Sorry to say this, but we are very near the end. We have one more chapter left and then the epilogue.

Chapter Thirty

Damon sighs and I look at him over my wicker basket. "What is it?"

Damon's shoulders are slumped and he wears an expression of self-pity. He says, "I'm tired. Can we go home now? My legs are aching, Ellie, I don't know how you do this all day long."

We are standing in a marketplace, surrounded by various stalls selling anything you could dream of. Stall owners scream out their wares, luring customers in. People barge to and fro, determined to get the best deal for their items, pickpockets linger here and there but Damon steers me clear of them, having the knack to recognise them due to his days in the slums. The air is filled with smells of incense, cooking, raw meat, rotting food and animal waste that all coalesces together to form an eye-watering stench. The cobbles are uneven beneath my feet and even after a month of coming here nearly every week, I still stumble on them sometimes, needing Damon's support so I do not fall to my feet in a heap of embarrassment.

"Practice." I reply simply. "Luckily for you, I think we've got everything we need. Mary said she'll pick up some meat from the hunters when she goes shopping, so that means you can have some chicken for tea tonight."

Damon's face instantly lights up and he takes my hand, dragging me along with him. "Well, let's get home quickly then! Maybe Mary's already home..."

"No, Damon, I doubt it. She was still home after we left." I say, twisting out of the way as a soot-covered child runs past.

Damon pouts childishly. Ever since our marriage, he has become more and more content with life and much more youthful and free. It's a side of him that I have never seen before and a side that I discover more of each and every day. At times, he can be so childlike that I feel like his mother, instead of his wife. Then, in the evenings, when we sit in front of the warm fire in each others' arms, reminiscing about 'old times', I know that my Damon hasn't changed at all. He's just learned how to love life.

An intoxicated man stumbles past, his body staggering to one side and he nearly falls, but he grabs onto my arm. Damon immediately stiffens and pulls me to him, watching as the poor man falls to the ground. He looks up dazedly, his accusing eyes fixing first on Damon and then on me.

When he looks at me, he stands up unsteadily and his eyes go from hazy to clear. "You're the girl. The one on the poster."

I gasp and Damon puts an arm around my shoulder, his hand shaking. "We have no idea what you are harping on about - go home, you are extremely intoxicated."

"I know a Duchess' daughter when I see one!" He says and then points a yellowed fingernail at Damon. "And you! You're the footman who abducted her! The vermin, the scum!"

The man spits at Damon, but in his intoxicated state, he just manages to dribble down his chin.

"Hey! You had better not talk to my husband in that way again, old man." I say, clenching my fists.

"Husband?!" The man cries. "He abducted you! He has manipulated you, brainwashed you! You come with me and I will take you to your mother."

"Eloise, we're leaving. I think this man is crazy."

I turn back to look at Damon. He is deathly pale and fear flickers in his eyes. I walk over to him and he puts an arm around me, leading me away from the now screeching man, who promises to free me and to get me home to my mother.

Damon does not say anything the whole way home. As we walk into the main room, Mary stalks in from the kitchen, her cheeks rosy and full, presumably from cooking in the kitchen.

"You're ho - What happened?" She looks at the two of us, alarmed. When she does not receive a reply, Mary asks again. "Eloise, Damon. What happened?"

"There was a man." I say, breathing heavily. "A drunk man. He recognised me from the posters."

Mary stares at Damon. "Damon! Oh, you worry too much! The man was intoxicated, he will hardly remember anything when he wakes up. He will too busy nursing a sore head to remember a young couple who he may have recognised from somewhere. Do not look so mortified, it is okay."

"I will send a messenger out tonight, Mary." Damon says, his voice dangerously low. "I will inform Duchess Adeline of what has occurred today, so she can intercept any information that might be sent to the Colleton family."

"Damon." I touch his cold cheek. "Mary's right. He was an old, intoxicated man. It is likely that he can't even recall his own name in that state, leave alone that he ever saw me."

"Eloise, I am not going to lose you again. I've lost you one too many times." Damon says, a fire roaring in his eyes. "If I am being paranoid and fearful right now, then so be it. If it comes to nothing, then so be it. But if I ignore this and tomorrow, Emmanuel shows up at the door, then I will never forgive myself. So, let me send a messenger out. If it comes to the worst, then we will leave and find somewhere to live but I am not prepared to be lenient when it comes to you. Do you understand?"

I glance at Mary worriedly, who shakes her head in return, telling me to let him do whatever he wants.

"Okay." I sigh. "You can send a messenger out tonight, but I can smell Mary's chicken pie and white broath, lets go and eat."

Damon chuckles and lets me drag him to the dining room, where I fall upon the food like a scavenger.

That night, as I am sitting at the dressing table and brushing out knots from my hair, Damon appears in the mirror, standing behind me.

"Can I do it?" He asks.

"Do what?"

"Can I comb your hair?" He elaborates. "I've always wanted to comb your hair, I was always too shy to ask. But now I'm your husband; I needn't be shy any more."

I smile at him through the mirror, holding the comb over my shoulder. Damon takes the comb from me, his slender fingers pulling all my hair back, using the comb to gently separate the strands of hair that have clumped together during the course of the day.

"I have sent a messenger to your mother's house." Damon states. "I will not let you come to any harm, Eloise, this I promise you."

"I know, Damon." I say softly. "I trust you."

Damon nods absentmindedly, abandoning the comb and using his fingers to sift through my long hair. "I know, I'm just not sure if I can trust myself."

Not knowing how to reply, I fall silent, watching Damon's fingers work through my hair in the mirror. Once he is satisfied with the state of my hair, Damon pulls it all together and then smiles at me through the mirror.

I stand up and turn to him, sighing with affection. "You know, Damon, even if something were to happen tomorrow, it would not worry me. Do you know why? Because I know you and I know you will not let me go. You'll fight for me and I trust you. I believe in you, even if you don't believe in yourself."

Damon is silent for a few moments and then says, "Is it necessary for you to make me love you so much?"

I grin with happiness, as I do whenever Damon confesses his love to me. "Well, you are not the only one who is falling more and more in love."

Damon chuckles and pulls me closer to himself, resting his cheek against mine, his breath hot against my neck. "I just hope this never ends. I want things to stay this way forever, Eloise. I want us to grow old together, I want us to have children and grandchildren and I want that we never fall out of love."

"I would say that falling out of love is near impossible for us now, Damon. I don't think you need to worry about that." I look up into Damon's beautiful eyes, pulling back a little to study his sculpted face.

Damon runs a hand through my hair, chuckling when my knees almost give in at his touch. "Hhmmm. I think you're right. I do not think we'll have problems with falling out of love."

He kisses me, his lips soft and yielding against mine and then he lifts me up, thuggishly throwing me over his shoulder and then dropping me roughly onto the bed. I giggle with dizziness and then focus on Damon clambering in bed. He props himself up on one elbow and pulls me close to his body, tucking the luxuriously smooth duvet around me.

"Come on, beautiful." He says, kissing me briefly. "Time to get some sleep."

And he sits there, stroking my hair, occasionally kissing my cheek until I fall asleep...

"Well, look at these cabbages!" I exclaim, frowning at the stall owner. "Half of them are rotting and you expect me to pay five shillings for them?! Do I look like I am mindless? I can get a better bargain than this with better cabbages from across the street."

"Ma'am, ma'am, please! There is no need for that." The balding stall owner insists, beaming and showing a set of yellowed teeth."I have better stock, that the local farmer just dug up today. The cabbage is in wonderful condition and I will give you a two shilling discount."

He produces two large, moss-green cabbages. I inspect them for any damage or insects and then hand over three shillings from my pouch. "Thank you for your service." I say and open my wicker basket, dropping the two cabbages into it.

Damon's plaid shirt stares at me from the basket and I tut, sighing.

I needed to take this shirt to the seamstress.

I turn and head back towards the seamstress' stalls. There are around five seamstress stalls in the marketplace but the best, by far, is the one owned by a motherly woman called Lucinda. She is a kindly woman of dark eyes and matching hair, with contrasting pale skin.

As I head there, a hand abruptly grabs me by my arm, another hand over my eyes, pulling me into a dark, narrow alley.

I am not surprised - Damon often pulls this stunt when I am shopping alone, so that I get scared and he can hold and comfort me.

I smirk, "It is of no use. You've pulled this trick one too many times, my dear husband. I am not scared."

"What are you talking about?" A gruff, unfamiliar voice asks impatiently.

At that, I feel as though my gut has been punched, my blood runs cold and my breathing becomes louder and louder. Blood rushes to my ears and black dots appear on the inside of my closed eyelids. I tremble, fear gluing me to the spot, my hands clenched in fists at my side. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out from within. My panic has frozen my voice.

All the while, there is one hand over my eyes and one at my elbow, pinning me in the alley.

I try again, only capable of a whisper. "Who are you?"

"Sweetheart, you don't recognise me?!" The voice asks, mock hurt dominating his tone. "That hurts me! Just listen to my voice, you know who I am."

All the puzzle pieces suddenly fit together and a cry rips itself from my throat. I scramble backwards, trying to get away from him. When my back hits the wall, I try to run to the side, in an attempt to get out of the alley, but I forget about the hand that restrains me. It pulls me back effortlessly, into a solid chest.

I recoil in disgust, my heart hammering in my own chest, wishing that I had stayed at home today.

The hand covering my eyes pull away and as my eyes focus, I see...

My eyes widen and my knees turn to jelly, threatening to collapse under me. My whole body is trembling with terror, my tear ducts rapidly swelling with salty water.

"No. No. This can't be happening." I say, shaking my head in denial.

"Oh, but it is happening, my dear Eloise." Emmanuel chuckles, running a finger down my cheek, making the skin there tingle with goosebumps.

"Don't touch me!" I slap his hand away but Emmanuel grabs both of my wrists, pushing me up against the wall, pinning me down.

"What did you think?!" Emmanuel sneers. "That you would escape from your mother's house and I would never find you?! That I would let you go just like that?! I don't think so, Eloise!"

"Emmanuel, go away! There is nothing left for you here, nothing!" I say courageously, ignoring my quivering hands determined to give me away. "Not even me!"

"What are you talking about, Eloise?!" Emmanuel snaps.

I hold my head high and meet his eyes. "I am married. To Damon."

Emmanuel growls and the hands that were restraining my arms are now shaking me by my shoulders. "What did you just say?! Married?! To that SERVANT BOY?!"

I push Emmanuel away from me. "Stop touching me! And he is not a servant boy, he is the son-in-law of a Duchess, so watch your mouth!"

Emmanuel pulls me to him, glaring down at me. "He is not the son-in-law of a Duchess, I am! Your mother would never accept him! Her footman as a son-in-law?! She would rather die and you know it!"

I attempt to wrench myself from his grasp, but Emmanuel is strong. He does not let me go and fear courses through my veins. Damon must be worried. I have been out since morning and I promised him I would be back for lunch. It must be well into lunch right now. What if Emmanuel has men surrounding the house? What if he knows Mary is here? What if Mary and Damon both are being tortured as I stand here, being held captive by the man who I detest?

"Well, Eloise, let me be frank." Emmanuel gazes down at me. "It does not really affect me whether you have a husband or a lover or not. I have not come here to abduct you."

I cease my attempts to free myself from his hold and look up at him, confusion clouding the fear wreaking havoc in my body. "What are you talking about, Emmanuel?"

"If I let go of your arms and promise not to hurt you and take you anywhere, will you promise to stand here and listen to what I have to say?" He asks, his face devoid of emotions and deceitfulness.

Hesitating, I reluctantly decide to give Emmanuel the benefit of the doubt. "Okay. If you promise, then I promise too."

"I promise." Emmanuel says steadily.

I regard him silently for a moment, my heartbeat galloping like the hooves of my beautiful late Chastity, every bone in my body screaming at me to stike him with my fist and then run, run back to Damon. But my rational mind takes control. If I run, what would Emmanuel do? If he knows I come to this marketplace, then he must know where I live. It wouldn't be long until he'd invaded my home and taken Mary, Damon and I hostage. He would certainly not spare our lives, then.

With a trembling voice, I repeat, "I promise."

Emmanuel smirks, his eyes glinting with glee. "Good. Now, we can get down to business. You see, Eloise, I am growing tired of your antics. I do not have the energy to chase you and your lover around any more. So, I have decided I do not want you any more."

"Good." I say spitefully.

Emmanuel just rolls his eyes, a weapon I often used to use on him. "I still hate Damon, though. And like I said, I always win."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I say, dread attacking my every nerve, telling me to flee, to run before something horrible happens. My knees knock together, thankfully concealed by the folds of my dress. My mouth goes dry as I await his reply.

"Well, Eloise, I have a proposition for you." Emmanuel smirks again.