A Marriage Most Inconvenient (Inconvenient Matches Book #1)

Chapter 38: Ben

The shirt he had on was a touch scratchy, and too stiff as if it had been left in starch for too long. His breeches were in an off-putting dark brown and a bit longer than his legs, which required them to be folded at the ankles. The 'white' of his shirt was almost yellowish, he was sans waistcoat, and instead of a cravat he had on a simple neckcloth. He felt almost naked.

He had neglected to shave today under the express instructions of his wife, and felt the scratch of his five-clock shadow every time he touched his face. His hair was left untended, his curls prominent because he had not brushed them back as he normally did and he had on the least impressive shoes he could find in his valise. In short, he looked absolutely nothing like himself.

Disguise, indeed.

'Oh, Ben! There is so much to do!' His wife exclaimed in excitement, her eyes wide as saucers as the lights of the fair were finally upon them. There were tents, stalls, and entertainers as far as the eye could see, and a sea of people floating between the attractions, all illuminated by lamps and lanterns in all sorts of shades. Men, women, and children running and laughing. Families and courting couples walked hand in hand, passing them. 'Ben! Oh, Ben! They have a hot air balloon! We must try and get a turn, though the line looks very long. A dance hall! And a fortune teller!'

'We will,' he assured her. He had already sent someone during the day to arrange a private ride for the two of them. It was going to be a surprise that he felt very confident she would like. 'But let's try something else first?'

'Oh yes!' She beamed at him. 'Shall we have a go at the games? And then perhaps the prizefighting exhibition! There's a reward if anyone from the audience can best the pugilist! You box, don't you?'

'Ah, I finally see now, madam!' He grinned at her, it felt as though the revelry and lightness of the fair were contagious. 'You mean to get me murdered.'

'Oh dear,' she lamented as she tugged him along, trying to find a game that was to her liking. 'Am I truly so transparent?'

They stopped in front of a stall where people were tossing rings onto increasingly distant stalks of wood for a prize and awaited their turn.

'Top o' the evenin' to ya! Wot's the fare, guv'nah?' His wife asked the operator, who looked at Ben with a horror-stricken expression that likely matched his own. Whatever that accent was, it could not even be considered a parody of a British one. The man mumbled a sum and accepted the coins readily enough, handing them both a set of rings each.

'Roight! I challenge ye to a competition, 'usband!' She announced, tossing the first ring towards the target, watching it catch the first stalk and slink down its length.

'The accent is part of the disguise?' His lips twitched with the urge to smile. 'You do realize you could not possibly find a single person in all of Britain who speaks like that?'

Her lips formed a moue of displeasure, a crinkle forming between her eyebrows. 'I thought I was doing a rather marvelous job.'

He rolled his eyes and tossed his ring with a flick of his hand, it found its target readily enough. As the competition progressed, they remained at an even keel, but the closer they got to the end, the angrier his wife got. And when finally she lost, she sulked for a good two minutes until they reached the next game; archery. Not a gracious loser, his wife, he observed as she blamed her loss at that game on a faulty bow.

'Indeed!' He agreed graciously. 'Subpar equipment, what a shame.'

Winding through a fortune teller, a juggler, and a snake charmer, they found themselves inside the tent where the prizefighting match was to take place. He managed to find them a place not too far back, tucking her into his side, a proprietary arm around her waist as if daring anyone to sit too close. After a short while, a gigantic brute of a man walked into the ring in the center of the tent.