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“My powders, oh, I left them at home,” Diane mumbled more to herself, catching the attention of the room. “My bedside table.”
Her aunt made a noise of annoyance, muttering, “Why on earth would you not take them with you?”
The powders the apothecary had prescribed had yet to make her feel any better, and on some frequent occasion, inspired nausea. No one ever listened to that particular complaint, and her aunt always insisted on bringing them everywhere.
“Never mind. I'll walk and get them, you stay right here,” her aunt said quickly, standing and moving towards the door.
“The excitement of today must have made it slip my mind,” Diane lied, as she had lied many times about being happy to marry Martin. It didn’t sound very convincing this time. She winced a little as she tried to sit up more.
Too many people were in the room, watching, already starting to murmur among themselves about her weak constitution, like she was little else beyond a dropped china doll.
She didn’t have it in her now to put on a carefree face, to act like she was quickly recovered when her head still needed to stop spinning. Diane tried not to grimace as she waved a little and said, “All this... has been rather tiring. Might I have some room to...?”
She didn’t need to finish her sentence as the room cleared out, and her aunt ushered most of the guests and wedding party back into the nave, to wait for the service to resume.
She glanced to Martin, still standing before her with the leashed goat, already trying to chew through a piece of furniture.
Her fiancé lacked a certain subtlety. He didn’t seem particularly good at taking Diane’s hints, no matter how many she piled on.
“Would you let our guests know we’ll resume in a few minutes?”
He shrugged and shook his head. “I’m sure your uncle has that all taken care of.”
“Then perhaps you would give me a moment to fix my dress in private, I am quite disheveled from my fall,” she suggested, as some of her undergarments felt out of place from their usual comforts.
Again he shrugged, as if the concerns she raised were unimportant. “Shouldn’t you wait for your aunt to return? I’m sure she’d be able to help you.”
It was these little moments she spent with Martin that made her worry for the life she had ahead of her. During the courtship she hadn’t minded them too much, because often Liam had been nearby and was able to nudge Martin into taking her hint. Diane supposed she had relied too much on his presence. He likely wouldn’t be there for all of her married life.
“I don’t think the priest would take very kindly to having a goat, no matter how adorable, within the building. And we are relying on his patience today,” she added after a moment.
Martin’s brows furrowed. “You don’t like it.”
No, she didn’t.
Maybe if Martin had waited until after the wedding to introduce it to her, she would have liked it. Maybe if its sole purpose in being brought here hadn’t been to mock her, she would have liked it very much.
“No, I do, I simply fear him doing something unmentionable to the carpet,” she said, putting a firm tone of authority in her voice, “Please, take him outside again.”
At last Martin pushed off the wall he leaned against, nodding and leading the pet away from the curtains it was trying to eat.
When he closed the vestibule door behind him, Diane closed her eyes and sighed. She hadn’t thought there was so much she disliked about Martin when she agreed to marry him. Yet her complaints against the perfectly suitable man seemed to be growing by the minute.
The simple fact that she did not love him was growing like weeds in a garden, becoming that she did not even like him.
It had been like burying a part of herself to put on a pinched smile and accept his proposal. She held onto a piece of hope that she would learn to find him handsome, that she would learn to love him.
She didn’t have it in her to hope now.
Diane didn’t know what she would do about it now, but she knew she couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t go through with the wedding.
Not today.
Not after the damn goat.
She couldn’t go through the ceremony glaring at her groom, holding back venom from her vows.
She stood, pacing back and forth the perhaps ten feet the little vestibule allowed her to. Her knees still felt a little unsteady, as she found furniture to grip with a shaky hand. Maybe she could convince the priest to let them try again another day, in a week or two. A fortnight wouldn’t change Martin’s demeanor, but it might be enough time for her to find a way out of this foul mood.
