Any Other Name (The Split Worlds) - By Emma Newman Page 0,17

he said, gliding towards her with outstretched hands as her family bowed and curtsied appropriately. “The bitterness of losing you, but the sweet pleasure of knowing you will be the perfect bride.”

Cathy wanted to vomit and imagined heaving all over his immaculate morning suit.

“Thank you for your gift, my Lord,” she made herself say, prompted by her father’s glare as he straightened up.

“Only the first part.” He swept the tear from his cheek with one of his long fingers. He kissed the sparkling droplet and it turned into a teardrop-shaped diamond.

Holding it delicately between thumb and forefinger, he pressed it against the base of her throat and she felt a tingle shoot around her neck. A tiny squeak slipped from Elizabeth’s mouth.

“There,” he said, pulling back, the diamond gone from his hand. “Now I will know where you are all day, so I don’t lose you in the celebrations afterwards. I would hate to miss my opportunity to congratulate you.”

She didn’t miss the wicked glint in his eye. You bastard, she thought, reaching up to feel the diamond held on what felt like a chain no thicker than a strand of hair. You knew I wanted to bolt.

“Your generosity humbles us, Lord Poppy,” her mother said.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Lord Poppy smiled. “She is my favourite, after all.”

“May I present my other daughter, Elizabeth, my Lord?” Father said.

“You’re not at all like my favourite.” Poppy sounded disappointed as he looked at Elizabeth. It was probably the first time her sister regretted that truth. “All of your prettiness is on the outside. Is there anything more interesting inside?”

Elizabeth, unused to her beauty being met with such uninterest, was unable to answer. “I play the piano,” she managed to say.

“But do you allow the instrument to play you?” he asked. “I fear not. But you’re pretty enough to make a good match. Perhaps you’ll surprise me as much as your sister did. Now that is something to aspire to, wouldn’t you say?”

Her mouth opened but no witty retort or earnest pledge came out. Even though Cathy had wished her childhood inability to speak in public on Elizabeth a hundred times over, watching it actually happen was quite awful.

“Forgive me, my Lord, but has my brother arrived?” Cathy didn’t want to appear eager but couldn’t think of anything else to take his attention from her floundering sibling.

“Yes, with his teeny tiny wife. But you should be more concerned about whether your fiancé has arrived, no?”

“Has he?” Mother asked.

“Yes, and he is a handsome fellow. Well, I mustn’t indulge myself a moment longer, otherwise Iris will get irritable, and we don’t want that, do we?” He winked at Cathy, making her shudder. “I look forward to seeing you shine, my little sunlit one,” he whispered to her before he went back inside.

Elizabeth’s lower lip wobbled. “He hates me.”

“Hush now,” Father said. “He just wants to make a fuss of Catherine.”

“Believe me,” Cathy said, “If he hated you, he’d have made it much more obvious.”

“Put it out of your mind,” Mother said. “Look, there’s Nathaniel to escort you up the aisle. You can see it as a practice.”

Nathaniel nodded to them from the entrance. He was dressed in a similar dark frock coat to Father but wearing a waistcoat embroidered with tiny irises. The sight of him brightened Elizabeth, who slipped straight into her default mode of trying to garner the most attention. Imogen came into sight and was clearly judged to have the thicker waist of the two, speeding Elizabeth’s recovery even more.

“She has to walk up the aisle with Oliver Peonia.” Elizabeth waved at them. “How demeaning.”

Mother took the bouquet from the footman who’d gathered it from their carriage, and formally presented it to Cathy. “Carry this, and all of our best wishes with you,” she said, and actually smiled. Probably the relief, Cathy thought as she watched her mother go ahead.

Elizabeth dutifully arranged Cathy’s train and then went to Nathaniel, beaming as he kissed her hand. The bridesmaids and groomsmen paired off amidst a flurry of curtsies, bows and polite greetings. There was no best man or maid of honour for weddings within the Great Families.

Father looked at her. “It’s time, Catherine.”

4

Over a hundred pounds poorer, Sam unlocked the front door as the sun was coming up over Bath. He ushered his charges inside and closed the door, listening to their teeth chatter. He’d had to tell the taxi driver who’d picked them up from the service station on the M6 that they