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“Is he… Is he drunk?” Roxina ventured from the trees’ shadows.
“Aye, thoroughly pished. Bosky as a bishop. Soused to the seams and pickled to the placket.” A grin tugged at Shelby’s lips. “And we shall impose upon the fellow to give us a ride.”
Roxina exhaled sharply, her nerves still tingling from the unexpected turn of events.
“But, Shelby, he’s a stranger, and he appears to be a noble,” she whispered under her breath. “And in case it escaped you, we are dressed as commoners.”
“Leave it to me.” Shelby acted swiftly; his movements confident as he approached the curricle. “Ho, there, yon driver!”
Roxina collected the bag, and then, her pace more sedate, trailed him, ever faithful Dash at her side, watchful but docile.
The driver squinted into the darkness, apparently having a difficult time focusing.
“Hullo, there,” he replied jovially. Hiccup. “Unfriendly night to be talking a walk.” Hiccup.
Even from several feet away, Roxina smelled the spirits clinging to the driver like a second skin, and her nose twitched involuntarily.
He took another swig from his bottle. “Unfriendly night for carousing too.”
“Indeed.” Shelby gave a confirming nod.
The buck waved his brandy bottle with the grandeur of a man delivering a profound and tragic soliloquy. “Alas, my last night as a free man.”
Hiccup.
“You see, my good fellow, my fate is sealed. Tomorrow, I wed Lady Prudence Buttershaw, Duchess of Dowdiness, Baroness of Bad Luck, and the Halitosis Heiress to the Vast Buttershaw Fortunes.” He let out a soul-weary sigh.
The horses flicked their ears as if they had heard the sad tale too many times.
Shelby cast a droll glance over his shoulder toward Roxina.
“Lady Prudence is ten years my senior.” Hiccup. He produced a lopsided grin while leaning forward and announcing sotto voce. “Homely as a boiled potato, and her front teeth could open walnuts.”
Roxina winced inwardly at his unflattering depiction of his affianced.
“And her breath.” His expression aghast, he jerked upright. “Good God, man.” Hiccup. “The last time she spoke to me at close range, my cravat wilted, the ferns drooped, and the wallpaper peeled from the walls. My mother’s cat ran away and still hasn’t returned.”
He leaned forward once more, eyes bleary but earnest. “A footman almost fainted, and I heard the butler muttering something about bringing in a priest for an exorcism.”
Hiccup.
He released a long, enthusiastic belch followed by what sounded suspiciously like a robust passage of wind.
Good heavens.
Roxina made a strangled sound, and Dash flattened his ears.
Was the chap so desperate to fill the family coffers he would take such an unpleasant creature to wife?
Roxina wasn’t sure who she felt the most pity for.
Lady Prudence Buttershaw for her physical failings and having to enter a union with a man who clearly disparaged her, or this defeated sot whose circumstances required he marry for money.
A marriage of convenience.
Was convenience a fair exchange for a lifetime sentence with someone you did not love?
No.
