“Good evening.” I say, lowering myself into my seat.

I sense Emmanuel's eyes upon me, but do not dare to return his gaze. Mary dashes into the kitchen, her dress flowing behind her. I don't blame her. If I were in her shoes, I would not stay here for another day. 

“Good evening.” Lady Elizabeth smiles warmly at me. Mother was right; Emmanuel has not told his mother about the unfolded events. I look at Mother, who just glares at me before asking Emmanuel if he enjoyed riding Lightning in the morning.

“Oh, yes.” Emmanuel replies fervently, “Lightning is a wondrous stallion. Such speed and stamina. Who did Lightning belong to?”

“Lightning belonged to Eloise' late father and me.” Mother gazes at her now-full plate, seemingly sorrow-struck. On the other hand, I know this is a pretence. When Father passed away, Mother was overjoyed – she had hated him since the day it was revealed he had an illegitimate child. 

That illegitimate child was Peter. Though he's my step-brother, Mother treats him with the same coldness she treats Mary and the butler with. We never did find out who Peter's mother was. 

“Eloise, dear, are you feeling alright?” Lady Elizabeth breaks me from my reverie, “You seem rather pale and you have not touched your food yet.”

I attempt to smile, “I am well, thank you for asking. I was just wondering if the horses had been fed yet.”

“Do you want me to enquire with Peter, Miss Eloise?” Mary asks, her hands clasped in front of her.

“No, Mary, that will be quite alright. Peter is a responsible boy, I am certain he has fed them. I just enjoy worrying about tedious issues.”

Lady Elizabeth lets out a brief, shrill laugh, “Now that it has been cleared up, do taste the lovely food, Eloise dear.”

“Yes, Mrs Colleton.” I take nimble spoonfuls of the soup, swilling it around in my mouth thoughtfully before swallowing and feeling the hot liquid streaming down my oesophagus. 

Once my plate is empty, I glance at Mother, who clasps her hands and straightens her back, pushing her shoulders back and saying, “Why, it is the most beautiful evening. Emmanuel, why do you and Eloise not go for a stroll? It will be most enchanting outside tonight.”

“Of course, if your daughter does not mind, I would love to go for a stroll.”

“No, no, of course she does not mind!” 

I gawk at Mother in disbelief (how could she make such a decision for me?!) before composing myself and rising to my feet, “It is a fine opportunity to enjoy a British summer evening.”

I link my arm through Emmanuel's and we stride to the gardens, moving smoothly and silently. 

“Eloise...” Emmanuel begins.

“Emmanuel.” I interrupt, “I wish to apologise for my... unruly behaviour so far. You do not understand my ways as of yet, you do not comprehend my words as people close to me comprehend them, you clash with my mannerisms in every way possible. Yet, I wish to give you a chance. My mother is disappointed in me, which is nothing but a daily occurrence.”

Emmanuel seems confounded by this.

“Last night was a darker side of me, if you will. I do not hesitate in recklessly protecting people who are close to me, which sometimes means that people misunderstand me and my personality.” I look at my clasped hands, “We are to be engaged next week. I wish to know you in this week, I want to know who you really are. I wish to know the person I will spend my life with.”

“Of course. I will ensure that you get to know me. I now understand your friendship with this Damon. I have spoken with your maid, Mary, and she has told me how close you two truly are. You have to understand, I was a little disconcerted at first.”

“Yes, anyone would be. I do not necessarily follow the rules and regiments society have so carefully stacked for their inhabitants.”  I say, looking down at the ground.

Emmanuel chuckles, “Your character does not cease to amuse me. You are most interesting and I have to admit, I was dreading the fact that my future wife might be a monotonous, robotic woman. I am glad you are different to the rest. It helps you stand out.”

“I should hope so.” I nod, “I am most unlike the scrabble you see at balls.” 

“You certainly are.” Emmanuel gazes down at me, his eyes strangely dark and deep. I shift from foot to foot awkwardly under his stare, biting my lip anxiously. When Emmanuel finally averts his eyes, it takes a lot of effort not to breathe a sigh of intense relief.

“So, Eloise, do you wish to say anything else?”

I pause before replying, “Nothing I can think of.”

“I would wish to ride the horses with you tomorrow morning, if that would be okay.” Emmanuel says softly, a certain lilt tugging at his voice.

“Mother is taking me to some designers for the engagement dress.” I reply, wringing my hands nervously just like Mary likes to do. Emmanuel swallows, nodding politely, “I see. The engagement. How do you feel about it?”

“I don't know what to feel, if I am honest with you. My mother thinks you are suitable for me. My life revolves around the decisions my mother makes for me. Even if I were to disapprove, there would be nothing I could do.”

“Why is it from your tone – not just now, but every time I talk to you – it seems as though you are not happy with our marriage? Are you not happy with the fact that you are finding a good husband whereas girls your age are still on the hunt?”

“Do not misunderstand me, Emmanuel, but it is hard to be happy about something you know so little about. Time will improve our attitudes to one another, but right now, I am unaccustomed to you, to the way your mother talks throughout dinner when I am accustomed to utter silence, to the way you are so open about matters that are close to you, to the way you are prepared to defend your honour so intensely.”

“I don't understand.”

“No. You don't. My lifestyle is very simple, like I have said so many times before. These things that concern society and dignity and respect and family honour are alien to me. I have much to learn about them.” I sigh and clear my throat, “However, it is getting dark. We should head indoors now, Emmanuel.”

“Of course.” Emmanuel holds his arm out and I curl my hand into the crease of his arm, trying to suppress shudders at the way my hand fits there.

The Next Morning

“These are the newest designs for bridal gowns that have come through. Long sleeves which billow out from the elbow, square necklines to enhance the chest, a cinching material at the waist to show her beautiful figure and ruffled skirts to keep the decency yet flaunt an honourable beauty.” Madam Gisela shows us the first drawing she has designed. She is the fifth designer we have visited today and my feet ache terribly from walking around the square this morning. Mother peers at the drawing of the dress, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

I look at the gown. It is coloured a pale pink, with mother of pearl beads circling the waist, and a skirt with layers of ruffles and frills, with springy tassels hanging from it, with a revealing and strictly square neckline and strips of black embroidered lace hemming the lowest layer of ruffle and frill.

The ensemble is pink, girly and it makes me suffocate just looking at it. All of the dresses designed have made me feel suffocated. 

Mother gasps with delight after a few moments of careful inspection, “Gisela! It is divine! I have not seen a dress like this in the last twenty years! I expected so much from you and you really have excelled. But will you be able to create it in less than a week?”

“I have had my seamstresses already start to create the bodice as I know you have so little time. Since I have some of Eloises' dresses already, I used the fittings from those. Once I have the dress ready, I will send a messenger and we can start having final fittings to see how the dress drapes around her body.”

“Of course, Gisela. Thank you so much for creating such an amazing dress. You truly have a gift. Eloise and I shall be leaving now, there is a lot of debate considering catering and the rings and we have much to organise.”

“I shan't be keeping you, then!” Gisela grins, “Once more, Eloise, congratulations and I hope everything goes smoothly.”

“You must come.” Mother interjects.

Once Gisela has agreed demurely, we leave. Once in the carriage however, Mother's mood darkens. “All those dresses we saw, you never commented on one.”

“Mother.” I interrupt, “I didn't comment because I wished to know your opinion before deciding anything. I do not know of fashion and trends, Mother, I leave this to you. You know everything about these things. I am happy just choosing a ring.”

Mother sighs but taken in by the praises I have laden her with all day, resigns herself to muttering about decorations and refreshments and pre-wedding galas.

I stare at the floor of the carriage, sullenly keeping my thoughts to myself. 

For some inexplicable reason, I find myself feeling more and more queasy around Emmanuel every day. As the comfortability with Emmanuel decreases, the intensity of my friendship with Damon increases rapidly. Every day I find myself pining for his company and when I get it, it is scarce and short and not enough to satisfy me.

Emmanuel gazes upon Damon like one gazes upon a dog excreting, which makes my temper flare every time. His disdain for Damon is so irrational and biased – the disdain based on the fact Damon's a servant. Who on this damned Earth hates someone because they're without money?? I cannot describe the feeling that comes over me when he narrows his eyes at Damon. I feel as though I should slap him, or hurt him just to stop him from looking at Damon like that. 

Damon doesn't deserve to be looked like that; no one does. How can one person be so arrogant? 

“Eloise!”

My head snaps up and I look at Mother, hopelessly clueless.

“Get out of the carriage, dear! We're home.”

Mother frowns at me from the stability of the ground. Peter reaches out his hand and I take it, stepping out of the carriage, careful to avoid stepping on my dress. It's midnight blue, with periwinkle sequins splattered all over it. The high collar demands me to arrange my hair in a loose bun at the top of my head and strands of hair escape gleefully, taunting me by jumping in front of my eyes every now and then.

Damon bursts from the front entrance, a plaid shirt tightly stretched across his chest, a large wooden truck burdening his back. He stumbles over the doorstep, his feet entangling with each other.

“Damon!” I shout out and he composes himself, looking up at me. Sweat trickles from his forehead, his cheeks are heated and his lips dry. He smiles sheepishly and adjusts the trunk on his back.

I stride over to him, helping him lower the box to the ground. “What are you doing?” I ask him.

Damon shrugs, “This needed to be moved to the outhouse and I was the only one available.”

“Damon!” I chide him, “You should have asked Peter to help you. You could have fallen, you could have hurt yourself! What do you think you are, a mule?!” I touch his arm, softening, “Come inside. Have something to eat and then you can resume whatever crazy task you're doing. Is your back okay?”

“It's a box I'm carrying, not a horse!” Damon teases, chuckling.

“Oh, please.” I tut at him, leading him to the parlour, “I saw you buckling under the box's weight. Sit here. Did you hurt yourself anywhere?”

“No.” Damon says, clasping my hands and dragging me down to sit opposite him. “I'm okay, perfectly fine, in fact. Why do you worry so much? It was a box, just a box. A little stumble and you worry so much!”

“What would I do if you got hurt?”

“Pay for my hospital fees?” Damon's face lights up adorably.

I tilt my head at him, sighing in defeat, “I probably would do that, actually. I'm glad you're not hurt. What do you want to eat?”

“Nothing!” Damon shakes his head, “I'm not hungry; your family doesn't starve me, you know!”

“I was not suggesting that, I was just wondering if you were hungry. Remember when we were kids, you couldn't stop raiding the kitchen cupboards for pickle. We both used to eat it out of the jar.”

“And then the sour taste used to make our faces wrinkle up but we never stopped having it!” Damon interjects, grinning. “And Mary used to come in and catch us in the act and then chase us around the house with a wooden spoon, threatening to spank us with it!”

“Remember the time we filled that woman's purse with worms?” I ask Damon, giggling into my hands. 

“The way she screamed when a worm wriggled on her hand!” Damon laughs his deep, roaring laugh.

I chortle along with him, enjoying our little reminiscence of all our mischievous childhood moments. We delve deep into the corners of our memories, tugging out the most absurd memories and tearing into them bit by bit, analysing and mirthfully chuckling at them.

An hour has passed when a dark voice states, “Miss Eloise, your mother requests your presence in the dining room. The designer has come to show us his creations for the engagement rings.”

All of the glee on my face instantly drops as I meet Emmanuel's gaze. His eyes are narrowed as he glares at Damon's back and then they lighten as he gazes at me. 

“Are you ready to go, Miss Eloise?”

“Yes, Emmanuel. I shall be on my way. Damon and I were just leaving, actually.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” Emmanuel says before leaving the room, never once turning his back on us as though the minute he turned, Damon would pounce on his back or something.

I shudder, “He really makes me feel as though spiders are scuttling up my spine.”

“Don't say that, Eloise!” Damon chides, “He is to be your husband and you are to respect him and love him and do everything a wife is expected to do.”

“Aren't I a little young for all of that?” I ask Damon with a cocked eyebrow.

Damon shakes his head, “Do you wish to anger your mother?”

“No.” I reply.

“Well, then, come on!” Damon hauls me rapidly to my feet, spinning me around once before proceeding to lead me to the dining room...