“What good side could there possibly be?”
“Well, your intended husband. You don't know anything about him. For all we know, he is as charming as they come and would take care of you completely.”
Juliet allowed her mind to wander to that night in the garden before the chaos ensued. Weston had proven himself to be a great conversationalist.
“Perhaps, now, you can focus on building a rapport with your husband. You never know. You may find a true partner in him.”
Juliet shrugged. “You do not know that. He might be a monster.”
“You do not know that either.” Aunt Grace continued. “We don't know what burdens the heart of other people, Juliet. We only know ours. Even the most aggressive war hero may write sonnets in his own private time.”
Juliet let a slight laugh escape her mouth.
“I once heard of a ruthless king back in the days who passed the time by painting each of his wives. People say he only had three and never let them want for anything.”
“Now, that is a true gentleman if I've ever met one.” Juliet replied, causing Grace to laugh a little.
“This may not be as bad as you think, Juliet. This may be your way to true freedom.” Grace said when her laughing stopped.
Juliet sighed. “But what if it is only another prison away from Willowbrook? What if this marriage is only going to trap me forever in sadness?”
Grace smirked and squeezed Juliet's hands even harder.
“We would have to wait and find out.”
***
Weston drowned his third cup of brandy in a single gulp.
“Another!” He screamed, raising his cup. His eyes were red, and the drink pushed back the headache he had suffered for the past few days.
In a tavern near the Estfield Manor, Weston had decided to settle in to make the most of his bleak future. On his right, also settled in a chair with him, was Charles Longworth, who had only just returned from his travels the day before.
“Perhaps you might want to slow down on the brandy.” Charles said, his voice laced with worry. He had always known Weston to be a composed and firm gentleman. Watching his friend lose some sense of control was hard to imagine.
“I shall determine the right time for me to stop.” Weston replied. He raised his cup one more time and drew the attention of the stewardess. Soon, she arrived with a giant jug filled with brandy and filled his cup to the brim.
“Weston.” Charles started. “Do you think drinking yourself into a stupor is the right idea?”
Weston decided to nurse his drink this time around. Instead of drinking it in one go, he took a few sips.
“I'm getting married to a lady I barely know. We are well past having the right ideas, do you not think?” Weston replied, gently placing his cup on the table before him.
Charles reclined further in his seat. The fact that he had been on a journey didn't mean the news didn't get to him.
“I have heard everyone's version of what happened, Weston. I know how unreliable the gossip sheets can be. I still haven't heardyourversion, and I intend to.”
A hysterical chuckle escaped Weston's lips. “What is the point? It will not change anything. I will remain trapped in this life I thought I was going to escape in time.”
“I agree. But it helps if you talk about it. Keeping things inside will kill you, just as too much brandy will, too.”
Weston scoffed. “This was all my fault. I should've left her alone. I shouldn't have approached her when I heard her tears across the flowers.”
“There is only so much guilt you can place on yourself, Weston.” Charles continued.
“We only took off our masks for a while. All of this happened because we decided to take off our masks.”
Charles sighed. “The past is in the past, my friend. Perhaps this might be your way out.”
