Nothing was going according to plan.
Jack stares at the casket where his chosen mate lies, looking for all the world as if she were only sleeping. Pale and unmoving, she resembles an exquisite porcelain doll, the kind with eyes that open and close. Her eyes are closed now, her thick, long lashes no longer fluttering. They will never open again.
It’s late at night and Rose’s family have gone to their beds for the night. Only the close family members are allowed to attend tonight’s vigil. Tomorrow, Rose will be interred, and so he decided he could spare one night without sleep, to keep her company one last time.
Jack takes a deep breath. The whole room smells of roses sent by those who knew her in life, which is ironic because Lady Ambrose, despite her pet name, doesn’t really care much
