Morning of January 9th, 1892 — Greengrass Home, Bartonburg
Dull. Plain. Unremarkable. There were no better words to use, and she desperately hoped it was what Mama wanted.
Grace had stared at herself in the mirror for fifteen minutes, trying to convince herself that there wasn't a reason she needed to look pretty, that Mama's words about not embarrassing herself didn't extend to the dress she'd been forced into wearing. This was Verity's day, and she knew that, and yet by the time she'd made it downstairs she'd worked herself into a bundle of nerves. How was she ever expected to get married if she was this bad over someone else's wedding? Grace wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead and rounded into the drawing room.
"Is everything going smoothly?" she asked quietly, leaning against the doorframe. She wasn't sure what she could do—if there was anything she could do. Even if there was, she doubted anyone wanted her in the way, but she didn't want to not offer in case they did.
