruction, Aunt Amelia went about tying my hair up in small sections and securing it with pins with swift efficiency, though I could have sworn I saw the slightest bit of wetness on her lashes before she blinked it away. I reached up as she placed the last pin and clutched her hand in mine.
“Thank you, Aunt,” I said, meaning it. “Tomorrow will be perfect.”
FIFTEEN
YOURS TO GIVE
AUDREY ROSE’S ROOMS
FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY
5 FEBRUARY 1889
Once Aunt Amelia and Liza retired to their chambers, I sat in front of the vanity, adjusting the hundreds of pins they’d stuck in my hair for the sake of fashion, wondering if the end result of soft, “natural” waves would be worth the discomfort of sleeping on them tonight. Without a doubt, it was not. Much of the wedding felt as if it were now a spectacle, like Mephistopheles and his crew had taken over its design and created another revel for the Moonlight Carnival.
While I couldn’t deny the extravagant hothouse flowers and the princess dress were quite lovely, I wished to walk down the aisle as myself. I simply wanted to be with Thomas, and that didn’t require pomp and circumstance. I’d be content saying my vows without an audience present, though I knew my family and loved ones had worked hard to make the day special for us, and I wanted to share in their celebration and good cheer. With limits.
I began taking the hairpins out, watching sections of my dark hair uncoil like ebony rope, falling against my collarbone. It was much better to enjoy my sleep and feel well rested for tomorrow rather than suffer and pretend to be cheerful in the morning.
“Appear pleasing to my bridegroom, indeed.” I shook my head. Aunt Amelia didn’t understand Mr. Thomas Cresswell at all. I snorted at the very thought of him requiring me to behave or look a certain way in order to be pleased.
Thomas wouldn’t mind if I showed up to the church in my laboratory apron, sawdust clinging to my hems, scalpel in hand. In fact, the rogue might prefer it. He truly loved me for me.
There was none of that “he loved me in spite of” nonsense. Thomas saw who I was—flaws and all—and I was more than enough for him, as he was for me. We needn’t complete each other; we complemented each other. He and I were whole on our own, which made us so much stronger when combined than two symbolic halves coming together to create one. Our bond had double the strength. Nothing could tear it apart. And after tomorrow, nothing would.
I allowed my focus to fall upon my new dressing gown, or lack thereof. The moment my family had left, I’d unwrapped the present, immediately understanding why Liza had warned me to wait. She’d gifted me with a sheer cream-colored robe embroidered with strategically placed wildflowers to hide certain parts of my anatomy. It came with a matching nightgown made entirely of sheer lace. Worn together, the garments hinted at nakedness, but worn separately they unabashedly flaunted my form.
Instead of feeling as if I were a walking scandal, I felt confident when I tried them on. My silhouette was visible as firelight flickered behind me. I tied the ribbons at my low neckline, then ran my hands down the sides of my soft curves, staring at my reflection. In less than a day, I’d wear it to my marital bed. The clock chimed off twelve bells, promptly derailing thoughts