“Now, my dears,” Aunt Geraldine turned to the remaining gentlemen, her hands folded together with finality, “we must allfind our rest. The morning will be exciting, and we shall meet it with clear eyes.”
Juliet escorted her guests to the door. Duncan and Hughes, with nods of gratitude, stepped into the evening, leaving Juliet, her hand on the doorframe, and Glenraven in the quiet of the foyer.
Glenraven lingered behind. Juliet’s pulse quickened. A fluttering rush of anticipation, a thrilling sensation that reached every part of her.
“Juliet,” he whispered, his words a tender caress. Her heartbeat, a rhythmic dance, grows more pronounced, echoing the excitement of the moment and the promise of what’s to come. “I feel tomorrow cannot come soon enough.”
Juliet’s breath caught—a soft gasp held at the edge of a whispered, “As do I.” The delicate pause, a silent acknowledgment of the intimacy and significance of their connection.
As he leaned in closer, Juliet’s fingers trembled as she leaned against the doorframe, a delicate quiver as she anticipated his closeness and desired his kiss.
In the seclusion of the moment, his lips met hers in a kiss that spoke of promises and shared dreams. It was a kiss that lingered, a sweet prelude to their life together.
He stepped back, but the warmth of his kiss remained. “Sleep well,” he whispered. He stepped out into the night. She remained at the door as he climbed into the carriage and drove away.
She closed the door and went upstairs. Juliet stood before her open wardrobe in her room, her Aunt Geraldine and Mrs. Murthy at her side.
“Something special for you, my dear,” Aunt Geraldine said, pulling a delicate lace handkerchief edged with the finest threadfrom a small ornate box. “It belonged to your grandmother. Carry it with you as a token of her love.”
Juliet accepted the heirloom, her fingers brushing over the intricate embroidery. “Thank you,” she whispered and placed the treasure on her dressing table.
“Which gown will you wear?” Aunt Geraldine browsed the dresses as if she were at the modiste. “One is more beautiful than the other.”
Juliet did not hesitate. She selected the dark green silk and soft muslin gown. Its high waist and long sleeves made it modest yet elegant. The fabric rustled as she lifted it out of the wardrobe.
Mrs. Murthy stepped forward and hung it on the hook so the creases would fall out. “You will be the most radiant bride.” With a knowing smile, the housekeeper, Mrs. Murthy, helped Juliet pack a few essentials for the overnight stay after the ceremony.
With her gown ready, Juliet turned to the two women who had been her steadfast guides. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
After they left, Juliet gazed out the window at the evening sky, but the promise of tomorrow held a joy that outshone the stars themselves.
Chapter Twenty
April 21, 1820
Glenraven’s breakfast wasusually a solitary affair, but this morning, he daydreamed of the delightful prospect of sharing mornings like this with his wife, his Juliet. Lost in these pleasant thoughts, he was brought abruptly back to reality when the disheveled figure of Sebastian barged into the room. The man’s appearance was as untidy as the pungent mix of last night’s revelry that clung to him, a combination of smoke, spirits, and a heavy, smoky lemon scented perfume used in a vain attempt to mask the evidence of his indulgence. The scent clashed with the clean morning air of the breakfast room, an unwelcome reminder of the world beyond.
“Good God, Sebastian, do you ever sleep?” Glenraven criticized his cousin with a voice that echoed through the hall.
Sebastian, with a roguish grin that didn’t quite reach his bleary eyes, slumped into a chair across from him. “Sleep is for those without cards in their hand,” he slurred, pouring himself a generous glass of what remained in the bottle of Glenraven’s wine he had taken from the sideboard on his way to the table. “When are you going to let me win back my blunt?”
Glenraven sighed, pushing his plate away. “You lost fair and square, Sebastian. I owe you no chance at redemption.”
Sebastian’s gaze wandered, taking in the room as if seeing it for the first time. “But you do, cousin. I insist we play tonight.” The tone of his demand was insistent.
“I have already made arrangements for this evening.” Glenraven drummed his fingers on the table. “Perhaps next week.”
A sly look crept into Sebastian’s eyes as he leaned forward. A conspiratorial whisper colored his words. “On your birthday, then?”
Glenraven paused, considering, then nodded in resignation. “Very well, on my birthday. I had no idea you were so eager to give me another gift.”
With a satisfied smirk, Sebastian drained his glass and rose, his departure as unceremonious as his arrival, leaving Glenraven to speculate on what the visit was all about.
“Was that Sebastian stumbling out of the door?” Duncan appeared in the doorway, his eyebrows raised. “Did you ask him about Wickham?”
“No. It slipped my mind.” Glenraven stared at his friend as a wide grin spread across his face. “You do me a big honor. I can’t recall the last time I saw you in your kilt with your sporran, kilt hose, and ghillie brogues. I must admit, you are a handsome highlander lad.”
Duncan made his way over to him. “Ach, I sport my kilt for the wee lass. Not you. And while I wear my plaid, I have laid out your clothes for this morning. I’ll have you all cleaned up and looking like a prize by the time you say your vows.” Duncan clapped him on his back a bit more forcefully than usual and sat beside him. “So, what was Sebastian doing here?” the playfulness out of his tone.
