A Midsummer Bride by Amanda Forester

library would be helpful. It would be empty at this time of day since most people would be dressing.
    She whisked into the library, shutting the door behind her. The room was mostly dark, lit only by a single candle, and thankfully no one appeared to be inside. She leaned her head back against the door, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath. She loved the smell of books.
    “Good evening.”
    Harriet jumped with a small shriek and put one hand on her heart and the other on the doorknob. She could make a quick escape if she had to. “Who’s there?”
    “Sorry if I gave ye a fright.” Lord Thornton stepped out of the shadows toward the light of a single candle. “I stepped into the library to collect some papers from my desk.” He held up a stack of letters.
    Harriet sighed in relief. “I am sorry to invade your privacy. I had no idea there was anyone here.”
    “Are ye lost?”
    “No, I simply needed to escape for a moment.”
    Thornton frowned. “Is someone bothering ye, Miss Redgrave?”
    “Yes! Lots of someones.” Harriet walked further into the room and sank onto a leather couch.
    “Can I be of assistance? I am most willing to be at yer service, as I offered earlier.” Thornton sat beside her but at a respectable distance. “Who has disturbed ye?”
    “Men!”
    Thornton leaned back, his eyebrows raised. “All of us?”
    “Well, not all at once perhaps, but men in general have been a pox to me.”
    “I deeply regret being a pox to anyone. Please tell me what injury ye have to report so I may appropriately apologize for the misdeeds of my brethren.”
    Harriet smiled. The Scotsman before her was apparently made of sterner stuff than most Londoners she had met, given that he received her unusual proclamation without censure. “First of all, my grandfather has hired a matchmaker to tie me down and hitch me up to some gentleman with a title.”
    “Anyone in particular?”
    “No, just a man with a title. Doesn’t matter if he is eighty years old or lives on a diet of whiskey and beer. If he has a title, I’m up for bids.”
    The corner of Lord Thornton’s mouth twitched up. “If I meet any elderly drunken lechers with a title, I shall let ye know.”
    “Much appreciated.” She kept her tone flat but could not keep from smiling.
    “But of what else have ye to accuse the entire population of men?”
    Harriet paused. The room was dark and Thornton was more understanding than most. She had felt quite alone after Nellie left. She missed having a person with whom to share her secrets. Thornton was listening. And here in the dark, she was tempted to tell him everything.
    “Do you know how difficult it is to be dreadfully rich?” The words were from her lips before she realized just how much she sounded like a spoiled petulant child.
    “Nay, I have not had that curse.”
    “I am sorry, I must sound horrid. The trouble comes from people wanting to make that money their own. If I wed, my husband will instantly become a rich man, and I will lose any scrap of independence. He gets the gold, and I get a tyrant. For every decision in life, I would have to look to him.”
    “So ye have no interest in marrying.”
    “None whatsoever. I cannot see how it does a woman any good.”
    Thornton thought a moment. “Children?”
    “I suppose that is the only thing a woman cannot do without some assistance from a man. Though I find it quite inequitable that women are required to do the lion’s share of the work.”
    “Verra true, I fear.”
    “Yes, yes, it is. And these men, they are worse than vultures. At least a vulture waits for its prey to die first. These men are actively trying to hasten my demise.”
    “I am not sure I follow.”
    “Men will stop at nothing to gain my hand or, more importantly, my money in marriage. I have been hounded by men who lack any sort of moral compass who have tried to compromise me into forcing a wedding.”
    “Ah, the old ‘compromise the heiress so she’ll be forced to