Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

The night before the wedding, Ruelle found herself busy accommodating the guests who had gathered at the Belmont house. Most were relatives from Mr. and Mrs. Belmont's side, along with a few of their friends. The house bustled with activity, the clinking of glasses and polite laughter filling the air, but with only a maid and a stableman hired to help, Ruelle stepped in as an extra pair of hands, moving quietly through the rooms with a tray of refreshments.

"Ah, finally, the refreshments have arrived!" a woman exclaimed, reaching eagerly for a glass, her voice cutting through the hum of polite laughter. The atmosphere was merry, but a mistimed gesture led to a glass slipping and spilling its contents. "Oh, pardon me! I didn't mean for it to fall," the guest stammered, clearly embarrassed.

"It's alright. I'll clean it up right away," Ruelle reassured, her smile gentle and her hands swift. With practiced ease, she wiped away the mishap, leaving no trace of the incident.

As Ruelle continued her task, a woman across the room attempted to summon her, raising a hand and calling out, "Maid, the bedding—"

The woman was interrupted by a sharp nudge from her companion, who stifled a laugh. "What are you doing? That's not the maid," she whispered loudly enough for Ruelle to hear. "That's the Belmonts' eldest daughter, Ruelle."

The woman's brows furrowed in confusion. "The eldest daughter? Why isn't she the one getting married? Isn't it customary for the eldest to marry first?"

Ruelle, standing just a few feet away, heard every word. The air seemed to thicken around her, but she didn't react. Her father had been clear—no disruptions, no unnecessary attention. The wedding was to proceed smoothly, and Ruelle's presence was meant to be as invisible as her contributions, as this was Caroline's time to be happy.

At that moment, her father entered the room, commanding the attention of the guests. "Harold! I'm so happy for you and Megan! Congratulations!" One guest exclaimed, whisking him away from the exchange.

Taking the opportunity, Ruelle slipped into the next room, trying to shake off the conversation she had overheard. But the whispers followed her, like shadows refusing to leave.

"Well," one woman began, her voice low but sharp, "I heard the girl has been sent off to that place... What's it called? Sexton? It seems odd, doesn't it? To send a daughter away when she should be securing a husband." She tilted her head towards the hallway where Caroline's bright laughter rang out like a bell. "She's even prettier than the younger one. I heard Megan mention to someone how the eldest hasn't yet… blossomed into womanhood."

A collective gasp followed, soft but cutting. "Isn't she of age already? Strange… Maybe there is something wrong with her."

Ruelle stood motionless, and though she wore a smile, if one looked closely, they would notice the cracks of insecurity that she tried to hide. Because even though she didn't say it, the judgement that came from the family fell heavier than the weight of their expectations. It was as if their unspoken criticisms clung to her every action, silently demanding more from her—more effort, more perfection, more proof that she was worth something.

It wasn't just the guests' whispers that stung, but the constant reminders that she didn't measure up. She could feel it in the way her father barely looked at her, in the way her stepmother's praise for Caroline never extended to her.

To make up for everything, Ruelle worked harder. She knew that a place like Sexton, though dangerous, was a stepping stone she desperately needed, a place that could elevate her status and position. 

"Miss Ruelle," the maid interrupted, drawing her out of her thoughts. "This came for you."

Ruelle looked down as the maid handed her an envelope. "Who gave it to you?" she asked.

"It seemed like a maid, didn't say much, only that I should give this to you."

Ruelle's fingers tightened around the envelope as she thanked the maid and moved to a corner where a lantern burned brightly. She pulled out the note. It read: Come to the back side of the tower bell.

Her brows furrowed. No name, no signature. A feeling of unease settled in her stomach, but curiosity won out.

"If anyone asks, tell them I went to the tower bell and will return shortly," she told the maid before grabbing her cloak. She pulled the hood over her head and quickly made her way towards the bell tower.

As she approached, the area was deserted. Only the distant murmur of voices from nearby houses reached her ears. She hesitated at the base of the tower, glancing around nervously. Just as she stepped into the shadow of the structure, strong arms wrapped around her from behind.

Ruelle gasped, her body stiffening in shock. She instinctively tried to pull away, but the grip was firm, sending chills down her spine. 

"At last," murmured a low voice, brushing against the side of her hood. "Pardon me for wanting to see you before our wedding. Tomorrow, we'll be married, and I cannot wait to finally make you mine."

Ruelle's eyes widened in horror as she whispered, "M—Mr. Henley?!" 

Her mind scrambled to make sense of the situation. To see me? she asked herself. No, this must be some mistake. He must think she was Caroline because of the hood, she reasoned, and the maid must have mistakenly delivered the letter to her instead of her sister. Her heart pounded as she realised how easily this misunderstanding could spiral.

When Ruelle tried to pull away from him to correct him, the sound of approaching footsteps halted her. Voices, light and careless, echoed nearby as a group of people passed by the tower. She stood frozen, acutely aware that any sound could draw unwanted attention.

Ezekiel seemed to sense her hesitation, his voice softening. "Don't worry. No one can see us here. Tomorrow, everything will be as it should."

When the voices faded into the distance, Ruelle shoved against Ezekiel's chest, her hands trembling. She stumbled back, her breaths coming in short, panicked gasps.

"No," she whispered urgently, her voice shaking with her hood still low, shielding her face. "This is a mistake."

"Mistake?" Ezekiel asked with a frown. 

To spare him and herself the future embarrassment of learning he mistook his sister-in-law for his bride, Ruelle fled the scene swiftly, as though she had never been there at all. Her heart pounded in her chest as she disappeared into the night, pulling her hood even lower to shield her face from any prying eyes and conceal her rising panic.

Ruelle's hurried footsteps gradually slowed as she approached the house. Should she have revealed the truth to him immediately? That she wasn't the bride he had anticipated? But shock had gripped her, and the risk of being overheard, of staining their reputations, had left her silent.

As she pushed back her hood and slipped inside, Mrs. Belmont emerged before her, her eyes sharp, immediately honing in on her.

"And what business did you have at the tower bell at this hour?" Mrs. Belmont asked, suspicion lacing every word. "You're supposed to be with your sister, the bride-to-be."

Ruelle swallowed hard, aware that honesty would only lead to more scrutiny. 

"I…" she faltered, looking for a plausible excuse to diffuse her mother's suspicions. "I wanted to visit the church and pray."

"At this hour?" Mrs. Belmont pressed, and Ruelle nodded quietly. "Get inside. Tomorrow is a big day and we have lots to do."

"Yes, Mother," Ruelle murmured, obediently stepping inside the house.

Later that night, as the rest of the household slipped into slumber, Ruelle lay awake in bed, her thoughts tangled with the events of the day—Lucian's earlier confrontation, and now the unexpected encounter at the bell tower due to Ezekiel's note.

'People like you... always looking for favours, for ways to climb.' Lucian's words stung, striking a nerve. She had never sought favours, never schemed for advantage, and yet the insinuation gnawed at her.

The memory of Ezekiel's embrace sent a fresh shiver of unease through her. 

What if someone had witnessed them? What if the misunderstanding came to light? If anyone discovered that Ezekiel had mistaken her for Caroline, how rapidly would the whispers turn to accusations? Would they claim she had enticed him, used the mix-up to her benefit, to usurp her sister's rightful place? 

'Ways to climb…' Lucian's words echoed cruelly in her mind. Such a scandal would not only devastate Caroline—it would tarnish her own name as well. People would twist the narrative, branding her as a schemer eager to replace her sister in the marriage bed. She could already visualise the disapproving judgement in her family's eyes.