Through My Eyes

Chapter Eight

RECAP:

Mary smiles, "You're such a wonderful person, Miss Eloise. You've been through so much and yet you don't show a hint of bitterness. I just wish I could do something to help you."

"There's nothing you can do. I just have to... accept my fate. It's time to give up, Mary. I've fought as much as I can, but I lost. I have nothing left now, nothing to fight for, nothing to live for. I surrender. Will you help me dress? I need to speak to Emmanuel."

Chapter Eight

“I have taken a decision.” I say, my hands clasped, my shoulders back, my back straight, “I will no longer oppose you. I shall marry you without any fuss or bother. I am prepared to be your wife.”

A hand rests on my shoulder. I look to my side to see Emmanuel gazing down at me. He spins me around to face him, “You're... ready? You're prepared to accept me?”

I swallow, “Yes.”

He cups my face in his hands and bends down to kiss me. I close my eyes and stay relaxed; I do not fight, I do not struggle. I realise this kiss is very different to Damon's kiss; I do not feel a thrill or happiness, just a blank and numb feeling. 

Emmanuel embraces me but I do not return it. I just stand there with my limp arms by my side. Once he lets me go, Emmanuel bounces away like a drunk rabbit. I watch him leave and then see a shadow behind a tree. The shadow steps into the light and I see who it is.

Damon.

“Damon...”

He stalks off.

“Please! I can explain!” I call after him, to no avail. Running a hand through my hair, I stare after him, desperately wishing I could take everything back, if only he would look at me, if only he would talk to me.

My Damon. My poor Damon...

The next week is spent with hectic arrangements, tedious fittings, collecting rings, pining for Damon and putting up with Emmanuel's excited rambling. 

When the day of the engagement comes around,  I am thoroughly fed up.

My eyes are puffy from having cried the whole night before and a stranger fusses over me with powder, “Just a little here... and here... stay still, please. And I think...”

“I do not wish to wear so much powder.” I say, pulling my robe around me. Mother pinches me from behind so I sit still, allowing the stranger to suffocate me with her various powders. Then she begins braiding my hair into a painfully intricate bun, piercing grips through my head, pulling strands this way and that. 

By the time she has finished doing my hair, it feels like pins have been pierced through my head, knocking themselves into my skull. My scalp is red and sore; I long to itch it terribly. 

Mary helps me up and orders everyone to leave the room. After squeezing me into my corset, Mary begins pulling that dreadful pink dress over my head. I hold my breath as the material settled on my body, clinging and smothering.

I wince, “Mary, this dress is awful.”

Mary sighs as she ties the lace at the back, “Well, you did not protest at the time. Now behave, darling, do not sulk. It is the day of your engagement. This crest-fallen face does not suit a bride-to-be. Smile for me?”

I send her a forced smile.

Mary chucks me under the chin, “Come on now, darling. It is time for Mistress Adeline to see if all is well with your appearance.”