Seven Wicked Nights
“Awake since before first light, Cleo lay staring at the ceiling until the maid brought warm water for her to wash. There would be dark circles under her eyes, but the last two days of solitary contemplation had been good for her, in a way. She had nothing to regret; she had lost nothing that had been hers. What she felt for Gareth … it was unnatural, besides being wrong. People couldn’t fall in love so quickly, she told herself. It was not love; it was merely desire, or perhaps a hidden longing... to be married again emerging with all the fuss over Helen’s wedding. It would pass, she told herself, trying to believe it. Sooner or later. The important thing was that she hadn’t acted on any of those mad, wicked impulses and betrayed her beloved sister.
She dressed slowly, carefully. Her mother had dictated her gown for the day, and Cleo had rolled her eyes behind her mother’s back at the volume of lace and the bland shade of gray. It would have been entirely appropriate for elderly Lady Sophronia—or rather, for someone of Lady Sophronia’s age, for Sophronia would probably have sliced the gray dress into pieces with her little Scottish dirk.MoreLess
She dressed slowly, carefully. Her mother had dictated her gown for the day, and Cleo had rolled her eyes behind her mother’s back at the volume of lace and the bland shade of gray. It would have been entirely appropriate for elderly Lady Sophronia—or rather, for someone of Lady Sophronia’s age, for Sophronia would probably have sliced the gray dress into pieces with her little Scottish dirk.MoreLess
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