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had ever held was blossoming afresh.
    Her prayers were answered. All she had ever wanted was within her grasp. A small voice within her whispered, Be careful not to ask for what you want. You just might get it.
    It spun through her mind that, if she were wise, she would leap up and run from this marriage as if the yawning pits of hell gaped at her feet. But Sophy knew how often the gamble was worth the risk.
    The game was never lost till won.
     
    The day of the wedding was one of October’s smiling ones, still and unseasonable, almost warm. There was the feel of a gentle determination in the air, of tenacious life, a movement, a subtle tremor of restless nature, beneath a shining sun. The curtains were pulled back from the bowshaped windows, letting the light spill into the dressing room.
    Standing in front of the long mirror, Sophy gave her hair a final pat, and her delicately arched brows pulled together in a frown. Would she be a disappointment as a wife to Seth Weston? He had made it perfectly clear it was only her coin he wanted. It wouldn’t have mattered if she were a hunchback with four eyes, her wealth was attractive.
    There was no reason for her to feel as strangely unhappy and uneasy as she did. After all, she had agreed to the wedding bargain. Her only doubts lay with the unknown quantity of Seth Weston and her growing awareness of him as a man. Sophy touched the tip of her tongue to her lower lip, suddenly nervous.
    Her maid gave a knowing grin. “Now, don’t ye be fretting over something that hasn’t happened yet. Things have a way of working out.” Giving Sophy a caress on the cheek, Tessa adjusted Sophy’s cap.
    Sophy had finally settled upon black silk and lace for her wedding attire and a small cap, black, embroidered, with just enough veil to suggest the bride.
    “I guess you’re right, Tessa,” she conceded. She wished she had asked Aunt Ella about the intimacies of marriage, but she had not wanted to embarrass her straitlaced aunt.
    “Have you never wished to marry, Tessa?”
    “Nay, lass. My clan were poor. From the day I arrived in America, I belonged to Nicholas van Houten and his bonny lassie. They were all the kin I ever needed, just as yon man will be your life.”
    Sophy stood helplessly. A thousand thoughts possessed her, none of them rational enough to voice.
    Seth Weston...
    She had not seen her fiancé at all during the two weeks preceding the wedding. Only a brief message with Matt Tyson to say the marriage contract had been drawn up, and, if it fulfilled all her conditions, would she please sign as necessary.
    There had been other callers, including her two uncles and her cousin. Uncle Schuyler had seemed relieved that he would soon be able to discharge his final task as trustee. Her mother’s brother had never wanted such a responsibility in the first place. Sophy, with her independent ways, made him uncomfortable, but he was determined to do the right thing by his niece.
    He had pompously declared Seth Weston to be a man of excellent character, who would safely see to Sophy’s welfare. He had also sadly reflected that it would have been more seemly if dear Sophy had respected the customary period of mourning before committing herself to marriage, and left.
    Sophy had a sneaking suspicion that Uncle Schuyler was secretly impressed that Seth had survived the bloody battle of Gettysburg and still remained a respected textile manufacturer.
    While Uncle Heinrich wished her well, he also considered the haste unseemly. Did she not feel the weight of remorse? he asked trenchantly. Did her conscience not trouble her?
    A pained expression on his face, he closed his eyes, muttered a prayer for forgiveness, then made the caustic observation that Seth Weston would regret tying himself to such a willful baggage.
    But Uncle Heinrich also felt under obligation to see that his brother’s daughter was married well, and pronounced Seth to be a man of honor who had fought bravely for the Union.