Weston was partly inebriated from the brandy, but he could still understand simple sentences. “What are you talking about?”
Charles reached for Weston's shoulder. “Maybe this is how you get the family you have always wanted.”
Weston frowned. “What?”
“I know you always thought you would get this with Eliza.”
Weston felt his heart shudder.
“This is how you get your family, Weston. You might think you're in a sordid situation, but there are ways to make the best of it.”
“This is no way to get a family.” Weston said.
“Maybe this Lady Juliet will make a fine wife and a great mother for your children. You never know.”
“You do not understand me, Charles. This is a disaster. I have tied myself to a marriage I want no part of. I don't want to have a family. I want to escape.”
Charles pushed his chair forward. “We can't all have the things we want, Weston. We can only try and enjoy the things wedohave. You are about to have a wife. Do not write off your marriage before it has even commenced.”
Weston grunted in response and reached for his cup once again. As he brought it close to his lips, he noticed, in hisperiphery, a group of men across the tavern, staring straight at him.
He drank all that remained in the cup and placed it back on the table.
“If you look any harder, you're going to have to draw a portrait.” He said suddenly, looking straight at the men. Red-faced and embarrassed at being caught, they turned away.
“Maybe it will be better if you come look at me clearly right here, wouldn't it?”
“Weston—” Charles called.
“Do you have questions you wish to ask me?”
“Weston, what are you—”
“Maybe you need me to provide you with a new layer of gossip to spread around town?”
“Weston!” Charles called, his voice firm and loud. “You are already in trouble with the public. Do you think it is reasonable to add to your problem?”
Weston said nothing. Instead, he returned his gaze to his empty cup.
“How do you think it will translate when people hear that the Marquess of Estfield was picking fights with men in a tavern?”
“I do not care what people think anymore. They are going to make their own conclusions anyway.”
“Your wedding is only a few days ahead. Perhaps your energy will be useful if spent preparing for it.”
Weston pressed his fingers against his forehead. There it was again. The troubling headache that wouldn't let him go. Charles was right, as much as he didn't want to admit it. He was getting married to Lady Juliet in a week. He needed to start working on being a wonderful husband.
His head pounded at the thought. In a week, he would no longer be able to imagine what true freedom would have felt like. In a week, he would be well and truly unable to go anywhere. The cottage on the Scottish border might as well fade away from his memories.
He had no choice. Life had thrown him into a bad situation, and it was up to him to make the most of it.
He might as well enjoy himself as much as he could. His time in taverns was limited.
Against his better judgment, he reached for his cup again and raised it into the air.
“Another!”
Chapter Seven
