Page 92 of His Unforgettable Bride
Little girl Juliet could have never imagined this moment. Even now, all grown up, she barely believed it was happening. “And I love you just as much.”
Twenty-Nine
Never, ever oversleep on your wedding day,
especially if marrying a king.
–Commoner, Juliet Dash
The Bascandy Palace
June 1864
Juliet had nobody to blame but herself.
Last night, she informed her attendants she would open her door in the morning when ready for assistance. But then she’d barely slept, too excited about her ceremony at the Royal Chapel, her upcoming romantic honeymoon at Henry’s second home on a shell-covered beach on the coastline, and marrying someone as wonderful as her betrothed.
Thus far, the forenoon had flown past in a blur. People rushed in and out of her bedchamber to deliver a five-course breakfast, a romantic message from her groom, last-minute advice from her soon-to-be mother-in-law, and the announcement of a wedding gift arrival—a horse. A genuine horse in the courtyard.
What a day, and it had barely started.
Now, attired in a satiny robe, Juliet sat before a gilded dressing table and gazed into a diamond-shaped mirror. She stretched to trace her image with her fingertip. A lady stared back at her with pinned-up hair, a bridal wreath of orange blossoms and myrtle sprigs crowning her head. She blinked aside a joyous tear.
Who’d have predicted her path to happily ever after? Certainly not her.
Church bells chimed in the distance, and she closed her eyes, cherishing the sweetness. According to Henry, bells typically played an hour before a wedding ceremony, calling guests to the chapel. But he had arranged for the music to clang hourly because she adored the engaging sound, resurrecting precious memories of her grandfather and the nighttime bells in Everly.
Her soon-to-be husband was charming like that.
“Will there be anything else, Miss?”
Juliet’s eyes popped open as she turned and smiled at a lovely lady-in-waiting named Adelia. She’d forgotten all about her presence. “Thank you, but no. Not until it’s time to don my gown.”
She could single-handedly toss on a dress, but that would be a royal mistake, particularly today.
After a curtsy, the woman left Juliet alone with the puppy curled in the sunshine near the window. Juliet rose and glided around the vast room, running her finger over a deep blue tassel tieback, the embossed floral wallpaper, a velvety petal in a vase of three dozen red roses, a quaint music box of gold, and a tiara she hesitated to touch. But she gently tapped the highest point.
It was all too much, yet part and parcel of marrying her future husband.
The voyage from Victoria had passed in a whirlwind. She’d learned enough to write a book on Bascandy and the monarchy. Fine dining and moonlit strolls on the deck with Henry occupied her evenings, naturally with Miss Walker or Dobbin chaperoning. One night, she dropped her knife, the one generally strapped to her calf, over the ship’s railing, causing barely a ripple in the water.
She didn’t need it anymore.
Henry had forewarned his mother of Juliet’s upcoming arrival and unprecedented plans via a letter. Although the Dowager Queen hadn’t initially welcomed Juliet with open arms, she’d softened her stance after learning Juliet had little interest in her son’s wealth. His lovely sisters had accepted her in a heartbeat and vice versa.
Juliet paused beside the bed, larger than her entire room at the Firths’ mansion. Her gorgeous gown draped across the plush royal blue covering. If anyone had objected to her decision to wear Daisy’s dress, the whispers hadn’t reached her ears. She ran her finger across the high, satiny waistline.
According to her ladies-in-waiting, the square neckline matched the latest fashion, yet an inch too low for Juliet’s taste. But she’d adapt. Maybe she’d start to feel like a bride after she slipped into the gown.
She still felt like ordinary old Juliet with orange blossoms in her hair.
True to his word, Henry had met Faith the same night they arrived in Bascandy. She had no desire to wed him or anyone else for an excellent reason—she still mourned Sutton. Soon, she’d leave the country for a worldwide tour of her own, perhaps the first step in mending her broken heart.
Official duties had filled much of Henry’s agenda, and his easy-going manner had balanced Juliet’s initial awkwardness at the palace. Fittings, introductions, and parties—where she met duchesses, viscounts, and marquesses—had busied her days.
She halfway knew what to expect regarding the upcoming ceremony—a flock of bridesmaids, a fanfare of trumpets, a cake weighing more than two stones, and guests in made-to-measure court dresses and tails. A tad overwhelming. Yet she held tight to Livy and Tabitha’s last-minute advice—when unsure how to respond, merely nod and possibly say, “Indeed.”
Someone rapped on the closed door from the adjoining room. Juliet hurried forward in her slippers from Tabitha, stopping inches from the door. “Henry?”
