CHAPTER FIVE
VICTORIA
The four men holding me let go, and I scramble to my feet. However, not before kicking the freak with the branding iron in the kneecap. The mark inflicted on my skin might only be small, but it hurts so much. It feels as though they’ve ripped the skin from my body and carved the inside with knives. I tried to cook dinner for my mother once, when I was fifteen, and I burned my hand on the oven. It had barely touched the flesh, but at the time, I thought that had hurt badly. Now, I know a lot differently. I move as far away from the staging and all the men as I can. I refuse to let tears fall from my eyes, even though several of the other girls are crying. I won’t let them have the honor of seeing my tears. I glare at them instead with an evil stare. If only I had magical powers, they would drop dead in an instant. Has the world I’m living in gone insane? Have I fallen asleep on my sun lounger, and this is a terrible nightmare? Please, let me wake up. I know this isn’t a dream when I look at my father. There isn’t an ounce of guilt written on his face. He steps forward, signs a document, and shakes the hand of the man who now owns me. I gulp and try to swallow back down the bile forming in the pit of my stomach. The other men handing over their daughters do the same. None of them show remorse. They're clearly happy to commit crimes against the fundamental human right to freedom.
“Nicholas.”
The prick who branded me steps forward with a limp. He bends down and rubs his knee where I kicked him. I wish I could have got him in the balls before he can do any worse damage.
“Your Grace,” He addresses his father with a formal title, in a stuck up tone. Ok, it’s a deep masculine voice of the type that I might have once dreamed of, but now, I wouldn’t touch him with a barge pole. A man’s the last thing on my mind. Getting the hell out of this place and as far away as possible from these nutcases, is all I want to do. I survey my surroundings while the men continue to procrastinate and congratulate themselves on being chauvinist pigs. There’s the door I came in, but I can’t get to it from the stage with the crowd of people surrounding me. There are no windows in this room. What the hell? What kind of place has no windows? Oh yeah, secret society, a room that a bunch of freaks want to keep hidden. I shake my head. I never thought I’d use the language that’s running through my head, but I’m pissed off. How could my father do this to me? He’s always been strict, but I didn’t realize why. I, at least, thought he loved me. He can’t if he’s willing to put me through this. Does my mother know what’s happening? Is she a part of this? She'll be so distraught if she doesn’t. Theo, oh god. I don’t think I can do this. Despite trying my hardest to keep it in, a tear escapes and tumbles down my cheek. I wipe it away with the back of my hand. I can't allow them to see weakness in me. I tell myself to bide my time. I'll escape this.
The Duke’s penetrating voice refocuses my thoughts onto what’s happening in the room.
“Welcome, ladies, the next few weeks will decide your future, but before all that, let me introduce you to my son, Nicholas, Earl Lullington. To one of you, he'll be a future husband. To the rest, a nightmare that will haunt your dreams for whatever time you have left.” The smile adorning the Duke’s face, as he speaks, sends shivers down my spine. How can a man be so evil?
Nicholas stands proudly next to his father with an equally arrogant expression on his face.
“Good evening, ladies. I’m glad to meet you all. Over the next few weeks, you’ll be living here at Oakfield Hall and perform tasks to determine which one of you is suitable to be my wife. I have high expectations and will demand complete acquiescence. Any defiance will be dealt with severely. Your mine, to do whatever I wish with. That’s the power of my succession. I hope that you'll be able to relax and enjoy yourselves, though.”
What, before or after the brand on my leg stops hurting and heals? I think but keep my mouth shut. Now isn’t the time to insult my wonderfully hospitable hosts.
“Thank you, Nicholas, we have five girls here. The rules state only three are allowed to enter the final stages of marriage choice. I need you to, now, choose two girls who'll not go any further.” My heart starts to beat faster. I have a way out of this nightmare. I can hope he doesn't choose me, and I can leave this place and London. I’m not going back home with my father. I’ll go to Oxford and find Tammy. She'll look after me until I can figure something else out.
“Ladies on your feet and form a line for inspection,” the Duke orders, and one of the men who held me down comes my way. I’m not going to be manhandled again. I get to my feet and form a line with the other girls. I’m standing next to Lady Joanna Nethercutt. She stands with her weight balanced on the leg not branded. Her eyes are red from crying, but she tries her hardest, now, to suppress the tears.
Nicholas struts over to us with a confident swagger. I want to dig my nails into his eyes and rip the balls from his body. He walks up and down the line, taking in everything about us. When he gets to me, I face him down. I'll not be shown to be weak in his eyes. I’m not a feeble woman as these men clearly think. If he chooses me to stay, I’ll make his life hell and not the other way round. He'd do better to get rid of me, now, if he wants the meek and mild little wife, who’ll go to his bed willingly, because I never well. Even when hell freezes over. He shakes his head and laughs.
“There are five girls: Amelia, Daphne, Elizabeth, Joanne and Victoria. Which three do you choose to take forward?” the Duke asks of his son.
“Elizabeth,” he names the first one, and it figures, she's the bitch who ignored me at the start. They'd make a good couple. Why doesn’t he just choose her now, and the rest of us can go home?
“Amelia.” A small girl with blonde hair whimpers when her name is spoken. I feel sorry for her but not that sorry, since it means there’s only a one in three chance of me having to stay here any longer. I can find somewhere with a rose garden and lose myself in the scent. Maybe, I could get a rose tattoo over this thing on my thigh.
“Daphne is free to go.” Nicholas states, and the girl screams with delight. Her father curses out loudly — the language coming out of his mouth a complete contrast from the religious ropes he wears.
“So I’m down to two.” Nicholas stands in front of Joanna and myself. I think I can hear my heart beating out of my chest. I’m praying my name isn’t spoken.
“Victoria you may…” He pauses. Go, say go, I’m pleading within my head.
“Not go anywhere. Joanna’s free to go.”
I groan long and low with frustration and fear for what comes next. The women named are pushed to the side, and the two not named are grabbed. I try to jostle the guys off Joanna.
“Leave her alone. She wasn’t chosen — she's free to go.” I ball my fist and punch one of the men. He goes to slap me back, but Nicholas catches his hand and sends him flying off the stage.
“Stop!” the Duke commands, and everyone freezes. He comes up to me and, in a smooth movement, throws me to the floor. I land on my burn, and agony cascades through me. I scream.
“You had to pick the one who’s going to cause trouble, didn’t you?” he addresses his son with a scowl.
“Why would I want a meek and mild wife when I can have one who puts up a fight?” Nicholas responds, and I try to kick out at him, again. Bastard.
“You…” the Duke addresses me. “Unless you want to spend the rest of the evening locked in the dungeon, I suggest you keep quiet and let me finish this part of the ceremony.”
I go to tell him to fuck off, but I think better of it and silence myself with a no-nonsense pout.
“Thank you.”
Lady Joanna, Miss Daphne. I’m afraid my son was wrong with his words that you are free to go. You belong to the society now. You may not be in the running to be his wife, but we still own you, and as such, you’ll be taken from this place to rooms for rest. Tomorrow evening, you'll be sold to the highest bidder to do with as they please. Take them away.”
I gasp, and both girls start to cry. He's going to sell them like slaves. I look to the man who was complaining about Joanna earlier. He's expressionless. This is his daughter — he's going to allow her to be sold to god knows who. I want to scream at him to help her, but when he turns away and leaves the room, I know that it’ll make no difference. The men in this room have no respect for women. We're back in centuries of old when women were chattels: bought and sold for gain. I’m pulled to my feet by one of the guards. I don't fight him — I’m tired and weak. I look over my shoulder to Nicholas. He's watching me be dragged away. He wears the mask of many others in this room. I’ve died and gone to hell.