Free The Marriage Machine by Patricia Simpson

solution.”
    Elspeth leaned her forehead against the cold bars and fought back tears.
    Ramsay’s coat rustled as he stepped closer. “Perhaps it will be best if the fire in you is doused, El. You could burn for the rest of your days, if life is not what you want it to be—if you aren’t with the right man.”
    “I would rather burn than bow.”
    “Don’t say that.” He glanced sharply at her. “Don’t do anything drastic, Elspeth. Don’t make a martyr of yourself.”
    “Better a martyr than a matron.”
    “You might get part of what you desire in life. But not everything. That’s the way life is.” He squeezed her hands. “Promise me you won’t try to escape. That you won’t do anything rash.”
    “Why?” she asked, puzzled by his cryptic words.
    A door slammed behind him. She could hear the clump, clump of the guard as he walked toward her cell.
    “Listen to me.” Ramsay reached through the bars and cupped her cheek with one of his callused hands. “Don’t fight this, Elspeth. You cannot win like this. Trust me.”
    “Trust you?” she repeated, accustomed to using sarcasm when speaking to him. She began to retort that she trusted no one, least of all him. But the words died on her lips. She did trust Mark Ramsay. Deep in her heart, she trusted him implicitly.
    His eyes locked with hers, and for a long moment, she experienced a communion with him that she had never shared with another human being. The gaze was much deeper than a kiss and far more intimate.
    “Citizen Ramsay,” the guard barked. “Please step aside.”
    “Don’t despair,” Mark urged, his voice raspy. His thumb caressed her cheek as he drew his hand away and stepped back. “Don’t fight it.”
    “Visitation hours are over,” the guard said, pulling out his key. “You’ve had all the time you’re going to get, citizen.”
    “Very well, I’m going,” Ramsay growled. He glanced over the head of the guard. “I shall see you tomorrow, Shutterhouse, at the bower. Try to rest.”
     
    Elspeth tried not to despair. She did her best to keep her fighting spirit alive. Even so, by two in the afternoon on the day of her wedding, she felt as if she were headed for the guillotine. They had allowed her to keep her pocket watch this time, and she had monitored the minutes as they raced past noon. Soon she could no longer put off the inevitable. She had to get ready for the ceremony. They were coming for her at three.
    Although Elspeth didn’t care what she might look like at the bower, she didn’t want to embarrass her aunt and cousin by showing up in her SteamWizards uniform with her hair wrapped in its workaday bun. Her relatives would never hear the end of it.
    The guard had given her a basin of cold water and a cloth with which to wash herself, a coarse towel, and a brush for her hair. Aunt Fi had delivered her gown and slippers, but had been prohibited from visiting her. Her aunt had probably never imagined she would spend the wedding day apart from her niece, and was most likely weeping inconsolably. Elspeth felt like weeping too, but she would never let a single teardrop fall. The Overseers would love to see her cry, and she would never give them the pleasure.
    Elspeth lathered her grease-stained hands, careful not to brush her tender knuckles. As she scrubbed her nails, she thought of the hours she had worked with Mark Ramsay, and the silent camaraderie they had shared. She thought of him standing beside her while his great-grandfather quizzed them and never once betraying her. She had known plenty of men as colleagues, but she had never allowed a male to get close enough to truly get to know her. Only Mark Ramsay had been privy to her thoughts and schemes. It was such a waste to lose that closeness.
    Still, she’d only known him a matter of days. It wasn’t as if a huge portion of her life were going to fall away—even though it felt like it today.
    She decided to stop tormenting herself with thoughts of Mark Ramsay and