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pictured herself, kicking and screaming, as Landen carted her off to the asylum.
    She paced faster, skirts swaying over the hoops beneath. Lost as to what she should do, she knew she had to see Clara. While she had no idea what she’d say, perhaps something would come to her.
    She hurried to Clara’s room, where she found her alone, still fussing with the fancy headpiece sparkling on her head. “What do you need, Gianna?” she asked as she primped in the mirror.
    Gia’s eyes fixed on the bed. Recognizing the massive carved headboard as the one in her vision, Gia scrambled for words, her mind reeling. “Clara, are you feeling all right?”
    “My nephew is finally getting married,” Clara crowed to her own reflection. “I feel wonderful.” She narrowed her eyes and turned from the mirror. “Why do you ask?”
    Gia fumbled for an adequate answer. “You’re pale.”
    Clara frowned. “I’m old.” She gave a sharp fluff to her royal blue skirts. “But unlike Bea, I refuse to use my age as an excuse to dwell on every ache and pain.”
    Gia stiffened. “So, you’re not feeling well?”
    “I’m fine.” Her hands shot to her hips. “And I’m busy.”
    “Too busy,” Gia offered. “With all the wedding preparations, you’ve had little time to rest.”
    Clara waved her away. “I’ll get plenty of rest in Saratoga.”
    Or she’d contract a terrible illness there. “Perhaps you should consider postponing the trip.”
    “Nonsense,” she said. “Tonight is your wedding night. Since Landen refuses to take you on a proper honeymoon, you should at least be allowed the privacy of the house.” She pursed her lips in a disapproving manner that made Gia’s cheeks flush. “Not that privacy matters to the pair of you,” she muttered. “But Alice and I will depart after the wedding, never the less.” She slipped on her gloves. “Two days should suffice.”
    Two entire days—alone—with Landen. The sudden shift in Gia’s focus could not be reined. Despite her trepidation about the upcoming night, an unbridled excitement coursed through her blood at the thought of sharing Landen’s bed. Her stomach lurched as her mind veered wildly with imagined scenarios. With the thought he might kiss her as he had that night in his room, touch her as he had. Heat flooded her face and swirled in her belly. She blinked hard, reclaiming her focus.
    “But, Clara—”
    “Enough, Gianna.” Clara took an impatient breath. “All brides are nervous on their wedding day.” She clasped Gia’s hands in hers, and Gia appreciated her attempt to put her at ease. “There’s no knot so tight as the bond of marriage.” Clara let go of Gia’s hands and spun away. “But we all manage to survive.”
    So much for gentle reassurance.
    “Now stop dawdling, and go finish getting ready.”
    Biting back the urge to blurt out everything, Gia did as directed. At the moment, she had no other choice. Trying to explain the vision would be fruitless, especially now, when Clara’s attention was so otherwise engaged. The highly anticipated marriage of her nephew would commence come hell or high water, and nothing anyone could say would distract the woman from seeing Landen’s wedding went off without a hitch.
    Once back in her room, Gia contemplated what she might do. Picking up the cameo, she held it tightly, trying to prompt another vision that might determine Clara’s fate. When nothing happened, Gia pinned the piece to her collar and tried to force her fears from her mind.
    Clara seemed fit as a fiddle. While Gia’s vision had offered no inkling as to when the woman would fall ill, the bed in the vision told her she’d fall ill in this house. This detail, when coupled with the current sound state of Clara’s health, led Gia to conclude that Clara was safe for the time being.
    Gia had to believe this if she hoped to get through this day. Once Clara returned from Saratoga, Gia would keep a keen eye on her. In the midst of placating