The Bad Luck Wedding Dress (The Bad Luck Wedding series) by Dawson Geralyn

Author:Dawson, Geralyn [Dawson, Geralyn]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-11-29T05:00:00+00:00

IN THE vestry of the First Methodist Church, Monique Day clicked her tongue as she arranged the veil atop Jenny’s head. “I do wish you’d tell me what is wrong, dear. It’s as clear as the nose on my face that something is the matter.”

Jenny shook her head. “I’m fine, Monique.”

“You don’t look fine,” the sculptress said with a sniff. “You’ve a look about your eyes I do not like. I’ve told you half a dozen times already this afternoon, but I’ll tell you again. If you want to back out of this wedding, you have my blessing. I admit I’ve had second thoughts about Edmund. Perhaps we could solve this bad luck problem another way.”

Jenny shivered with a cold so deep even the steaming hot bath she’d taken hadn’t warmed her. “Redeeming the dress’s reputation will solve my troubles, Monique.”

Monique patted Jenny’s shoulders. “Well, you know what’s best. Although, I will worry about you.”

“I know.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“Of course you do.”

Monique kissed her cheek, then checked her own appearance in the mirror. “La, would you look at that. I have a smear on my dress. I’ll be right back, Jenny. I must see if I can locate a bit of water to—” She was still talking as she exited the room.

Jenny inhaled a deep breath and wondered why she wasn’t nervous. She wondered why she didn’t feel anything at all. Shrugging, she studied her reflection in the mirror and examined the Bad Luck Wedding Dress with a critical eye. Even Worth himself would be envious of this gown, she decided. She still had her talent. She shouldn’t forget that.

A little flush of pride washed through her, and she welcomed the warmth.

She’d felt cold for too long, ever since Trace McBride’s visit. The extremes of emotion of the previous day—and night—had numbed her. The “train robbery” and its aftermath; Trace’s early morning visit with his shocking announcement and abrupt departure.

Murder. Jenny didn’t believe it for a second.

Well, what she thought didn’t matter now, did it? In a few minutes she’d march down the aisle to marry a man she didn’t much like, ending any possibility, slight though it might be, for a future with the man she truly loved.

Love? Jenny closed her eyes in misery. Love. That word. That tiny four-letter, world-rocking word had slipped in despite her best efforts to hold it at bay.

God help her, it was true. She did love him; she had for some time now. She loved Trace McBride, and she was marrying Edmund Wharton.

Oh, Jenny, Trace was right. Stupid. How stupid can you get?

She stared into the mirror as if by looking hard enough, she could find the answer in her image. The mantel clock sitting on a small carved oak table against the west wall tolled the hour. Funny, she thought, it sounds almost like a death knell. Someone needs to fix the clock. Her brittle laugh echoed in the small room.

The door opened and Monique poked her head inside, a mischief twinkling in her eyes.

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