Edith remembered it clearly–even Beckett had teased her back then, laughing, “That’s all the dowry a politician’s daughter gets?”
She’d known Beckett for so many years, she never took it the wrong way. To her, it was just him joking around, especially since she wasn’t anyone’s “politician’s daughter” to begin with.
Heather, on the other hand, never missed a chance to make sly remarks about Edith’s modest dowry. She’d say things like, “Your family looks glamorous from the outside, but in reality, there’s not much there, is there?”
Edith used to feel wronged. No one in the Sumner family ever pretended to be wealthy or put on airs. Kearney was honest to a fault, and their family was, at best, comfortably middle class.
Back then, Beckett had picked up on her discomfort and kept reassuring her. She had been so naïve, believing Heather was just sharp–tongued but
soft–hearted underneath.
Only now did she realize how wrong she’d been. There’s no such thing as someone who “means well but speaks harshly.” Someone who truly cares for you would never hurt you–neither with words nor actions.
Jayne stared at the long, overwhelming gift registry; just reading it made her head spin. And now, delivery after delivery, people kept arriving with boxes and packages, nearly filling up the entire Sumner family living
room.
Edith couldn’t bear to watch another load come in. At this rate, there’d be
no room left to stand.
She hurried to block the doorway and called to the butler inside, “That’s enough, really–it’s more than enough. We’re running out of space here.”
The butler glanced at the list and then at the growing mountain of gifts in the living room. “Miss Sumner, please don’t worry. We’ll manage to fit it all in.”
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After all, their young master planned everything down to the last detail. There was no way he’d send more than the Sumners could possibly
house.
But Edith was both helpless and anxious. With a dowry like this, how on earth were they supposed to reciprocate?
Jayne seemed just as rattled. She tugged gently at Edith’s sleeve, whispering, “Edith, should we call Justin?”
Edith nodded. “We have to.”
But as soon as she’d made the decision, she realized the problem–she didn’t actually have Justin’s number.
The thought made her cheeks flush. How had she managed to be so intimate with someone and not even have his contact information?
Noticing Edith’s hesitation, Jayne asked, “Are you embarrassed to call? It’s fine, I’ll ring the Hawksleys myself.”
Edith caught her mother’s arm, stammering, “Mom, I… I don’t have Justin’s
number.”
Jayne couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, sweetheart, how do you forget something like that? Never mind, I’ll call the Hawksleys. Do you want to talk, or should I?”
As she spoke, Jayne had already pulled out her phone and dialed the Hawksley residence.
Edith took the phone from her. “Mom, I’ll handle this.”
She couldn’t possibly let Jayne explain that they couldn’t match the extravagant wedding gifts.
The call connected.
Edith recognized the voice on the other end. Softly, she said, “Latonia? Would you mind putting Mr. Justin on the line?”
After about ten seconds–sooner than she’d expected–she heard that
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familiar, deep voice. “Edith? Let me guess, you don’t have my number?”
Justin immediately rattled off a string of digits.
Caught out, Edith felt a wave of embarrassment.
Before she could think of anything to say to ease the awkwardness, Justin spoke again, sounding amused, “Forget it. No need to memorize it. I’ve got your number, I’ll call you myself.”
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.