Pricing The Heart

Chapter 1

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

*

Cheshire, England
February, 1847

The metallic, vile taste of blood flooded Eloise's mouth as a powerful fist connected with her jaw, knocking the air out of her lungs and throwing her to the floor. Pain blinded her, her pounding heart momentarily drowning out the echoes of laughter in the room. Gritting her teeth, she clawed the floorboards and tried to rise. But her limbs had grown weak after nearly an hour of being abused in a crowded room of drunks.

Her limbs, not her resolve. Her resolve stayed strong through the brutal assault; a resolve to maintain what was left of her dignity.

"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 be sold by James, the bastard who was her husband.

The thought of James caused a taste more vile than blood to fill her mouth. Marrying him was her biggest mistake, and while she would have paid any price to be free from the bondage of their marriage, she, the daughter of a viscount, would not bow to the humiliation of being sold.

She thought of her parents. But for their unfortunate passing, as well as her discovery of her uncle's plan to marry her off to a man three times her then seventeen years, she would never have made the mistake of running off to marry James Hunter; an evil that proved to be worse than marrying an older gentleman. She already made the mistake of marrying James; she would not make the mistake of conceding to a sale that would see her married to a man far worse than James—she thought, her gaze scanning the crowd. The men in this tavern tonight were the scum of the village, and she would embrace death before joining herself in matrimony with 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 fought to free her hair from his grip, shaking her head. "No," she gasped. "I reject the offer," she managed to speak past her burning lungs.

His grip tightened around her hair, causing tears to blur her vision. Holding her firmly against his chest, he glared down at her; his brown eyes 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; perhaps even at no cost.

Anger swelled in Eloise's heart at the thought. James had used her; he had squandered every dime she was worth, and now that he was finished with her, he was desperate to be rid of the responsibility that came with having a wife. He was so desperate, he was willing to beat her into submitting to the sale because he knew he needed her consent. Perhaps wife selling was socially acceptable. Still, it could not be done without the consent of the wife in question.