Eight Days to go.
Naomi was still fully clothed when she woke the following morning. Bright sunlight streamed in the window as she lifted her head from the pillow.
It’s morning. I must have fallen asleep.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she sat up, squinting at the elegant French gilded brass and porcelain clock which sat on the mantelpiece. It was well after eight o’clock.
“Why didn’t Mama wake me? She must know I would be keen to hear of any news.”
She slid quickly off the bed and raced to the mirror. Her hair was somewhat askew from sleep, but at least her attire had survived the night without too many creases. It would have to do. There would be time for changing and having her maid set her wayward tresses once she had spoken to her mother. After that, Naomi expected her morning to be filled with wedding preparations. It was all so very exciting.
Kitty was seated at the table when Naomi stepped into the dining room. Her mother lifted her gaze from the morning gazette and scowled.
“Did you sleep in your clothes?”
Naomi sheepishly grinned. “Yes. I was waiting for you to arrive home. Papa said you and Monsale were having urgent discussions. Would that conversation happen to be about me?”
With a wave of her hand, the duchess dismissed the pair of footmen, standing to attention on the other side of the table. As soon as they had left the room, she pulled out the chair next to hers and patted its cushion. “Come and sit here. You and I need to talk.”
Taking a seat Naomi confidently adjusted her skirts. This was a red-letter day. A day which she had been waiting for, for a very long time.
Kitty folded the newspaper and sat with her hands resting gently in her lap. “You are correct in your thinking that Monsale and I had a long conversation last night. He was most concerned that Lady Euphemia Marshall, lady number three, might refuse his suit.”
Naomi nervously straightened her back. “I see.”
“And he was correct.”
A sigh of relief escaped Naomi’s lips. “Oh, thank god for that,” she muttered.
“But…”
She froze, not liking that word.
“Monsale spoke to Lady Euphemia in the garden and addressed her concerns. She was still uncertain, but then Lady Marshall, and Monsale talked to her once more. Euphemia finally came to see sense and has agreed to marry Monsale. His lands and title will now be safe. He asked that I extend to you his kind regards and deepest gratitude for your efforts with his selection of a bride.”
It took some time for Naomi’s brain to process her mother’s words. They kept getting jumbled up and tripping over one another. Eventually, she was able to put them into some semblance of order. Monsale. Bride. Euphemia.
He had chosen Lady Euphemia to be his wife.
“Naomi?”
“When is the wedding?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.
“They are to be married at Monsale Castle in three days. Monsale would have pushed for an earlier date, but Lady Marshall insisted on having time to get her daughter’s trousseau put together. It will be a small affair, but I am pleased to say that we have all been invited,” replied Kitty.
Naomi had heard mention of people claiming they had been struck numb with shock, but she hadn’t ever thought such a thing could happen to her. Her whole body had lost all sense of feeling. It was a wonder she was still able to breathe.
When Kitty lay a hand over hers, she didn’t feel it. Her eyes tracked the movement, but it seemed like watching a play from a distance. None of it was real.
“Are you alright Naomi?”
“I…I don’t know.”
The odd sensation of numbness disappeared as a wave of despair crashed over her. Monsale was getting married. To another woman. Those words rolled over and over in her mind.
And then the tears came, floods of them. All her hopes and dreams were crushed to dust.
“Oh, you silly girl. What have you done?” whispered Kitty.
She pushed away her mother’s attempt to console her and got to her feet. Desperate sobs of heartache echoed in the quiet space. “Monsale. No.”
“You didn’t want to be on the list. Naomi, you left him with no other choice. His families fortune and the Monsale title were in peril, he had to choose one of them.”
“No. No, he didn’t. He could have finally accepted that he and I were meant to be together. That our love was worth taking the risk. But he was a bloody coward. I can’t believe he would condemn himself to a loveless union rather than open his heart to me.”
Naomi wrapped her arms about herself, hugging tight. This had always been a game of chance, and the stakes set high. She had thought she knew which way the dice were going to land. Certain that they were loaded in her favor, Naomi had gambled everything.
And lost.