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bride’s change of initials before the wedding. I hope you’re not superstitious.” He ran a tapered finger over the elaborate monogram.
    Superstitions be hanged! Lucienne promised silently. If I have my way, you’ll regret being so presumptuous. “Not at all. Why, I think it’s just charming, don’t you, Mama? Look what wonderful work went into all that embroidery. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such fine stitches.” She passed the packet to Charlotte, who lifted one of the fragile squares to the light.
    “Mother Superior must have had every nun under her roof working night and day to create this set.” She examined the flawless stitches with a critical eye. Charlotte Toussaint was an accomplished needlewoman herself. “Only our good sisters could do such intricate work.”
    “And there is this.” Armand put an oblong box of some weight into Lucienne’s hands. “It’s been in the family for several generations, but I don’t believe it was as becoming to any woman as it will be to my lovely bride on our wedding day.”
    Lucienne opened the box and gasped. She had no need to manufacture pleasure over this gift. The shimmer of pearls, barely pink in their black velvet nest, took her breath. The necklace, a rope long enough to loop three times around her neck, or through her hair if she wished, filled most of the case. Beside it a brooch, bracelet, and earrings glowed in smaller velvet hollows.
    Lucienne took the bracelet and held it against her cheek. “It’s warm, warm as my skin.”
    “Pearls take their color and glow from the woman who wears them,” Armand told her. “They always seem to retain their warmth. Do you like them, truly?”
    “They are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.” Lucienne stroked the long strand with a tentative finger. Lustrous and rich, they would suit her ivory-and-ebony coloring to perfection.
    “They will be the perfect thing,” her mother cautioned, “ on your wedding day . Of course, you can’t wear them before that.”
    Lucienne wanted to rebel at that ridiculous social restraint. Armand was giving them to her; he certainly intended for her to wear them. Why should she have to wait, her vanity demanded, especially since this man wouldn’t see her at all on their hypothetical wedding day. Even as she thought it, Armand was drawing the box from her grasp.
    “I long to see you wear my family’s pearls, but I know that I must wait for that pleasure.” He tucked the box back into the rosewood casque but paused to put a smaller box into her hands. “I wouldn’t breach convention so blatantly, no matter how much I desire to, but I thought you might wear a token of our betrothal now.” He took a gold-and-ivory locket from the box and let it sway a moment on its delicate gold chain. The fine filigree was set with a number of small pearls and opals glowing pink in their fanciful settings. “Would you wear this until I can see you wearing the actual Dupre pearls?”
    “It’s very lovely.” Madame Toussaint looked over her daughter’s shoulder. “I think the locket would be socially acceptable.”
    “Oh, I have a matching ring, as well,” Armand added, withdrawing a chaste opal-and-pearl ring from his pocket. “I want to give my bride something as unique as she is. May I?” He held up the thin chain with a questioning look toward Charlotte.
    “It would not be improper under the circumstances.”
    Armand unclasped the chain, walked behind Lucienne, and let the locket rest against her skin. His supple fingers barely stroked the curve of her neck, but they left lingering warmth where his skin touched hers. Something intimate, almost teasing, remained after his shielded touch. He came back to the settee and took her hand. “And this?” He held out the ring.
    Still mesmerized by the pearls, Lucienne unbuttoned her lace mitt and eased it away from her hand. Armand slipped the ring onto her finger and brushed it with his lips. The caress suggested