To Wed A Rebel Read Free

would go there.”
    “I rather like it,” admitted Ruth. “It’s all so pretty, like a dream or something I have only ever read about.”
    “I, well, I suppose it’s tolerable, though it doesn’t match
your
tolerableness.” Albert beamed, overly pleased at his clumsy compliment. “I never like these events; they’re always too loud and the music too modern. It’s all too heathen for my tastes and anyway…”
    Once Albert began talking, finding Ruth to be a polite listener, he did not stop. Whenever she tried to interject, she was cut off and ushered back into silence. Torches were lit as the sun went down and while Lottie was free to skip off and mingle with other tittering women, Ruth was left to listen to her future husband’s complaints, gripes and moans. From gout to stomach upset, there was no ailment the man did not latch on to. The pair were to be husband and wife. They had a whole lifetime to get to know one another. And yet, as another hour slowly dribbled by, Ruth felt as though she knew everything the man would ever say, think, feel and do.
    It was all arranged, the match agreed, and it would please her uncle. It was the right thing to do, wasn’t it? She couldn’t rely on her extended family any more. She must accept it. There was no other choice. Albert kept prattling on, and on, and on, while it felt as though a fault line was growing in Ruth’s chest, her ribs, her heart. The smoke was in her eyes; that was all. She didn’t cry, not since she was little, but she was close now, stupidly close – when she’d prided herself on being stronger, better, more removed from her emotions than everyone else. It was all too much, too soon.
    I do not want to be Mrs Pembroke.
    She couldn’t think like that.
    She wasn’t allowed to think like that.
    “Were it not for Godfrey’s Cordial,” continued Albert, “I doubt I’d get any sleep, what with my—”
    “The boats,” interrupted Ruth, attempting a good-natured smile that fell flat. There was a catch in her voice. “Let’s find Lottie and go along the canal, shall we? She’d be terribly disappointed if we left without doing so.”
    Albert pouted heavily, as though she had asked the world and, even if he had it, he would never give it to her. When they were married, it would be different, Ruth told herself. She’d run her own home, she’d have independence, she’d have children. Albert could provide all that. It was a practical, sensible choice…that stuck in her throat like a sharp slice of apple.
    “Yes, a good idea, off with you,” said Osbourne, dismissing the youngest in their party.
    A resigned huff left Albert, before he said, “If we must.”
    In the dying light, the canal looked molten gold. Men and women in their finery rowed themselves along the water, laughing and drinking as they navigated the reeds and narrower stretches. One intoxicated group bumped and scraped the stonework beneath a low bridge as they bobbed by, calling and hooting. The three waited for them to pass – Lottie with amusement, Ruth with concern, and Albert with sheer disapproval – before climbing into their own craft. It dipped alarmingly at Albert’s end and only Ruth’s harsh looks kept Lottie from laughing.
    “It’s not fair. I think the people in the other boat are having far more fun than the rest of us,” observed Lottie.
    “Or they want us to think they are,” said Ruth.
    Lottie was delighted at the opportunity to perch herself in a rowboat and spoke far too quickly for Albert to keep up, and with too much force for him to interrupt. She always chattered away when trying to impress someone and Ruth was grateful that, for once, her friend made an effort on her behalf. Albert nodded along and was already sweating from the small effort it took to wrestle with the oars. Ruth let Lottie’s words fade into background; she’d had years of practice, after all. She trailed her hand in the water, spied pale lilies with petals so thick they could