Page 2 of The Duke's Forbidden Bride
More mockery, for he knew she would not do such a thing.
Eleanor only kept staring back at him, the man who had ruined her life. She had been ruined, but not in the ways he had declared to theton.She recalled that day as clearly as if it had happened only the day before.
“How defiant you remain.” He laughed, looming over her. “Stand up, Eleanor.”
So used to following orders, she did.
Lord Belgrave looked smug at her obedience, but she kept her head high. She may have done his bidding, but she was not broken—he would not break her.This place could—had—but not Lord Belgrave, even if he was the very reason she was there.
“I want you on your feet for this news, my darling,” he told her, his voice so sickly charming. It was the same voice he had once used with her parents when he had asked to court her, to propose to her.
His fingers reached out to grasp her chin, but she jerked her head away, her jaw tight.
“I do hope three years has not taken away your memory of your dear friend, Lady Charlotte Vanserton.”
The name immediately dredged up memories. Her friend, three years younger than her, had not long debuted before Eleanor was sent away.
She nodded silently.
“Her suitor has announced his plans to propose to her,” Lord Belgrave continued. “She is to marry the Earl of Follet. She will become his Countess, and she will remain none the wiser of mine and her husband’s little business venture. And you, Eleanor, the only one who tried to take that business from us… oh, you will rot here. You will die in this dank, dark cell, and even if you find mercy within these halls and break free, nobody will believe you. Nobody believed you then, and nobody will believe you now. Not ever. I would extend an invitation to you for the wedding, but…”
He pointedly looked around her cell.
“I do not believe God forgives whores,” he sneered, and then he was gone, the door clicking shut in a way that left her shaking.
His booted steps grew fainter and fainter, and she collapsed, heaving for breath when she could no longer hear them.
Charlotte.
No—no, she could not marry Lord Follet. Not Lord Belgrave’s associate, whom Eleanor had tried to scream about—whose true nature she had tried to uncover.
And Charlotte… Would she remain safe even if she were oblivious? Would she also find out what her fiancé was truly like?
Would she end up right where Eleanor was, broken and desolate? So far from her former self that she did not even recognize her reflection in the copper goblets she cleaned for Mother Caroline?
A pained, scared noise tore from Eleanor’s throat as she tried to get her breathing under control, lest she be discovered by one of the sisters.
Charlotte had to be fine.
She has to. She has?—
Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut as she gripped her threadbare bedsheets. Charlotte could not be subjected to the same fate.
“I do not believe God forgives whores.”
By the time she finally composed herself, fury had overtaken her panic, pushing her to sit on the lumpy mattress just as more footsteps approached her door.
She recognized this set of footsteps.
Sister Susan.
The door slammed open, and she had to quash the fear rising inside her.
“Girl,” Sister Susan sneered, extending her clawed hand in a silent threat. “Sister Martha has summoned you to the prayer hall. Go.Immediately.”
Eleanor jumped to her feet, hurrying as fast as she could without running, leaving Sister Susan far behind. But she only traded one cruel sister for another as she entered the lofty, cold prayer hall, where Sister Martha stood at the center of the aisle.
For a place that was supposedly blessed by God, it was the coldest place Eleanor had ever known. There was no warmth, no blessings to be found.
