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disapproval, of a dislike he didn’t bother to conceal. He’d inquired as to her health, and before she could even reply, he told her that a dressmaker had been engaged to outfit her in the most fashionable ladies’ attire. He hoped all was to her liking, and then he disappeared. This was the first time she’d seen him since that afternoon, and more than anything she wished to please him, to make up for the fact that she felt ill, to somehow believe that if she put a smile on her face, he’d forget he hated her.
    Before Bethlyn could utter a word, her father said, “You look ungodly wretched!”
    The smile withered and died before it even appeared. “I’m sorry, Father. This is the best that could be done for me.”
    His eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you ill?”
    He asked the question with such disdain that Bethlyn felt unable to admit to her own ill health. “No, sir. I am only nervous.” Somehow she managed to smile, though his comment had wounded her deeply.
    “The nervousness will pass. I want this wedding to be over with soon. Your bridegroom is eager to set sail for America. His ship leaves London this evening.”
    Bethlyn hadn’t known this, and for a moment the room whirled. “I … I … I…”
    “What is it? Don’t stammer, girl. You remind me of your mother when you do.”
    She swallowed. “I won’t, I mean, we won’t spend the night here at Woodsley?”
    “No.”
    Tears misted her eyes. She’d hoped to stay the night in this bed, to at least have some feeling of security when her bridegroom possessed her. In fact she didn’t have a clear idea of what “possessed” meant, but Tessie had told her that would happen on her wedding night and she must endure her husband’s possession. Bethlyn recalled that Mavis’s cheeks had flared at the term, and she’d asked her if she knew what Tessie meant. Mavis said she had only a vague idea and conveyed to Bethlyn in more concrete language what Tessie had tried to tell her. Bethlyn had been shocked, not able to believe a man would do that to a woman. To her. However, after much thought on the subject, Bethlyn decided that if that’s what it took to make a man love her, then she’d willingly allow her husband to possess her. However, now seeing the way her father’s eyes raked her in distaste, she was more nervous that Ian Briston might see her in the same way and wouldn’t wish to bed her at all.
    “Is there a problem with the plan?” her father asked with a bit of challenge in his voice, almost as if he’d dangled a piece of bait at her and expected her to fight for it.
    “That is fine, sir,” she mumbled.
    Talbot sniffed the air. “Certainly you’d say that. You’re quite like your mother.” He breathed deeply. “Everyone is assembled in the drawing room, but I can’t allow you to marry with your face that pitiful shade of green. I swear you look ill, but there’s no delaying the ceremony now. Have that maid of yours cover your face with a veil, anything to dispel that tragic look. I’ll wait by the stairs for you, and do hurry.”
    “Father!” she cried, wanting to cling to him though he hated her, to ask him to change his mind about the wedding, to do the impossible and love her.
    “Yes.”
    So curt, so cold he looked that she said instead, “I never did express my sympathy to you over your wife’s passing. I truly am sorry.”
    For just a brief moment, the guarded and disdainful expression melted. She detected a softness, almost as if he might give in to the human emotion of grief. He didn’t. Nathaniel lifted his shoulders high and inclined his head.
    “Thank you for your sympathies. Have your maid cover your face and come downstairs. I want the ceremony finished.”
    Bethlyn nodded dumbly as his broad shoulders filled the doorway and then he was gone. A sob rose in her throat and she forced it down, knowing that crying would grant her little relief from the burden of her father’s disregard for her. Her dream of ever