The Possessive Lord's Contract Wife

In the morning, Agatha departed from the home with Iris, leaving Eloise in the care of Clive.

Eloise was forced to sit in the drawing room as the men Clive arranged for her to speak with came in one by one.

As the hours ticked away, Eloise grew more and more irritated with the men before her. Each one spoke only of themselves and what they wanted out of her.

Never once did they stop to ask about her interests or what she wanted in a husband, but it was to be expected. Her opinions wouldn’t matter.

"Four sons," Percival, a businessman Clive knew, demanded. "One right away would silence any gossip about you being infertile. The others should follow one after the other to please the respective families. Don’t you think, Mr Wilkins?"

Eloise took a deep breath.

How could she speak of how many children she wanted when she could not remember the name of the gentleman before her?

"Forgive me, but you said you were married once before," Eloise said, hoping she had heard wrong.

Clive coughed, wanting Eloise to stop before she insulted the guest.

"Yes. I got married two seasons ago, but my wife left this world before she could give me a son. That is why I think we must fulfil our duties right away," Percival answered, his gaze fixated on examining Eloise’s body.

"You look to be a stern young woman, capable of bearing many children, but I am a bit concerned about what happened to her mother."

Clive panicked, thinking he was about to lose Percival. "I assure you, Eloise is healthy," Clive insisted. "Her mother died of the flu a few years back. It is nothing to pass on to Eloise-"

"Uncle!" Eloise exclaimed as she abruptly stood up. The legs of her chair scraped against the wooden floor. "I would like to get some water."

Clive looked at the jar on the table before him, where there was water. "You have water."

Eloise started to walk away and answered, "Not that water. The other water."

Clive shared a look with Percival.

"Is there other water?" Percival inquired. "Is that what the countryfolk say?"

Clive stood up to follow Eloise. "My niece has a way of humouring others. Excuse me. Eloise!" He called.

Eloise grabbed the sides of her dress and began to run to get away. She needed to escape the men who came to speak and eyed her as if she were cattle. They all made it clear that she was only good for bearing their sons.

Eloise needed to get far away from the suffocating room.

Eloise ran, drowning out her uncle’s calls as she exited the back door. She kept running until Clive’s home was no longer in sight and she reached unfamiliar land.

Eloise slowed down and gripped the bodice of her dress. She couldn’t breathe, but it wasn’t from the run.

To be courted by the men she met today was suffocating.

Eloise calmed herself until a tightness in her chest ceased to exist, then she looked around, trying to make sense of where she had run to.

Eloise exhaled, letting go of the stress that piled up in her chest. She looked around, trying to familiarise herself with the location. She was a bit out of the way from Clive’s home and had to get back before she placed herself in danger, but Eloise didn’t want to go back to the visitors.

Eloise wanted a break where she could get answers about her father’s condition.

"When will it end?" Eloise muttered, drained from countless chatter about marriage.

Eloise started to walk back toward the home and prepared herself for Clive’s anger. She knew it was likely she had upset the guest by running away, and normally, she would never be so rude, but a man of Percival’s age and his demands did not suit Eloise.

Eloise hoped Clive would be kind enough to realise they weren’t a match.

"Stop!"

Eloise froze when a man she didn’t know stepped from behind a tree, pointing a sword at her.

Eloise panicked.

Had she escaped one awful fate with a man to run into another?

"Do not hurt me. I am on my way home. My uncle is near and will see us," Eloise said, trying to scare off the stranger.

Eloise’s words seemed to fall on deaf ears as the stranger approached her. She stepped back, awaiting the best time to run and not be injured by the sword.

Eloise’s body stiffened when her back collided with a hard surface, but she knew it wasn’t a tree. She looked up, expecting to lock eyes with another stranger who would kill her, but to her surprise, it was a friend.

"Lord Hawthorne?"

Damien held Eloise’s arms, keeping her in pace so she wouldn’t fall.

"We must stop meeting like this. Victor, lower your sword. You’re scaring the lady," Damien said, eyeing the man he employed.

"Forgive me, Lord Hawthorne."

"Leave us," said Damien.

Eloise stepped away from Damien as the stranger walked away. "I apologise for running into you again. I thought I was alone out here. Wait, why are you here?"

"Why are you here?" Damien asked, looking around for Eloise’s company. "A lady shouldn’t be alone."

"My uncle’s home isn’t far from here. I ran off and went a bit too far. Unless you have moved, your estate isn’t closeby," Eloise said, suspicious of Damien’s presence.

Eloise stepped back, placing more distance between herself and Damien.

They were once childhood friends, but now they were strangers.

"I was on my way home when one of the carriage wheels broke. I am waiting for my men to fix it," Damien said.

"Oh. If my uncle knew, he would have come to help you. I can bring him here if you need," Eloise offered.

"No. One headache is enough, and I am not fond of your uncle. It is your father whom I enjoyed," said Damien.

Eloise thought it would be awkward if Damien and Iris were to marry since Iris always wanted her father to be near.

"Why did you run off from your uncle’s home? Do you find him to be a headache, too?" Damien inquired, trying to place truth behind Eloise’s presence where they stood.

"It is not my uncle, but the suitors who have come to court me. I won’t trouble you any longer. Good day," Eloise curtsied and left before she found herself in more trouble.

Damien stayed silent as Eloise walked back to Clive’s home. Only when she was safe did he turn around and return to the men awaiting him.

Damien walked to his carriage, but before he stepped inside, he looked down at the finger protruding from the damp soil as if making one final accusation.

Damien’s jaw tightened. "Cover him better," he ordered, his voice low yet sharp.

The scraping of shovels followed as Damien entered his carriage.