5. Leah
Leah
The carriage jolts over an uneven piece of road, jostling my hands in my lap. I look down at the tight gold band I’ve been twisting around my finger over and over, as if I might be able to rub it out of existence.
Married.
I can hardly believe it. Six more months, maybe a year, and Evie and I would’ve been set. And now?
I glance at where Hathwell sits beside me, the man I’m legally bound to—perhaps for the rest of my life.
As soon as we left the courthouse and climbed inside the carriage, he loosened the tightly knotted cravat around his neck and removed his jacket.
Perhaps he was suffering under the stifling pressure of the vows we just made too.
Except he looks…happy, excited even. His eyes are bright, and he drums an absentminded rhythm with his fingers against his thigh.
I study him not for the first time, trying to read the man who might be lurking beneath the elegant gentleman’s clothes and good manners—the son of a mill owner, a widower, my husband. I try not to blanch at that last thought, especially as he catches me looking and offers me a small smile.
“It’s not far now,” he says. “My father wanted me to buy property near the mill like him, but I couldn’t take the noise and the smoke. I much prefer this part of town. I hope you’ll like it too.”
I don’t see how I could ever regard it as anything but a cage, the ring on my finger just another link in the chains now binding me. But I can’t say that. At least, not until I have better measure of this man. I cast about for something appropriately bland instead.
“I was sorry to see your parents couldn’t make it to the ceremony,” I say.
It’s an outright lie. I’m glad there were barely any witnesses; it meant fewer people I had to pretend for.
In fact, aside from the two of us and the officiant, the only ones there were Ada, my father, and Evie.
My stepmother draped her resentment in a smile, still furious I’d managed to steal this lucrative match from her daughter.
My father looked tired and distracted, while I had to give Evie a stern talking-to before we entered the courthouse so she didn’t sob all the way through.
She alone understood why I was doing this.
She was also the only one who understood how hard it was for me.
It was why she’d spent every day since I offered myself up to Hathwell trying to talk me out of it.
She told me a hundred times it wasn’t my job to save her, certainly not by dooming myself in the process.
But she couldn’t see that it’s more than a fair exchange.
Evie, so good and kind hearted and undamaged by the world, must be protected.
Whereas me…I scavenge and lie and scheme and… worse. Much, much worse.
If one of us has to pay the price for our father’s mistakes, it should be me.
When I thought of it that way, it was an easy choice to make, as was giving Evie all the scavenging money I dug up from the garden.
There’s enough there for her to buy a single fake guild license, but even now I worry she won’t use it.
I tried to tell her not to wait around for this Jeremy to marry her—it’s not safe to rely on anyone else but me.
I only hope she listens and gets away before it’s too late.
She can only hide her pregnancy from Ada’s sharp eyes for so long.
Hathwell shrugs, dismissive. “They’re busy with their travels,” he says vaguely.
“There’ll be time enough to meet them later.
And it’s better for a marriage to start out without others around to get in the way, don’t you think?
I’m looking forward to getting to know my new wife.
” He reaches out as if to touch my cheek.
I lean back, and he politely drops his hand, smiling at me in that apologetic way again.
At least he can read basic body language, which is more than a lot of men I’ve met.
There’ve been a few scavengers who’ve required a more direct translation to get the message I’m sending.
A well-placed kick or a couple of broken fingers usually does it.
Then there’s the ones who I wanted to send a very different kind of message, and no amount of veiled invitations or subtle hints would get through to them.
Hodges used to make fun of me when I was trying to get a man’s attention.
He said I flirted like a cat who didn’t want a human to suspect it actually liked them, but who kept suspiciously turning up within arm’s reach looking haughty.
I adapted my approach soon after that, which led to a few satisfying flings, aided, of course, by the contraceptive herbs Evie wasn’t careful enough with.
But I couldn’t allow them to be anything more.
Not when attachment could so quickly transform into something dangerous, something that tied me down when I was already trying to cut myself loose.
Sweet Tenebrous, what have I gotten myself into? “There it is,” Hathwell leans over to point out the window on my side of the carriage. “The one with the purple trees out front.”
They’re cotinus shrubs actually, but I don’t bother identifying them for him. I’m too busy taking in the tall townhouse built with reddish brick and grand bow windows. It’s smart, modern. The kind of place you might build as a young man who wants the world to sit up and take you seriously.
The carriage pulls up and Hathwell helps me down with an outstretched hand.
What follows is a bit of a blur. I get a house tour where Hathwell chatters on about various renovations he’s made to the place.
I see everything except Hathwell’s study, which he informs me is his private space, and I meet the servants—a footman, cook, and housemaid. None of them live-in.
Hathwell eventually leads me upstairs, stopping in front of a polished oak door. My stomach leaps again at the thought of what he’s expecting. I try not to let my alarm show as Hathwell clears his throat.
“This will be your room for now. I’m down the hall,” he stands poised in front of the bedroom.
I’m as tense as a coiled spring, waiting for him to move in—but to my shock, he takes a step back.
“I’m afraid there’s still a lot of preparations I have to make for our trip.
So would it be all right with you if we postponed the wedding night? ”
My eyes widen. “Yes, of course,” I say, maybe a little too quickly. “I mean…” I remind myself I should avoid insulting my husband on the very first day of our marriage. “I would appreciate the time to get settled in, thank you.”
He nods, offering me a wry smile. “Samuel will bring up your things, and you can take supper in your room. Frances will see you’re looked after.”
I enjoy the soup the maid brings me at first, but as I settle into bed and my mind starts turning, it curdles in my stomach.
In some ways, I got what I wished for so many times in the past—I’m not under Ada’s thumb anymore, and I don’t have to work myself to the bone each day, or bend to her every whim. Yet I’m a million miles from where I wanted to be, and I’m in a situation that is entirely new and strange.
I don’t know what the rules are here. I don’t know how to protect myself or what liberties I’ll be allowed.
My father’s house hasn’t been any kind of home to me in years, but at least most of my time was mine, to spend as I saw fit.
I had friends, scavengers and dealers who I trusted.
But that chapter of my life is over. It’s not like I can claim to have a job to go to or sneak off anytime there’s a battle raging when I’m busy being a wife. I can’t go scavenging anymore.
The realization that I might miss something as dangerous and dirty as roaming the plains—simply because I felt some shred of independence out there on the blood-soaked battlefields—that’s what breaks me.
The hot tears slide from the corners of my eyes, wetting my hair and making my pillow damp.
By the time the tears run out, I’m exhausted.
I drift off quickly, hoping things look brighter in the morning.
My eyes fly open as strong hands grab my shoulders and legs, pinning me down hard against the mattress. I can’t see anything but several vague shapes moving in the darkness, my joints crying out as I try in vain to wrench myself loose from the many grasping fingers.
Then even the shapes are gone as a tight cloth bag with a sharp chemical smell is pulled down over my head. Cool air hits my skin as I’m yanked from my bed, and I open my mouth to scream—for the servants, for Hathwell, anyone.
But inhaling is a mistake. The chemical smell fills my lungs, hitting my head like a battering ram. It shakes me loose from my senses until I’m beyond all this, floating away from my own body into the waiting nothingness.
“…no mistakes…”
“I’ve double-checked…”
“…needs to work…hell to pay…”
The snatches of conversation worm their way into my ears, but I can barely understand them through the pounding pain in my skull.
It feels like my head has been buried in the dirt and hit with a spade a few times.
When I inhale, my breath stutters as I discover a tightness across my chest. I can feel the same pressure around my wrists and legs too.
I’m tied up, likely surrounded by the group of people that grabbed me.
A question beats its way to the surface of my mind as I crack my eyelids open.
Who are the people who grabbed me?
Whatever was covering my face before is gone now. The light streams in between my eyelashes, bright enough after the darkness that I slam my eyes shut again, trying to protect my aching head.
Did they attack Hathwell as well? I already know his card playing netted him a wife. Did it gain him enemies too? When I was my father’s daughter, I wasn’t worth asking a ransom for, but now I’m Mrs. Reed, maybe I’m going up in the world.
I attempt to open my eyes a second time, bracing against the lamplight until I’m blinking up at the room around me.