Page 86 of A Night of Desire with a Duke
"You," he said simply. "Just you. In eleven and a half days."
"Such a long time."
"An eternity." He kissed her hand formally, properly, but his eyes promised entirely improper things. "Until tomorrow."
"The dinner."
"Wear something devastating."
"I always do."
"Yes," he agreed, his gaze heating. "You really do."
Catherine watched him walk away, her hand still tingling from his kiss. Inside, she found Vivienne exactly where she'd expected.
"Good day?" her aunt asked without looking up from her book.
"Strange day."
"Those are often the best ones." Vivienne set aside her book. "Your mother left. Took the money and the evening coach to Yorkshire."
"Good."
"Catherine..."
"I don't want to talk about her."
"All right. What do you want to talk about?"
Catherine sat down, tucking her feet under her in a way that would have horrified her mother. "Tell me about your wedding."
Vivienne's face softened. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything. How did you know Harold was the one? How did you know it would work?"
"I didn't. That's the secret, my dear. You never really know. You just... jump and hope the person you're jumping with will catch you."
"Did Harold catch you?"
"Every time. Even when I didn't know I was falling." Vivienne smiled at the memory. "We had really wonderful years together. Not perfect—no marriage is perfect. But wonderful."
"I want that. The wonderful, not perfect part."
"I think you'll have it."
"Even after today? Even knowing what my mother is?"
"You're not your mother, Catherine. You're brave where she was afraid, generous where she was selfish. You're choosing love where she chose security."
"What if I'm making a mistake?"
"Then you'll make it with your whole heart. That's all any of us can do."
Chapter 16
“If one more person inquires whether I am trembling for the wedding night, I shall be obliged to inform them, calmly and at length, precisely why I am not. Diagrams, however, shall be spared.”
Catherine stood before her glass while Martha set a coronet of orange-blossoms among her curls for the Pembertons’ ball—the last considerable engagement before the wedding in three days’ time. Three days more of feigning ingenue serenity; three days more of a decorous distance from the very gentleman who had cured her of all maidenly apprehensions.
