Margaret asked who you were marrying. The queen admitted that the mon hadn’t been chosen, but it would be soon since there would be no other weddings until after yours. Is it true that none of us can marry until you do?”
Laurel flinched, but nodded her head. She looked away in search of her brother. She found Monty watching her, sadness and guilt in his eyes. She wondered what he’d said and to whom while drinking the night before. It was clear the gossip had spread among the women and the men, so her shame was complete.
“My brother will see to a betrothal, but it will be soon,” Laurel hedged. Emelie and Blythe sensed they would get no more from Laurel, so their meal continued in awkward silence among the friends. It meant Laurel heard the rumors more clearly. Her head pounded by the time the music began and servants cleared away the tables. She watched as Monty approached, but another man stepped in front of her brother at the last moment.
“Good evening, lass.” The man’s breath smelled like onions, and Laurel fought not to curl her nose. “I’m Laird Ogilvy’s cousin. Shall we dance?” The odiferous man didn’t wait for Laurel’s answer, pulling her into the crowd that was forming lines for a country reel. Laurel thanked the heavens it was a dance that would make them switch partners often. When they partnered, the man asked her age, how regular her courses were, whether she was a maiden, and asked to see if she had all her teeth.
“I shalln’t ask you any questions since I can already smell you’re a bilious and gaseous coxcomb. Your mouth is as fusty as your arse. If you wish to examine teeth, bed down with your horse.” Laurel pulled away and spun around to find everyone in earshot listening. Heat suffused her cheeks as she looked around, spying hands pressed against mouths in shock while others did so to keep their voices from carrying. Laurel walked toward a set of doors she knew would force people to step aside. Her humiliation was excruciating, but she wouldn’t slink away. She held her head up until she entered the passageway. She found Monty and Donnan already waiting for her.
“What did he say to you?” Donnan demanded, looking over her head at the closed door.
“Naught of importance,” Laurel dismissed the question.
“Laurel, what did he say?” Monty pressed.
“He asked how old I am, whether I’m soiled, if I bleed regularly, and he asked to see my teeth,” Laurel whispered.
“I’ll kill him,” Monty declared.
“Don’t be ridiculous. He asked naught that most prospective grooms wouldn’t. I’m six-and-twenty and of middling looks. I may have been taken aback, but I don’t have a right to be offended. My future husband will want to ensure there is naught wrong with me since I’m well past my prime. I spoke without thought.”
“Laurel, those were not appropriate questions, and he did not have a right to ask them,” Monty disagreed. “I’ll speak—”
“Nay, you won’t,” Laurel interrupted. “Maybe you won’t consider him, but you have to consider someone. I’ve made enough of a scene. Making a bigger one will only prolong your search. I’m retiring now, and I shall plead my courses in the morn. It will give me an excuse to remain out of sight and reassure potential suitors that I can breed.”
“Laurel?” Donnan spoke up. “I’ll marry you.”
“What?” Laurel and Monty spluttered.
“I’ll marry you. You can come home, and since you already know aboot Monty and me, and since he’s your brother, he would be welcome in our home without question,” Donnan explained. Laurel stood mute as she considered what her friend offered. She could see the merits of his suggestion, but one thing stood in the way.
“What aboot when I never provide you with children? You will live not only with the shame of having the Shrew of Stirling as your wife, but you’ll also live with the pity people will give you for being married to a shew who’s barren.”
“We—we could—” Donnan stuttered. Laurel shook her head and smiled sadly.
“You shouldn’t both have miserable marriages. I would do it if I thought it would make both of your lives easier, but it won’t. People will talk more and pay more attention to you, Donnan. Even if we had a cottage where you and Monty could meet, people would still talk aboot us. I thank you for your offer. I know you do it out of kindness.” And pity.
“Laurel, we’ll sort