Her Sister's Fiancé - Book #1

Chapter 14

Almost shining in the morning dew, the spring flowers that had dared poke their heads above the cold, hard ground spread a note of cheer to the world. The cold, bleak days had come to an end. It was spring. The chill in the air reminded everyone that Winter was finding it hard to release his icy grip, but pretty Spring in all her glorious splendor had charmed the frost from the windowpanes and beguiled the trees into sprouting tiny buds of new life.

Lavinia stared at the soft, muted colors, holding a small, worn book to her chest. Spring, how the thought had made her quake all winter, but now it would seem she had found a measure of peace. Ethan. She gripped the book tighter, rubbing a finger across the top of the dog-eared pages. He was coming back soon. He was going to marry Cassandra soon. It was less than a month until the wedding.

Her father had mentioned nothing to her about Ethan or the coming nuptials. He had been the embodied figure of kindness, dancing lightly around any subject that was apt to upset her, he had all but forced her to remain in the library and read away most of her days after Ethan's departure. Only he had noticed dull, sorrowful mood that had fallen upon his younger daughter. Her mother had gone on and on about this party and that, and Cassandra had been far too absorbed in preparing every tiny detail for her wedding to notice her sister. It was always the way, Lavinia had had years of practice slipping under their radar. Her ridiculousness at Kitty Morgan's ball had almost undone all that practice. Her mother had stared at her for days afterward, wondering what had become of her timid younger daughter and who had stepped into her place, but as time passed, she seemed to realize that Lavinia hadn't changed, not really. She was the same quiet, plain girl with nothing more of interest about her.

Lavinia sighed, remember the young men who had come, not to see Cassandra, but to walk with her in the garden. She had been so greatly startled the first time that she had very nearly accepted, but after a moment, her senses had returned, and she had given her thanks and an excuse. They had continued coming, there were fewer now, but hearing that there was a caller for her was not a surprise anymore—especially a certain Lord David Manuel.

The parties, too, had been different. Before, she had sat along the sidelines with ease, no one spoke to her, it was like she wasn't there at all, but now she had had countless offers for this dance or that one, and young men could usually be found standing around her with winning smiles, ready to do anything she asked of them.

Lavinia heaved a sigh, squinting her eyes as the sun began to rise above the horizon with almost blinding light. She'd never wanted anything to come of her ridiculous choice to wear something out of the norm. She had worn that red gown because Ethan had given her the courage to do so and because it had been her dream for almost a decade. Even now, thinking about the gown and how she'd felt in it made a soft smile play about her lips. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and she, Lavinia the unnoticed, the plain, the nuisance, the girl who was forced to tell her sister's suitor that their attentions were no longer welcome, that girl, she had worn that dress. The redest red ever seen—by her estimation at least—and so fine that women had been talking about it for months after the Morgan ball. Some were even saying that that dress had overshadowed the great ball itself, and ladies, in a fit of jealousy and desire, had run to the nearest seamstress, and at the next ball, the room had been filled with women in different shades of red, but none of them half so lovely as Lavinia's own gown.

That had been the only time Lavinia had ever stepped out of her mother's view on fashion. She had shoved herself away from the gray-blue gowns she'd worn for most of her life and had chosen something of her own. Now, her mother wasn't sure what to make of her, but after the Morgan ball, Lavinia had returned to her old clothing without a word. She didn't want to upset her mother, and besides, her father's good, hard-earned money had been used to purchase these dresses—however terrible they might be—and she would wear them until her mother deemed them too unfit.