Perfect. Anne-Marie thought of getting up quietly and leaving the house, of tracking through the grass that was wet with dew, making her way into the woods to Satan’s clearing. And then keeping on going until she could go no farther. She thought of staying where she was without moving. When her stepmother came, she might turn her face to the wall while the woman ranted and raged at her to get up. She thought of Lucien, and of what he would do when informed that she refused to leave her bed to be married to him. No doubt he would come storming up the stairs, fling into her room, and then... She tumbled out of bed. After that, it was not so bad. Since it was her day, she was cosseted with a breakfast tray in her room. When she had finished her coffee, the preparations began in a desultory fashion. There was no need to hurry since it would naturally be an evening wedding; it was considered too embarrassing to have newly-weds hanging around the house for long after the ceremony. She and Lucien would stay only to have their health and happiness toasted, to cut the wedding cake, taste the food, dance a few waltzes.
