Leah reined in her laughter. “It is not just humans. All animals do it though it is different for animals and humans, of course. Humans must… lie next to each other. Lie together. It is how children are made.Thatis what we are trying to say.”
Frustration bristled in Matilda’s veins, for though it was clear that Leahthoughtshe was explaining plainly, she was not illuminating anything at all. Still, Matilda was not stupid; she could sort of piece together the things that were not being said. The mention of animals had helped a little, but if she was thinking of the same thing, and she would be expected to dothaton her wedding night, then tomorrow would be a worse nightmare than she had already anticipated.
Surely not. They must be thinking of something else.Either way, she was content to let them be vague. They did not have to tell her explicitly what she could expect, nor would it aid her scientific endeavors to have watery testimonies; she would soon find out for herself what a wedding night entailed.
Indeed, by this time tomorrow night, she would no longer be a spinster but a married woman, spending her first evening in a strange house, far from everyone and everything she adored.
She would not waste her last night of freedom being frustrated with those dearest to her. “I am going to fetch James’s finest bottles of champagne,” she announced. “And we, dear friends, are going to drink it all.”
CHAPTEREIGHT
“Cease your fidgeting,” James hissed, gripping Matilda’s arm against his side with his. “Do not embarrass me. This is my day as much as it is yours, for there are some exceedingly important people here. You shall not ruin this for me as you seem determined to ruin everything else.”
Matilda scoffed. “You speak tomeof ruining things? Need I begin on all the things you have ruined. Indeed, Iwillbegin, starting with my life.”
She was already in a terrible mood. She had not slept a wink the previous night, and when dawn came, it brought with it the most atrocious headache and a roiling stomach. The champagne had been a very bad decision but not as bad as marrying a rude stranger. Besides, James did not yet know that his cache had been pilfered, and when he found out, the satisfaction of hearing his fury would be worth every pounding thud inside her skull.
“Just… behave yourself. No one wants to hear your tales of woe,” James muttered, dragging her toward the church doors.
Beyond them, Matilda heard the babble of the congregation. Her heart lurched into her throat; the church sounded full while she had expected a sparse, comfortable gathering.
A moment later, the church organ began playing, and she was thrust through the doors by James, who hauled her along at such a pace that she barely got to look at the gawping crowd. She did, however, manage to spot her friends, who stood at the front of the church as pale and green as she felt. Whether it was the champagne or the wedding itself that made them so queasy, she could not tell.
Her eyes snapped to the obscenely tall figure at the end of the altar, who seemed to loom over the entire church like a demon. His shoulders were hunched in his red regalia, as though trying to reduce his height, while the grim look upon his face might have made a lesser woman crumble in terror.
“… if you have the right sort of husband.”Leah’s words came back to haunt Matilda as she looked upon Albion and tried not to tremble. What would a brute expect on a wedding night? What would a brute demand? Her mouth went dry, her entire body shaking.
“Did no one tell you that a wedding is supposed to be a happy occasion,” she whispered as James handed her off to Albion like a possession instead of a living, breathing person.
Albion’s eyes narrowed. “Are you unwell?”
“I am certainly queasy,” she retorted.
Up close, he was strangely less fearsome, and if he would but smile, she was certain he would look quite handsome.
Why does it matter if he is handsome or not?She prayed he would not notice the rush of embarrassment that prickled up her neck, cursing her foolish thoughts. It was the champagne’s fault; she was convinced of it.
“You imbibed last night.” It was not a question from him.
“Did you not? You likely should have.”
Albion turned to face the waiting reverend, muttering out of the corner of his mouth, “Truly, I am the luckiest man in all of England.”
“I could have attended drunk,” she whispered back. “Would you have preferred that?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
She opened her mouth to say more, but the reverend began to speak, welcoming the congregation to the church and to the “joyful union” between Matilda and Albion. An older woman on the front pew, on Albion’s side of the church, began to sob rather loudly, huffing and puffing into a handkerchief. They were not the tears of someone who was happy about the occasion.
“Who is the weeper?” Matilda whispered.
“My mother,” Albion replied. “She is overjoyed as I’m sure you can see.”
Matilda frowned. “She is not in support of our everlasting happiness?”
“Of course. She always wails when she is euphoric. Don’t you?”
“I am on the brink of a wail right now,” she replied, her nerves calming despite herself. In their place, she felt that odd thrill shiver through her, partway between crushing terror and giddy excitement—a sensation she only seemed to feel when she was around Albion. Inexplicable. A sensation that certainly called for further study.
