For All Eternity by Heather Cullman

she noted. His eyes were a rich, warm brown, rimmed with a most enviable fringe of lashes. In truth, they were quite beautiful.
    If only they weren’t set in a ruined face.
    “The word?” he finally murmured, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb. “It was the unspoken promise of your kiss.”
    It was over.
    At last.
    And Sophie had never been more wretched in her life. Not only was she to be Lyndhurst’s bride at the end of the month, the headache that had plagued her all morning had exploded into an excruciating megrim, making her pray for a quick and merciful death.
    Unwittingly heightening her misery was her aunt, who hovered over her sickbed, chattering like a magpie enthralled by a particularly tasty worm. “I must say that Eddie is quite pleased with the way you handled Lyndhurst,” she said in a head-splitting chirp. “Why, his lordship all but demanded that you be married within the fortnight. If you ask me, such eagerness bodes well for our scheme. Indeed, my guess is that our troubles are over.”
    Yours, maybe. But mine are just beginning, Sophie thought grimly. In just two weeks time she would be the
    Countess of Lyndhurst. That meant that she must begin the nightmarish ordeal of trying to get with child. And to do so she must —
    Shuddering convulsively, she pushed the swirling montage of feathers, daisies, and custard from her mind.
    Heloise made a clucking noise. “Poor dear. Are you cold?”
    Sophie opened her eyes to reply, only to moan and squeeze them shut again in the next instant. Though the drapes were drawn, the midday sun blazed around the edges, stabbing through her eyes and into her brain like stakes of red-hot steel.
    Apparently her aunt took her moan for an affirmative response, for she said, “Yes. It is a bit chilly in here. I shall summon a footman to lay a fire.”
    Alarmed by the prospect of more light from a fire, Sophie started to shake her head. The first motion, however, sent paralyzing pain stabbing through her temples, and she was forced to lie still, croaking instead, “No. Not cold, just ill. Terribly ill. My head …” she broke off with an agonized groan and laid her hand on her brow to illustrate her complaint.
    Heloise countered with another series of her mother-hen clucks. “I know, sweeting. I know it hurts.” There was a splash, then she gently pushed Sophie’s hand from her forehead and replaced it with a cool, vinegar-soaked cloth. “Mademoiselle has gone to the stillroom to prepare her special megrim infusion for you. She should be back in a moment or two.”
    Sophie made a face. Vile stuff! Still, her maid’s concoction did ease her megrims, usually within a half hour, so she would gladly swallow it without protesting its foul taste.
    As if on cue there was a scratch at the door, followed by the faint creak of well-oiled hinges. A beat later she heard the swish of her aunt’s skirt as she crossed the room. Though Sophie recognized the voice of the new arrival as that of her maid, the woman spoke too low for her to decipher her words.
    After a few moments, during which her aunt replied in an equally hushed tone, the door closed with a soft slam. A brief time later the cloth was lifted from her head. “Here’s your infusion, dear. You need to sit up to drink it.” It was Heloise.
    When she had propped Sophie up on four plump cushions, her aunt held a cup of steaming liquid to her lips, crooning, “Drink it slowly, now. Just one tiny sip at a time. It won’t do you a bit of good if it comes back up again.” Obediently, she did as instructed, holding her breath against the foul aroma.
    For a long while they remained like that: Heloise coaxing Sophie to drink, and Sophie docilely complying. When the cup was at last empty and Sophie lay back down with a fresh cloth on her head, her aunt bid her to sleep and slipped from the room.
    Sleep, yes. I shall lose myself in my dreams … escape my troubles, Sophie thought. As she teetered on the brink, ready