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"Or in this case, are contractually obligated," Lydia muttered under her breath.

"What was that, dear?"

"Nothing, Mother. Please continue."

Prudence soldiered on. "Well, you see, it's rather like... like the bees and the flowers."

Lydia frowned. "Are you suggesting the Duke will sting me?"

"Good heavens, no!" Prudence gasped, fanning herself vigorously. "I simply mean... well, the bee... that is to say, the Duke... will... pollinate..."

At that moment, a bee buzzed in through the open window. Prudence shrieked, leaping to her feet and swatting wildly at the air. In her haste, she knocked over a vase of flowers, sending water and petals cascading across the floor.

"Oh dear," Lydia sighed, reaching for a towel. As she bent to mop up the mess, the bee settled on her nose. She went cross-eyed trying to look at it.

"Don't move!" Prudence hissed, inching towards the door. "I'll fetch your father. He'll know what to do."

"Mother, it's just a bee," Lydia said, trying not to move her lips too much.

"Precisely!" Prudence nodded vigorously. "And now you see why it's so important to discuss these matters before your wedding night!"

With that, she fled the room, leaving Lydia alone with her new striped friend.

"Well," Lydia addressed the bee, "I don't suppose you could explain what on earth she was talking about?"

The bee, unsurprisingly, did not respond. It did, however, fly off her nose and out the window, apparently deciding that the Viscountess's impromptu biology lesson was not to its liking either.

Lydia flopped back on her bed, more confused than ever. If this was what marriage entailed, perhaps spinsterhood wasn't such a terrible fate after all.

She understood the basic mechanics of how children were made, of course, but the reality of it - of lying with a virtual stranger - was suddenly, terrifyingly real.

What had she gotten herself into? How could she possibly be a good wife, a good duchess, when she knew next to nothing about the man she was to marry?

A soft knock at the door roused her from her spiraling thoughts. "Lydia?" Marian's voice called softly. "May we come in?"

"Of course," Lydia replied, hastily composing herself.

Her three sisters filed into the room, their faces etched with concern. Jane was carrying a tray laden with tea and biscuits, while Diana clutched a small bouquet of wildflowers.

"We thought you might need some cheering up," Diana said, offering the flowers with a shy smile.

Lydia felt a rush of affection for her sisters. "Thank you," she said softly, taking the flowers and inhaling their sweet scent. "You're right, I could use a distraction."

As they settled around the room, pouring tea and passing biscuits, Lydia felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. Here, surrounded by the familiar chatter of her sisters, she could almost forget the daunting future that awaited her.

"So," Jane said, a mischievous glint in her eye, "are you ready to become the fearsome Duchess of Fyre?"

Lydia laughed, the sound surprising even herself. "Fearsome? Hardly. I'm more likely to trip over my own feet and embarrass myself in front of the entire ton."

"Nonsense," Marian said firmly. "You'll be magnificent, Lydia. You always are."

"But what if I'm not?" Lydia whispered, voicing the fear that had been gnawing at her for days. "What if I can't live up to the Duke's expectations? What if I fail?"

Her sisters exchanged glances, and it was Diana who spoke up. "Lydia," she said gently, "do you remember when you taught me to ride? I was so afraid, certain I'd fall and make a fool of myself. But you told me something I've never forgotten."

Lydia smiled faintly. "What was that?"

"You said, 'The only true failure is not trying at all.' And you were right. Even when I fell - and I fell a lot - you never let me give up. You won't fail, Lydia, because you'll never stop trying. That's who you are."