Pricing The Heart

Chapter 1

*This is a time capsule. Leave a message behind here*

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Cheshire, England
February, 1847

Eloise tasted blood in her mouth as a strong fist hit her jaw. The blow knocked the air from her lungs and sent her crashing to the floor. Pain blinded her. Her heart pounded, drowning out the laughter in the room. Gritting her teeth, she clawed at the floorboards and tried to rise. But she had grown weak after nearly an hour of enduring abuse in a crowded room of drunks.

Her limbs were weak, but her resolve remained unbroken throughout the brutal assault. She was determined to keep what little dignity she had left.

"Three shillings," someone called, forcing her to raise her gaze to the crowded room. Shoving her damp hair aside, she saw the bargainer in front of the crowd. His crooked teeth peeked through his red mustache as he smiled down at her.

"Throw in a bottle of ale and ya 'ave yourself a deal," James said, dragging her forward by the halter tied to her neck.

"She's a wild mare: stubborn and untameable. There is no way I'm paying more than a few shillings for her."

A small smile touched Eloise's lips at his remark. He was right; she would not be tamed, nor would she let James, the bastard who was her husband, sell her.

The thought of James caused a taste more vile than blood to fill her mouth. Marrying him was her biggest mistake. She would have paid anything to escape their marriage. Yet, as the daughter of a viscount, she wouldn't accept the shame of being sold.

She thought of her parents. If they'd not tragically passed, and if she'd not learned about her uncle's plan to marry her to a man three times her age at seventeen, she would never have run away to marry James Hunter. Marrying James was a mistake. She didn't wish to make situations worse by conceding to a sale that would see her married to a man worse than James.

She ran her gaze through the crowd. The men in this tavern were the worst in the village. She would choose death over marrying any of them.

"Fine! She's yours." James jerked the halter, and it sliced into her skin, constricting her lungs. "Get up!" he barked at her.

Clawing weakly at the rope, Eloise struggled to breathe.

"Get up!" James commanded once more.

She shook her head as she knelt, coughing.

"I said—" pain exploded in her skull as he grabbed her hair and forced her to her wobbly feet—"get up! You're his now."

She shook her head to free herself from him. "No," she gasped. "I reject the offer," she spoke past the burning in her throat.

His grip tightened around her hair, causing tears to blur her vision. Holding her against his chest, he glared down at her; his brown eyes were reddened by rage. "Do not think that by drivin' the price down, ya will escape bein' sold!" he hissed, enraged by her rejection. It was her fifth rejection of the evening, and with every rejection, the price fell. The men in the room appeared to sense James' desperation to be rid of her. They knew he would sell her at any cost; even at no cost.

Anger swelled in Eloise's heart at the thought. James had used her. He wasted her dowry. Now that he was done with her, he wanted to escape the responsibility of having a wife. He was so desperate to get rid of her that he was willing to beat her into submitting to the sale because he knew he needed her consent. Selling a wife was socially acceptable, but the husband could not do it without the wife's consent. And Eloise was unwilling to consent.

Burying her nails in his arm that clawed at her hair, she spat in his eyes.

He growled. Releasing his death grip on her hair, he jumped back. She fell to the floor, scraping her knees on the floorboards. Winded, she clawed at the halter, only pausing when she heard James approaching once more. Her heart dropped as she braced herself for the impact of his fists.

"That is enough," a voice boomed, silencing the laughter in the room and forcing James to halt.

Holding back a sob, she lay down on the floorboards as a loud pounding echoed in the room. She turned her gaze toward the sound and saw unfamiliar ankle-length boots paired with matching black trousers. The candlelight glinted on the silver buttons of his boots as he approached. When he paused, she caught the fresh scents of soap, aftershave, and wood.

He crouched down, and she took in his features. His straight, charcoal hair fell to his forehead, providing an ideal contrast to his pale complexion. He frowned down at her, his nose slightly crooked as if it had been broken once before. The hard lines around his thin lips and thick brows made him look much older than she had suspected.

He was handsome, and his eyes, misty gray as the gray clouds in a thunderstorm, sucked her in like a tornado.

He buried his hand in his black traveling coat and pulled out a white handkerchief. Reaching forward, he dabbed her chin with it.

Confused, she watched him as he cleaned the blood off of her face. Who was he?—she wondered as she gazed up at him. She felt no urge to resist his touch, for he was different. He felt different. His gentle touch tamed the rapid pounding of her battered heart against her ribcage. And in that moment, she forgot where she was and why she was here, until he spoke.

"This is no way to die." His warm breath tickled her face, concern creasing his brows. She knew he was concerned because his gaze held no anger in them. But she found no logical reason for his concern. He didn't know her, nor was it proper for him to interfere in another man's dealings with his wife. James would have beaten her to a coma and no one would have interfered—no one but this concerned stranger.

When was the last time anyone showed concern for her? She shook her head to keep her tears from falling. "It is no way to live," she whispered.

As he held her gaze, the faces in the room faded, until he was all she saw. She felt she could stare into his eyes forever.

With a frown, he turned to James. Eloise watched the muscle in his jaw twitch as he stared at James for several seconds. When he returned his attention to her, she saw in his gray eyes, something she couldn't quite read.

"Perhaps," he murmured, releasing her chin. Tucking the bloody handkerchief in his pocket, he rose to his feet. Eloise felt a stab of disappointment as she watched him turn from her.

"If he's not takin' ya, you're goin' with the man over there. There's no way in hell I'm lettin' ya drive the price further down!" James barked. Pain shot through her arm as James grabbed her and forced her to her feet. But she cared nothing for the pain. Her eyes, even her heart, stubbornly stayed remained glued to the strange man as he walked away.

She couldn't let him leave! Fear quickened her heart, but it was desperation that forced her to cry, "One shilling!"

A/N

Hey lovelies!

Before we go into this story, I would just love to take a second to discuss the inspiration behind it.

While I was doing a little research, I came across a Victorian practice I didn't even know existed; wife selling! They actually sold women! Horrendous, I know! But I also thought it would make for a lovely romance story. So, once I was done writing the story I had been researching for when I discovered the practice, I decided to dig deep into the practice and see what it was about. And can I just say I found some amazing true stories!

Wife selling was a sort of cheap alternative to a divorce. Seeing as divorce was expensive and almost unattainable, people just resorted to selling their wives (popular amongst the lowest class). There was no law against wife selling, neither was there a law for it. The contracts were legally binding, however, so technically, she was yours, but not she was also not your wife. Kind of like a lacuna in the law that the people just took advantage of.

Thank you for reading. Do let me know what you think of this chapter.