The Accidental Bride by Jane Feather Read Free Book Online

Then, when that didn’t appear to have the intended reassurance, she added comfortingly, “I expect he’ll be up and out of the house long before you most mornings . . . if it really c-concerns you.”
    “I’m a bundle of nerves,” Phoebe said in faint explanation. “Of course it doesn’t really matter what I look like.”
    “Well, you’d better go and get ready now anyway,” Oliviastated. “It’s close to nine o’clock and you have to b-bathe and wash your hair.”
    In reinforcement, another knock on the door brought the housekeeper, Mistress Bisset. “Lord, Lady Phoebe, are you still in your nightrobe? Come along now. The bath is all ready for you.” Tutting in reproof, she swept Phoebe down the passage to the bedchamber where her maid was adding dried lavender and rose petals to the steaming tub before the fire.
    Phoebe gave herself up to the ministrations of maid and housekeeper and seamstress. She followed instructions without conscious thought, barely hearing their stream of charter bubbling around her. Her entire body was tingling, her skin sensitized as if someone had scraped over every inch with an oyster shell.
    As she watched the maid curl her thick brown hair and roll it over soft pads on top of her head, hope warred with despair. Maybe her dread of disappointment was unfounded. Maybe everything would be all right. Maybe this night she would discover what she knew was there to be discovered. Maybe this night Cato would discover what was there to be discovered in his bride.
    And then again, probably not.
    “There now, Lady Phoebe, take a look at yourself.” The housekeeper stepped back after fastening at Phoebe’s throat the string of pearls that had belonged to Phoebe’s mother, then to Diana, and now to Phoebe. She gestured to the mirror.
    Phoebe cast only a cursory glance at her reflection. Close study would only add to her already raging anxiety. She moved to the door. “I’m ready. Is it time to go downstairs? Olivia, where are you?” A note of panic edged into her voice.
    “I’m here,” Olivia said calmly, stepping away from the bedcurtains. “Where I’ve been all along.”
    “Oh, I wish you could stay with me the whole time.” Phoebe grabbed Olivia’s hand in a convulsive gesture. “Ifonly I didn’t have to have the aunts to attend me at the end. If you were there, I wouldn’t feel so much like a
sacrifice.”
    Olivia squeezed Phoebe’s hand. “It’s a horrible ritual,” she said feelingly. “But it’ll be over quickly . . . once you g-get out of the hall.”
    “I suppose so.” Phoebe gripped Olivia’s hand so tightly the other girl winced, but did not complain.
    Lord Carlton was waiting for his daughter in the hall, pacing impatiently. The bridegroom had left before the first group of guests had been ferried to the church, and the earl was tired of his own company.
    “Ah, there you are.” He came to the foot of the stairs as Phoebe came down. “Such a long time as you’ve been . . . but then, I suppose the bride’s entitled to take her time,” he added with an attempt at a bluff smile. “Very well you look, m’dear,” he said, but he sounded slightly doubtful. “Strange, when Diana wore . . . But come, we must be going.”
    Phoebe curtsied, but could find no words. She laid her hand on her father’s arm, aware that her face seemed suddenly numb, as if frozen.
    “I think it’s stopped raining,” Olivia announced from the front door that was held open by a servant. “That’s a good omen, Phoebe.” She looked anxiously at her friend. Phoebe didn’t even look like herself, and it wasn’t just the elaborate hairstyle and the stiff formality of her unsuitable gown.
    “Yes,” Phoebe said with a fixed smile. She climbed into the waiting carriage, managing only with Olivia’s swift intervention to keep the full folds of ivory damask from dragging in the straw. Throughout the short journey she stared straight ahead, feeling like someone else.