Day Dreamer by Jill Marie Landis Read Free Book Online Page B

was trimmed with an embroidered satin bow that tied beneath her breasts, Jemma O’Hurley’s gown was a good two sizes too large across the bodice.
    “It’s a shame it wasn’t properly tailored,” Foster commented.
    “It’s not my dress,” Celine explained.
    Foster and Edward looked at each other and shrugged. There was a moment of confusion when none of the shoes in the trunk fit either, and then, after trying in vain to clean the shoes Celine had arrived in, the men hurried her out of the room.
    Twenty minutes later, the two servants entered the large sitting room where Henre Moreau sat scowling like an irritated potentate who’d been kept waiting far too long. Except for the priest, he was alone in the room.
    “Monsieur Moreau,” Foster said, casting a proud glance in Celine’s direction, “she’s ready.” With a flourish, he made a courtly bow and presented Celine, who stepped into the room, forced to stand inspection once again.
    Without comment or compliment, Henre Moreau motioned her to step closer. She crossed the floor.
    “You don’t look Irish,” he said.
    “I’m not. I’m English on my mother’s side. She told me that my father was a dark-eyed gypsy she met one night when—”
    “Your father is Thomas O’Hurley and is as Irish as they come. I’ve met him, don’t forget.”
    Celine sighed. “I’m not—”
    He quickly cut her off. “You have already become tedious, my dear. Cordero will have to put up with this behavior, but I don’t need to suffer it.”
    He gazed over her head, toward the door. “We can begin at last.”
    Suddenly Celine found herself standing alone in the middle of the room in a dress that was not hers, about to wed a groom who was not hers. Doubt and fear snaked up her spine. She was terrified to see what manner of man she was willing to wed to escape the hangman’s noose.
    The sound of footfalls and the scrape of a heavy shuffle echoed off the walls of the sparsely furnished room. She slowly faced the doorway.
    The twins had already entered the room, half guiding, half carrying a man between them. Severely attired, he wore knee-high boots of black leather, black trousers and black coat. The only white on him was a linen shirt that was stained, open at the neck and unbuttoned halfway down his chest.
    As he shuffled between the handsome twins, he raised his head for a moment. His vacant gaze swept the room. Like the twins, he was blessed with finely drawn features, clear skin and a strong jaw. His hair was fathomless ebony, shoulder-length and tied with a thin black ribbon.
    Blindness, Celine reasoned, would account for the emptiness in his sky blue eyes, startling in contrast to his dark hair and olive complexion. The poor soul, she noticed, barely possessed the strength to stand. He staggered between the twins as they led him the rest of the way across the room. When Cordero was almost beside her, Henre Moreau stood up.
    “Over here, Miss O’Hurley,” he said. He did not take her arm, merely leaned heavily on his cane.
    She joined Henre and they stood before Father Perez, who was waiting patiently behind a table draped with an altar cloth adorned with a silver chalice and two tall tapers burning in sterling candlesticks. Outside, the rain continued to pour. The long windows behind the priest were shuttered to keep the wind from blowing out the candles but air still seeped through the shutters, ruffling the altar cloth, fluttering the candle flames.
    One of the Caldwell twins stepped aside and one remained to support the groom. Celine took a deep breath and prayed for God’s forgiveness. She would atone for killing Jean Perot by wedding the blind and stumbling Cordero in Jemma O’Hurley’s stead, sincere in the hope that in doing so, the Irish girl would be free to serve God. She only hoped that He would overlook her saving her own neck in the bargain.
    She turned to look at her future husband, prepared to treat him kindly until they parted ways in the West