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“Yes, it’s not Eloise to think of such things. A madwoman can’t be trusted, can she?” Claudia knew her words would garner a reaction.
“I’m not mad,” Eloise gritted out, and Penelope and Claudia both laughed.
“But that’s the first sign, Eloise. That’s what they all say. Go to Bedlam, and that’s what you’ll find. We knew someone interred there, didn’t we, Claudia? Lord Atholl, do you remember him? We visited him once, and to speak to those incarcerated there would be to find nothing the matter with them. They’d tell you they weren’t mad, and the next moment they’d be climbing the walls or calling out a greeting to the Pope.” Penelope laughed, shaking her head.
“Or wearing a black dress to greet His Majesty in,” Claudia added.
“Oh, but the King’s only there for show. It’s the Regent who wields the power. Did you see the vacant look in the King’s eyes? He was gone, no longer lucid. The poor Queen had to guide his every step. Utterly mad. But I’m sure he’d never admit it, either.” Penelope cackled.
Tears welled up in Eloise’s eyes, even as she tried to fight them back. She kept telling herself she was not mad, even as Penelope and Claudia continued to reinforce their brother’s words. Lord Crawford told her repeatedly she was an invalid and needed to be taken care of. He had arranged everything around his lie. The servants, too, knew not to trust anything Eloise said. She was a prisoner in her own home, and Lord Crawford, Penelope and Claudia kept a constant vigil at her side to ensure she was never to have an opportunity to escape.
“It’s set then, Saint Martin’s in the Fields, followed by a banquet at the Guildhall,” Lord Crawford decided, and his two sisters nodded.
“And only two weeks to wait,” Penelope said, rubbing her hands together gleefully.
Eloise could not understand why the two sisters should delight in their brother’s wickedness. It was as though they wanted to see Eloise suffer this indignation. They were all three as bad as one another. The apple did not fall far from the tree. It seemed to Eloise as though each wanted only the power that this horrible situation gave them.
“Yes, in two weeks, you’ll be my wife, Eloise.” Lord Crawford took Eloise’s hand and raised it to his lips.
She tried to pull away, but his grip was strong, and he pulled her towards him and into his embrace as they sat side by side on the chaise lounge.
“Ungrateful woman,” Penelope snarled.
“But quite mad,” Claudia jeered, laughing as Lord Crawford pressed his lips to Eloise’s cheek.
“Don’t worry, my dear, I’ll take good care of you,” he said, as Eloise pulled away from him.
“I don’t need taking care of. I don’t need any of this,” she exclaimed.
“Sit down and be quiet,” Claudia ordered, as Eloise sprang to her feet.
She looked desperately towards the window, and then to the door, which Lord Crawford had locked behind them. She was a caged animal with no hope of escape.
“It’s no use, Eloise. Where would you go? Anyone would just say you were mad,” Lord Crawford said, and taking Eloise’s hand, he pulled her roughly down next to him and put his arm around her.
“Now, I thought about a carriage to take you to the church, and we’ll have the horse’s manes decorated with red ribbons,” Penelope jabbered, returning to the subject of marriage as though all of this was the most natural thing in the world.
* * *
Eloise’s only respite from Lord Crawford was during dinner with her father. Her betrothed often ate at his club, and Penelope and Claudia would return to their lodgings after they had taken tea in the afternoon, reminding Eloise they would return first thing the following morning. But despite this respite, Eloise’s father continued to insist the marriage was going ahead, and Eloise’s pleas to the contrary fell on deaf ears.
“I don’t want to hear any more words against your betrothed, Eloise. It’s nonsense,” he said in exasperation, as they sat for dinner that evening.
“But you can’t possibly believe I’m mad, Father. Tell me you don’t,” Eloise retorted, laying down her knife and fork and fixing her father with an angry expression.
He thought for a moment and sighed.
“I don’t know what to think, Eloise. Why did you wear that black dress to the Royal Dance? Isn’t that a form of madness?”
Eloise shook her head. She had been entirely within her faculties when she decided to wear a mourning gown to the dance. She had done it to make a point, though now she bitterly regretted doing so. It was meant as a protest, but Lord Crawford had turned it against her.
“I wanted to make a stand, Father. Can’t you see how unhappy I am?” Eloise exclaimed.
It pained her to think her own father could not see how much she was suffering. Did he not realize he had the power to prevent this wickedness from occurring?
“I can see how foolish you are, Eloise. You’re to marry one of the most powerful men in England. It’s an honour, isn’t it?” he pointed out, but Eloise shook her head.
“An honor? No, it’s not an honour, Father. I want to marry Jackson. I want to marry the Duke of Kenwood. That’s whom I want to marry. It’s hardly an honour to live your life in misery,” she countered, shaking her head sadly.
