Rose tended to avoid situations which made her feel useless. Tonight, she was surrounded by just such a scenario. Lucien had called it Jean's hen night but with just two women alone in the large, creaky house, it was hardly such a frivolous occasion. It was something much more unsettling than a party.

Jean was finalizing all the wedding details with the precision of a battlefield general. She was no nervous bride, but cool and steely-eyed, reviewing her troops in the forms of vases full of flowers and canapes on silver trays, all ready to be picked up by the club caterers. Not that she didn't trust the catering or decorators, Jean assured Rose as she tweaked a wilting bloom, but it would be a personal touch.

"I don't know how you keep this all straight," Rose said nervously, swirling her sherry in the glass.

"It's pretty simple. Just like any church fete—" Jean stopped talking and found her own glass among the debris on the kitchen table. With a gulp, it was emptied, and she refilled their glasses.

Rose knew she had to change the subject. "Haven't you ordered a cake from Filbert's Bakery?"

"Yes," Jean said, shifting her gaze.

"Then…what's this?" Rose motioned to a square, two-tiered cake covered in pale frosting and silver piping.

"I saw this idea in a magazine," Jean said quickly. "A groom's cake. The English and Americans do them."

"It's a different flavour?"

"No…" Jean murmured, continuing to be evasive, "It's a fruit cake too. But it's soaked in rum."

"Alright," Rose said slowly. "That sounds right for Lucien."

Jean gave a snort and hiccup as she sipped her sherry.

"With a second cake, I'll be sure to have the pieces to freeze. A layer for our first anniversary." Jean had that bright smile that Rose was seeing more and more on her face. Then she mumbled absentmindedly, "The second layer is for your child's christening."

Rose choked on her sherry.

"Yes, well." Flushing, Jean returned to her flowers. "Let me start on the bouquets," she announced with determination, and began to sort through the vases for just the right blooms.

Rose wandered from the kitchen. "Lucien hasn't shown you the studio yet?" The heavy dark doors to the studio were closed, and the key was in the lock with a red ribbon hanging from it.

Abandoning her task, Jean joined her. "No." She leaned in close and lowered her voice despite the fact that they were alone. "I'm certain he's scattered rose petals on the bed. Some red roses are missing from my vases."

Rose wrapped her arm around Jean's shoulders and gushed, "Oh, that's sweet," then realised that she was a bit tipsy. And when Jean flopped against her, Rose knew she wasn't the only one.

"Sweet," Jean agreed. "And sappy." She sighed heavily. "He's a big romantic." She flicked the red ribbon on the key and frowned. "Sentimental."

"Charlie would never do that," Rose announced. "Not even one bloody daisy."

"Oh, honey," Jean said, taking Rose's hand and leading her back to the kitchen.

Rose was determined to clear the air. "Charlie just wasn't the sort of chap."

Jean furrowed her brow. "What sort?"

"Who made grand gestures."

"Did you want grand gestures?"

"I suppose not." Rose brooded into her glass. "Would have made it more difficult to end it."

"I think—" Jean had become owlish as the drink took effect. "—that the two of you just wanted different things. No harm in seeing that and calling it quits." It was her turn to stare into the depths of her sherry. "There's the sort of opposites that click, like the bolt and the box of a well-oiled lock, and then the sorts that never quite align."

Rose said, "He wanted a wife and family. I don't, at least not now." Jean was pulling stems from vases and bunching the blooms together, trying to find the right colours for the bouquets. Rose rushed to add, "Not that there's anything wrong with marriage."

"As long as it's for other people?" Jean suggested.

Rose smiled weakly. "I guess?"

"Perhaps some day you'll find the right person and the won't seem to be any question."

Rose had that flare of anger that she always felt when someone, usually an older woman, told her something like that. But before she could protest, Jean added, "The funny thing is, I wanted to be married again, and yet when perfectly pleasant, fine men presented themselves, I'd hold back." She held up a bunch of flowers with a cream ribbon holding it together. "Enough?"

"Yes. I don't think you want too much. Keep it simple so your dress shines. Your smile shines."

"My smile? Do you think I'll be smiling? Or crying?"

"Definitely smiling." They exchanged grins.

Rose was suddenly struck by a horrifying thought. "You were waiting around for Lucien to come his senses, weren't you?" Then glared at her sherry glass accusingly, but Jean seemed to be in a tolerate mood this evening.

"No—or, I wasn't, here." Jean tapped her temple. "Perhaps just…here." She lay her hand over her heart. "Even after I could acknowledge that I wanted to…be in his company, the first time he went to propose, I thought I was going to faint. Every reason why we shouldn't marry just jumped into my head and I'm quite sure I wouldn't have been able to say yes, even though I couldn't imagine being anywhere but here—" She looked around the kitchen. "—with him. But to be Mrs Blake—" She patted Rose's hand and her eyes shimmered with tears. "There's a difference, you know, between loving someone and wanting to marry them."

Rose's head felt heavy as a rock. She propped it on her free hand. "It all sounds rather complicated."

"Not the second time he asked. Saying yes was the easiest thing I've ever done." The grin was back.

The women clinked their sherry glasses, a bit surprised to see they were full again.

"I'll take your word for it," Rose said.

Jean looked very solemn. "However, if you're going to continue to kiss your toads while looking for your prince–" Rose rolled her eyes. Jean continued, "You should see the doctor about…a solution…if you're going to continue to do more than…kiss. The toads. That is."

It took Rose a moment to process what Jean had said. "Oh! Right! Well, yes." She gasped a laugh. "My mum wouldn't ever say this to me. But of course, she's as innocent as the day she was married while you–" She blinked. She really needed to stop drinking. She pushed away her sherry glass.

Jean didn't look put out. She was turning her glass slowly, her cheeks pink. "Well, I know what you think was happening…or was going to happen when you ran into me in the corridor. But it wasn't."

"You really were going for your knitting?"

"Okay, no," Jean confessed. "But when I had another moment to think, I decided it's best to wait. I didn't have that sort of wedding night with Christopher, but I will with Lucien." She stroked the pale petal of the rose with which she was making his boutonniere. "There's only one first time, after all."

"I'm sure Lucien was very understanding."

Jean giggled.

Rose nudged her shoulder. "Rose petals on the bed."

With a laugh, Jean held up Rose's bouquet. "What do you think?"

"Gorgeous. But we better get to bed, speaking of needing to look gorgeous."

Jean pushed back her limp curls. "And sober up a bit."

x

Alice finally forced herself to get out of her car and walk slowly down the pavement toward the Colonists' Club. She'd watched the other guests file in but now the crowd was down to a trickle. As she entered the cool darkness of the foyer, she realised the error of her decision. A waiter peeked expectantly down the stairwell, and when he saw that she wasn't the bride, thinned his lips and disappeared. Everyone would be watching for Jean and Rose, and instead, she would coming up the stairs…or not….she began to ease back toward the doorway when Rose popped her head out a room off the foyer.

"Oh, Alice! We need you!"

Unsure, Alice entered the room. It smelled of fresh flowers, face cream and hair spray. Jean was leaned on a dressing table for support, her wedding dress half on. At first she thought Jean was sobbing with distress, but she was gasping with laughter.

Still, Alice asked, "What's wrong?" with alarm.

Rose slammed the door closed, then had to put her hand to her forehead. "Bloody hell," she gasped.

"Bloody hell instead," moaned Jean, carefully sipping from a cup of tea so not to spill on her dress.

"What's wrong?" Alice repeated. She was good in a crisis, but she couldn't even determine what the problem was.

"Can't get the buttons up. So small," said Rose.

"My fault really. Just had to have these pearl buttons," explained Jean.

Alice put down her handbag. "Let's see about this," she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. Then she confessed, "But do remember, I'm not accustomed to putting clothing on a body, only taking them off," and was instantly horrified, but Rose and Jean burst into laughter. Perhaps she hadn't put her foot into it.

Jean straightened and squared her shoulders with great dignity. "We're a touch hungover, Alice. Please pardon us."

"Hungover?" Alice asked, askance.

"Just a touch," Rose told her. "But I can't seem to focus on those buttons." She gripped her head again. "So small."

"I can do small," Alice assured Jean. Carefully, she slipped the round pearls through the fine loops over the satin corset and up to the nape of Jean's neck.

"Could you do my necklace as well?" Alice worked that fine clasp, feeling very useful.

Rose was trying to put her hair up, but it kept falling down. "Blast," she growled.

"Don't worry about it," said Jean. "You look lovely as you are."

"Hungover," Rose reminded her, and they both giggled.

"I'm terribly thirsty," said Jean, draining her teacup.

"You'll need to re-hydrate, and get to bed early," said Alice, picking up her handbag and giving her hat a quick check in the mirror.

"I'll be married to Lucien Blake in…" Jean checked the wall clock. "—ten minutes. I don't think that shall be a problem."

Rose and Jean started to laugh again, and Alice could only beat a retreat, deciding that she was missing some necessary gene to bond with other women. She scampered up the stairs without any thought of her very public entrance, too busy trying to remove images of Lucien Blake undoing those fine buttons, unlacing that satin corset, and all else that would follow. Because she thought of Lucien as a good mate, and that was the last thing that one wanted to picture a good mate doing.

Befuddled, she didn't realise that she was walking down the aisle, and everyone was turning in their seats and looking at her. Before mortification could root her to the floor, Matthew caught her gaze, questioning. She gave him a reassuring smile and he nodded back.

"Here's a spot, Doctor Harvey," said Danny Parker, getting her attention and patting the chair beside him. She smiled a thanks and sat. She had a place after all, among good friends.

Lucien was checking his pocket watch and Matthew clasped him on the shoulder. "It's time."