She knew how her sisters–how everyone–viewed her.
Eloise, the troublemaker.
Eloise, the instigator.
Eloise, the rebel.
And maybe she was those things.
But that didn’t mean she always wanted tobethose things.
It hadn’t been easy, being born the youngest, with four siblings already ahead of her.
They’d taken up space. They’d taken up spots.
Spots that might have gone to her if she’d been born earlier.
Oh, not onpurpose. No one in her family was ever selfish on purpose. But they’d taken them just the same.
James, the golden heir.
Lenora, the darling debutante.
Bridget, the shy wallflower.
Annabel, the beautiful flirt.
What was left? What rolewasn’ttaken?
The baby. The brat. The mischievous troublemaker.
All roles that were adorable when she was little. Encouraged, even! How else was the family to know how wonderfully behaved Lenora was if Eloise wasn’t there tomisbehave? If James received the most attention, thensomeonehad to receive the least. On the days she was particularly wild, everyone who had bemoaned Bridget’s shyness suddenly found themselves grateful for it. And when Annabel woke on the wrong side of the bed and her artfully tousled hair was a mess, why, at least it was never as messy as Eloise’s.
She took the spot that was left to her. The spot that no one else had chosen to fill. The spot that no one else in her family had wanted. Just asshehadn’t been wanted; not by the doctor or her father or her siblings. And oh, oh, they hadn’t said as much in so many words. In fact, they’d gone to great pains to say the exact opposite. Over, and over, and over again. As if by saying it enough times, they’d finally start to believe it for themselves.
“You’re a blessing, Eloise.”
“We’re so fortunate to have you, Eloise.”
“We couldn’t imagine our lives with you, Eloise.”
But everyone knew.
Every time they looked at her, everyone remembered.
She was the reason their mother was dead.
Shewas the one who had torn their family apart.
By her sheer existence, she had doomed the Earl and Countess of Clarenmore. Their mother, who shouldn’t have had another child after Annabel. And their father, who had perished from a broken heart. They’d died so that she could live, and for what purpose? She was nothing but a disappointment.
To theton.
To her sisters.
To herself.
For the past four days, she’d made a concentrated effort to be the kind of lady, the kind ofdaughter, that her parents could be proud of. Aside from a few slip-ups here and there (like sneaking a frog into Lady Renalta’s room), she had been composed. Demure. Polite. Quiet.
