Page 47 of A Duke to Save Her

Lord Crawford pulled Eloise by the arm, and she reluctantly stepped forward. The King was slumped in his chair, hardly paying attention, whilst the Queen was whispering to one of the princesses. But at the sight of Eloise in her black dress, all of them looked up in surprise.

“What are you wearing that for?” the Queen asked, and Eloise looked up at her, even as Lord Crawford’s grip on her arm tightened.

“Please, Your Majesty…” she began, but Lord Crawford interrupted her.

“An affliction of the mind, Your Majesty. My wife-to-be is a delicate creature, I’m sure you understand,” he said smoothly, and the Queen nodded.

She glanced at the King, whom everyone knew exhibited strange tendencies from time to time, and sighed.

“Alas, yes, Lord Crawford. You do your betrothed a great service by taking care of her. May God bless you both,” she said, and Lord Crawford bowed low.

“Your gracious words are a balm to our troubles, Your Majesty.” He pulled forcefully at Eloise’s arm.

There was nothing more she could say. The Master of Ceremonies was calling out the names of the next couple, and they stepped forward. Lord Crawford had snatched away Eloise’s chance, and she was left humiliated once again. The whole ton would think she was mad, and that was precisely what Lord Crawford had wanted. They would be sympathetic to him and view Eloise through the lens of pity. She would be talked of in whispered terms, called delicate, and treated with sympathy. Her behavior would be put down to eccentricity and affliction of the mind. Lord Crawford had her precisely where he wanted her.

“How could you say that?” she exclaimed, as they returned to the ante-room where refreshments were laid out on a large table.

“Did you think I was going to let you get away with behaving in such a ridiculous manner, Eloise? Besides, you are mad. Anyone who dresses in a mourning dress to be presented at the Royal Dance is mad. Can’t you see that? Or perhaps you can’t, perhaps you don’t realize it. You are mad, Eloise.” He smiled at her sympathetically.

Eloise shook her head. She would not allow him to do this. She was not mad. She would not believe it, even as several women now approached them.

“Lord Crawford, we just wanted to say what a noble act you’ve performed in caring for dear Miss Snowden as you do. We didn’t realize the extent of her suffering. But to see you tell the queen of your care for her, well, it brought tears to my eyes,” one of the women said, and the others nodded, glancing sympathetically at Eloise, who began to protest.

“I’m not mad. I’m not… I tell you, I am not,” she said in protest, but her words were met only with sympathetic shakings of the head.

“Poor dear, you hear of such people, but one never encounters them. You’ll be taken good care of by Lord Crawford.”

The women went off whispering in sad lament.

“How could you?” Eloise spluttered, but Lord Crawford gave her an evil smile.

“An excellent ruse, don’t you think?” he replied, as his two sisters came hurrying over.

“She’s the talk of the room, the mad daughter of the Viscount. It’s perfect, George,” Penelope exclaimed, and Claudia nodded.

“Yes, I rather thought so. If she wants to be mad then let her be mad. The whole ton thinks it. They’ll see her behavior as nothing more than eccentricity,” he said, smirking at Eloise, who shook her head as tears welled up in her eyes.

He had used her own ploy against her. She had wanted to make a stand and show her resistance to Lord Crawford’s intentions. But instead, he had made her out to be a madwoman, one he had saved from the certainty of an institution. Madness was fashionable. Everyone knew the King suffered bouts of delusion, and the periodicals were filled with speculation as to his symptoms. Madness was a cover for anything, and Lord Crawford had now further secured his control over Eloise with a few mere words to the Queen.

“But I’m not mad, I’m not,” she cried.

“There, there, Eloise. Don’t worry, you’ve got us now. We’ll look after you.” Penelope adopted an air of sympathy that turned Eloise’s stomach.

This was all an act, and they, too, had joined their brother in his wicked deception. At that moment, her father came hurrying up to them. He looked confused, and Eloise stared at him imploringly.

“He says I’m mad, Father,” she complained, certain her father would do something to help her.

But instead, he sighed and shook his head.

“It’s the talk of the room, Eloise. With your appearing in mourning dress with a powdered face and parading yourself before His Majesty in such a way… I can’t doubt it. You’ve spent so long in your futile search for your sister that I think it’s driven you quite mad.”

Eloise could hardly believe what she was hearing. Her own father believed Lord Crawford’s story. He actually believed she was mad. Eloise shook her head, backing away from them, even as Lord Crawford seized her by the arm.

“Now, Eloise, you mustn’t get excited. It’ll be time for the dance soon. I’m sure you’d like to dance, wouldn’t you? And everyone’s going to want to see you,” he said.

Tears rolled down Eloise’s cheeks. She was powerless to resist, and now the Master of Ceremonies called out for the first dance and invited Their Majesties to take to the floor.

“Poor Eloise, she doesn’t know where she is or what’s happening,” Claudia mocked, taking Eloise by the arm.

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