Rivals and Revels (A Regency Romance)

17. Hazel's Wedding Dress

Mabel glanced from one dress laid out for Hazel's consideration to another. Her sister's deliberations were taking entirely too much time, when in her mind, the decision was as clear as day.

The first dress was of an antique shade of white, with a golden ribbon worked through under the breast and a matching hem. Silk roses along the collar softened the line, cuddling to Hazel's swan-like neck.

The second gown, blue and shot through with silver thread, was borrowed from her wardrobe. It was as hopelessly uninteresting as the day she wore it to the ball.

No contest, but if Hazel was blind to the obvious, and with the wedding a mere day away, she had to rise to her sisterly duty. "Why ever don't you wear your pink gown? It's the prettiest of them all, and Mr. Aldington adored it at Chesterton's ball."

Hazel's gaze circled the room, before stopping on the dresses again. She swallowed once, twice, as if she were choking. "Please, don't mention the Chestertons, I beg you."

"This is unbearable." Mabel jumped from her window seat, newly out of patience with Hazel. "I am going to ask Mother to come here, because I am confounded and utterly useless."

"No!" Hazel exclaimed with so much vigour that Mabel froze on the spot. "Don't call for Mother."

"Hazel, you act as if I offered to push you out of the window." She was tempted, but she doubted Hazel had noticed it.

"Don't call Mother," Hazel repeated, as if their mother was some monster.

Mabel's mouth opened in protest, but Hazel paid no heed. She whirled away from the two contesting dresses to dive inside the wardrobe.

"There is nothing left inside it worthy of the occasion." Mabel frowned, suspecting that her fashionable sister already knew it and wanted something else. What could be hiding in their wardrobe? With a resigned sigh, she prepared to wait some more. She did little else all afternoon and all her life. And even after waiting so diligently, she'd missed what she wanted anyway. Everett was gone. Radcliffe was gone. Hazel was getting married. She was utterly alone.

Hazel emerged from her rummaging not with a dress, but with a lockbox. She unlocked it with a miniature key, attached by a pin to her belt. Inside the box was a diary. Hazel ripped a couple of pages out of it, taking a particular care that the rips would be unnoticeable. Then she touched the pages to the candle flame—still mystifyingly silent.

The flames leapt up greedily to consume paper and reached for Hazel's fingers.

"Hazel!"

Hazel startled, gingerly stuffed the burning paper into the chamber pot and stuck the burned finger into her mouth.

After this flurry of activity, she just stood there, watching the paper fall into ash.

"Hazel? Is something wrong?"

Hazel stared at the ashes as if it was the only thing in the world worth her attention. "Mabel, if a man is of exemplary behaviour, how do you suppose he should know if he is marrying a virginal bride?"

The weight in Mabel's stomach grew so heavy that she forgot to be ashamed of the subject. She shifted to dislodge it, but it squeezed air out of her. A bride who wasn't virginal. Merciful Heavens, not a bride. The bride. How could she? How could he?

"Hazel," she whispered, sick with premonition. "Hazel, what have you done?"

Tears glistened in Hazel's eyes before she buried her face in Mabel's shoulder.

Mabel ran her fingers through her sister's hair, waiting for sobs to subside. It didn't decrease her dread by an ounce. The sorry truth looked her in the face, but she didn't want to believe a single word Hazel breathed into her neck. This had to be a nightmare.