Pricing The Heart

Chapter 28

Pressing a hand to her chest, Eloise watched David exit the room. It felt like he'd stabbed her with a knife, and as he walked away, she thought he took her heart with him, leaving her to deal with a gaping, bleeding hole.

She didn't start breathing until the sound of his footsteps faded down the hall. Even then, breathing was a task too painful for her constricted lungs.

"You will pack your bags and leave this place immediately. I never want to see you again."

His words echoed in her ears as clearly as if he was still standing before her. They robbed her of her ability to stand, but she knew she was required to obey them. David did not wish to look upon her anymore, and she had no say in the matter.

Staggering to her feet, she gripped the pianoforte to stabilize herself. Where would she go? She couldn't return to James; she feared if she did, she would find herself in a situation far worse than being in love with a man who didn't return her affection. Nor could she return to her unforgiving uncle. It was late in the evening, and with no money to her name, she risked being robbed if she slept on the streets.

Perhaps she must plead for the duke's benevolence? She shook her head at the thought, knowing whatever help Jon might provide would require her to make payments with her body—a low she was unwilling to stoop. And how could she offer herself to a man whose brother she was in love with? It didn't matter how cruelly David had treated her, her wretched heart was determined to love him.

She released her grip on the pianoforte and stumbled out of the music room to her bedchamber. Her gaze searched the room in haste until she found her carpetbag and extracted it from under the bed. Turning to the armoire, she emptied it of her modest belongings before filling the bag with them. 

Tears blurred her vision as she worked. She mourned a love that would never be returned, but even more so, the child who would be devastated to wake up to the news of her departure. David was beyond cruel in his decision to deprive her of a proper farewell to Adam, and Eloise felt a pinch of bitterness towards him for it.

Wiping her tears with her sleeves, she wrote a brief note to Adam and left it on the dresser to dry, hoping a maid might find it the next morning and hand it to him. Once she was done, she took her carpetbag and began making her way down the stairs slowly. Fear quickened her heart at the possibility of being homeless, but she didn't let it stop her. Silently, she prayed for goodwill tonight; she hoped luck might smile on her and she might find work and accommodation. It was that hope that kept her knees from giving way beneath her as she pushed open the front door. She stepped into the chilly evening in time to find a black carriage parked before the porch.

"Mrs Taylor," the footman raised his hat in greeting, then hurried up the stairs and reached for her carpetbag.

"What are you doing?" She shook her head, confused.

"My lord wants me ter take ya to your new 'ome  tonight."

"My home?" she asked, relinquishing the carpetbag.

"Yeah, e's given me directions ter a gaff abaht an 'our from 'ere. we might wanna leef na or the rain will 'inder our journey." He motioned to the sky.

Eloise glanced up at the gray clouds, her heart returning to David. There was a stubborn part of her that was determined to cling to the idea that he cared for her. Surely he felt something, for even in his rage—despite his decision to banish her from his home—he was thinking of her safety. He cared enough to ensure she wasn't left homeless; that counted for something, did it not?

"Mrs Taylor, are ya ready ter go?" She turned to the footman, who had now left her side and was standing impatiently by the open carriage.

She shook her head; she couldn't leave until she was certain David didn't return her love. He might have said he didn't, but his actions said otherwise, and she thought actions were louder than words. Perhaps he was simply too grieved by his wife's death to acknowledge his love for her. She must stay behind and help heal his heart; perhaps then there might be room for her.