Courtney Milan by A Novella Collection Page A

one of Mother’s old dresses,” Freddy said calmly. “I’m making it over. I thought it would do for a wedding dress for you.”
    Serena choked. “How did you
know?”
    “I’m your sister, Serena.” Freddy spoke with a smile that was as annoying as it was mysterious. “I know everything.”
    “No, you don’t.”
    “Your Mr. Marshall paid me a visit this morning. Just after you left. He told me he was going to ask.” Freddy pulled a face. “I suspect you’re going to say yes. It’s the sort of fool thing you would do—trusting your entire fate and future to some man you scarcely know, when you could stay here in perfect safety.”
    Safety?
Immobility
seemed a better word.
    “In any event,” Freddy said, “when it all falls apart, I’ll be here to catch you and pick up the pieces. Again.”
    Freddy would never shatter. She couldn’t; she’d never ascend to any great heights. One day, though, she’d come to the plodding end of her resources. She would suffocate in her tiny room.
    “What if it doesn’t fall apart?” Serena asked.
    Freddy stared at her, her gray eyes narrowing. “How you can still ask that, when—” She exhaled deeply and rolled her eyes. “Never mind. Now are you going to try this dress on, so we can see where it needs pinning?”
    There was no winning this one.
    “Thank you,” Serena finally said. “Help me with my buttons, please.”

    T HE WEEK BEFORE THE WEDDING flew by in a frenzy of licenses and leases. Hugo found it better to keep himself busy with details, rather than ponder the impenetrable mystery of his impending nuptials.
    Whenever the thought crossed his mind—
you’re getting married—
he thrust it away.
    Marriage was an entanglement.
This
was simply a business commitment.
    To a woman.
    Just your everyday, average business arrangement—except this one gave him the right to take her to bed.
    That was the reason why he didn’t dare think about what he was doing—because once he thought of Serena Barton as his wife-to-be instead of as a partner in an arms’-length arrangement, his imagination wandered.
    It wasn’t the thought of bedding her—repeatedly—that most caught his fancy.
    It was the thought that for the first time in years, he might have someone. Marriage became companionship. Companionship became a reason to give up his fight, to spend evenings with her instead of poring over shipping records, searching for a pattern that would yield profit.
    No. He couldn’t let himself dwell on that.
    But not thinking about his inchoate wishes left him unprepared when he reached the church where they were to be married. He felt off balance throughout the ceremony—as if he were on the brink of stumbling and couldn’t reach out to catch himself.
    He couldn’t bring himself to look directly at her. Her gown was the color of daylight just before sunset; if he looked at her too long, he feared he might be left blind once she was gone. The vicar stood between them, reciting words that Hugo couldn’t comprehend—
richer
and
poorer,
troth,
wife
. He repeated his vows in a dream; he barely heard her answers.
    But when he took her hand to slip his ring onto her finger, she was solid and warm—the only real thing in the room. He almost didn’t want to let go of her. The vicar gave him permission and he kissed her—not hard, for lust, nor long, for love, but a light brush of his lips for the brief space of time that she would stay in his life.
    In the hired carriage after, as he returned Serena and her sister to her home, he could not help but think of what he would not have. The carriage drew up; her sister disembarked.
    Serena did not move.
    “The lease is in order,” Hugo said, “and I’ve arranged your passage on the stage. I hired a woman to see you through the next year. Don’t argue; you shouldn’t be alone under the circumstances.”
    She was turned away from him.
    “Thank you,” she said. Her hand clenched in the fabric of her skirts