Pricing The Heart

Chapter 11

Eloise didn't realize she was injured until she tried to rise and pain shot so violently up her leg, it paralyzed her for several seconds. Stifling a sob, she clutched her skirt and drew it up to her knees; her eyelids bulging at the sight of her reddened ankle. She knew she had sprained it, and from the blood that dripped from her big toe to the wooden floor as she slipped off her slipper, she knew she had lost a nail.

Fear slowed her heart; fear of David and the rage she had seen in his eyes as he shoved her to the floor. Perhaps if she had stayed away, rather than attempt to help him to his feet after Adam pushed him, perhaps then he would not have turned his wrath on her. Still, Eloise knew she had been undeserving of his wrath, and if he meted it out on her for a good she had tried to do, then she could only imagine what she must suffer upon the commitment of an offense.

David was worse than James—the thought sent a cold shiver down her spine. Not for the first time, Eloise considered the possibility of running away. But the thought was fleeting, for she saw the futility of it. She could not run from David, not only because he was a wealthy gentleman but also because he had strong ties to powerful men; there was nowhere in all of England she could hide from him.

Fighting the urge to give in to her tears, she wore her slipper and tried to rise again, but her attempt proved futile. Knowing she needed support, she swept her gaze across the room. Sighting the bedpost, she crawled on her hands to it. She reached the bed, her fingers barely grazing the wooden bedpost, when a soft sound drifted to her.

It was a few more seconds before she recognized the sound to be someone crying, and knowing she was alone in the room with Adam, she immediately feared she was not the only one hurt. She gripped the bedpost, gritting her teeth against the pain that rippled up her leg as she forced herself to her feet. Indeed, Adam lay on the bed, his shoulders trembling slightly as he wept into his pillow.

With the pain in her leg forgotten, Eloise watched him. His muffled cries tugged on her heartstrings, exhuming a painful memory from her past until the image before her changed and she was no longer staring at Adam, but at her younger self as she wept into a pillow. It was her first evening in her uncle's house, after her parents' death forced her to leave home and move in with him. She had been devastated—broken beyond repair. More than the pain of her parents' death was the pain of her uncle's words to her that evening:

"The viscountcy is worth next to nothing—certainly not the excitable inheritance I had expected. I wouldn't complain so much if it didn't come with the burden of your care; I wish your damn father had taken you with him," he spat, and Eloise could not help but wish for the same thing; to have died along with her parents in that horrible coach accident. "But alas, fate has played a cruel trick on us both, and I'm forced by charity to take you in. I do not need the extra mouth to feed, so from now on, you must earn your keep."

That night, while her uncle, his wife and three daughters slept, she lay in bed crying; mourning the loss of not only her parents, but her life, for she knew then that her life would never be the same—and it never was.

In many ways, Adam reminded her of herself. Like her, he too had been forced to leave his home in London. She knew from the whispering of the servants that the child had never lived in Oakham hall, and could only imagine his devastation in having his home taken from him. As Eloise watched him cry, she saw past his hard, rebellious facade. She saw him for who he really was; a boy. He was a little boy who ached for home—for love.

Gently, quietly, compelled by the compassion she felt in that moment, she settled on the edge of the bed next to him and pulled him into her arms. The part of her that expected him to pull away was surprised when his arms curled around her waist and his head settled on her chest.