She knew it made good sense. Great-aunt Tiffany had given an understanding smile and patted her hands, folded like pinioned birds in her lap.
“It will keep the money in the family and it’s not like Cousin Richard is a monster or anything.”
Not a monster.
Kind, but thirty years older than her and smelling of foot powder and stale pipe tobacco.
At the altar, he took her hand.
“You alright, m’dear? We can call it all off. Even now. I’m an old bear but not a grumpy one.”
For a moment she hesitated.
“My old bear,” she said.