Once Eloise left the room, she began stomping on the stone ground like it was the root of her pain. Her lips twitched with fury, her nose flared like an angry horse.
"He held my hand and let go. Is that it?" She scoffed. She was even angrier at herself for being angry at him. He had called her in, held her hand for a moment and then dismissed her?
"At least he could've scolded me," she muttered. "Said something, anything. Not just... treat me like—like—"
She stopped mid-sentence. The words stuck in her throat before pain slammed into her chest.
For someone like her, the daughter of a servant, the world had never treated her like a person. Only Mary and her cousins ever did. Everyone else would rather spit when she walked past.
Eloise shook her head and kept walking.
"It doesn't matter," she said aloud. "I don't care how rude he is. Let him insult me. I don't care."
