“Talking nonsense.”
Did his smile look that odd? Would he have to practice smiling if he wanted to court his wife in the future?
Chapter Nine
Harriet stared atthe tumbler of gin—very strong gin—that seemed to have gained a companion. She narrowed her eyes on thetwotumblers before her.
“What are you looking at?” she mumbled. “None of this is my fault. My father—that’s who to blame. And that man. I did test him, though. He passed, as you know.” She hiccupped. “Now I am married to that man.”
She paused. “What’s his name again? Ah,Leeds. I’m married to Leeds.”
Her gaze flicked over her new bedchamber, but she couldn’t make sense of the room.
Harriet blinked. Everything appeared hazy.
She shook her head. “See his daughter wed? Father didn’t deserve to get a notice. I don’t feel bad about it.I don’t.”
The flickering candlelight seemed to dance before her eyes, casting eerie shadows on the walls. She poked one of those shadows.
“What’s tonight?” It seemed to be an important night, but she couldn’t quite recall. She had wedded that man so... tonight...
Her head fell back.
That’s right!
Tonight was herweddingnight—a night that was meant to be filled with love and tenderness.
Not for me.
No, she was rebelling against any wifely duties. She glanced at the bottle in her hand. But not against gin. She’d drunk a lot of this stuff. Illicit stuff, apparently—nice and strong.
Harriet chuckled.
It might be her wedding night, but there would be no night of the wedding. That man, her husband,Leeds, he could sleep in the stables for all she cared. He might be just acceptable to marry, but she still had standards. Her bed was off limits to him. This night and every night that followed.
She laughed, the almost evil giggle bouncing of the walls surrounding her. The crystal glass in her hand caught her eye, its translucent contents beckoning to her once more.
Harriet reached for the bottle, filling her glass. This gin had been given to her by Rohan, and she’d secretly stashed it in a hatbox. If she could not celebrate her wedding night, she would commiserate and lay to rest her past expectations, and the fiery liquid promised temporary solace.
She raised the glass to toast. “To the end of the single life of a lady and the beginning of an unknown plot.”
The room seemed to tilt, and she grasped onto the edge of the dressing table, her knuckles turning white, droplets of gin spilling to the floor.
“Ah, drat.” Her chamber would smell like liquor now.
Harriet caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror she’d placed against the wall—a disheveled bride, her hair undone, cheeks flushed with both the remnants of the day and the lush pull of alcohol. She traced the delicate lace on her gown, the texture beneath her fingertips a reminder of the promises she had made, the commitment she had willingly entered into.
No matter.
Just because she hadn’t married a man she loved, didn’t mean she had to be unhappy.
She hiccupped.
“That’s right, one can find happiness anywhere.” She nodded at her reflection in the small mirror “A man is not the source of happiness. Why, a sloth can make me happy. I shall have a dozen. Then I will be dozens happy. Sloths make for good old-age companions. Ah, I should retrieve Chester from my old house tomorrow. How could I have forgotten about that sweet thing? How cute would a sloth be for our own home?”
Home.
She brought the glass to her lips and swallowed another gulp. “Ah yes. My new home.Hishome too. But if that jackanapes thinks we will consummate this marriage, he should think again.” She stared at the crystal glass in her hand. “What do you think? Shall we box his ears if he tries?”
