Before Eliza could manage to turn the key, the door flew open, and her mother nearly fell as she stumbled in.
“How dare you,” Lady Ramersby hissed, advancing on her, her face contorted with rage. “How dare you embarrass us like that! You will go downstairs right now and apologize to Lord Whitfield. This instant!”
“He killed her, Mother!” Eliza cried. “Can’t you see that? He killed Abigail, and you want to sell me off to him like chattel!”
“Stop being hysterical! The late Lady Whitfield fell. It was anaccident. Accidents are tragic, but they happen.”
“She was terrified of him! She told me?—”
“Enough!” Her mother’s voice cracked like a whip, and Eliza flinched. “You will be a good daughter for once in your life. You will do your duty to this family.”
“My duty? My duty is not to be murdered in my bed by that monster!”
“You speak as though you have choices. Well, let me bring you back to reality: you do not. Not when your father’s affairs stand as they do.”
Eliza stared. “What affairs?”
“A gentleman does not press for repayment without cause.”
A beat. Then her mother’s voice fell to a whisper, “We owe him, Eliza. A significant amount.”
The words hung in the air like smoke. Eliza stared at her mother.
“What?”
Lady Ramersby’s jaw tightened.
“Your father was persuaded into certain… speculative ventures. They did not prosper. Lord Whitfield is owed a very considerable amount.” She paused only a fraction. “He has, however, expressed himself willing to discharge the obligation… upon your marriage to him.”
Eliza felt as though the floor had opened beneath her.
“You’re selling me. To pay Father’s gambling debts.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. This is how the world works, Eliza. Marriage isn’t about romance. It’s about alliances, security, practicality. It’s time you grew up and faced reality.”
“Reality?” Eliza’s voice broke. “The reality is that he killed Abigail, and now you’re handing me over to him! And his two other wives!”
“That is mindless gossip! Everyone knows that accidents and terrible things happen. Poor Lord Whitfield has suffered enough with such losses!”
“You truly don’t care, do you? You don’t care that I’ll end up just like her… you don’t care if I live or die… do you, mother?”
“That’senough.” Lady Ramersby’s voice was cold now, final.
She pulled something from her pocket that caught the light of a nearby candle, the key to Eliza’s room.
“You will stay here until your wedding day. No more arguments. No more hysterics and ridiculous accusations. And when you walk down that aisle in three days, you will smile, and you will behave like the lady you were raised to be.”
“Mother, please…”
The door slammed. The lock turned with a hard click. Eliza stood frozen, staring at the closed door. Then her legs gave out, and she crumpled to the floor, the garish pink gown pooling around her like a puddle of fresh blood.
Later that night, the lock clicked softly. Eliza didn’t look up from where she sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at dust motes as they floated in the stray moonlight that peaked out from behind the curtains.
“Lady Eliza?” Margaret’s voice was gentle. “I have something for you.”
She carried a tray, warm soup, crusty bread, and mint tea. She set it carefully on the bedside table.
“I’m not hungry,” Eliza said, her voice hollow.
