"Stop!"
Rochester turned on his heel, arms slumping to his sides. "What else is there to say?"
"'What else?'" the woman got up first, twisting a turn to look at him. "I wouldn't say 'what else', rather I would say 'who else'?"
"'Who else?' Okay, Madam Eloise-Winifred Blenntmort…"
Eloise nodded.
"… tell me what plan you have cooking under your sleeves."
"'Plan?' Of course not," the woman was skulking up to his side. "The lazy people are those who plan, I," she reached his spot, flipping him around by holding his waist, "am a woman that executes. Execution is everything, and why I have since grown tired of your dilly-dallying to find you a bride, I made proper arrangements and—"
"Mother!" Rochester's eyes coloured up. "What did you do!?"
Lips stretching into a thin line, his eyes narrowed. He was about to lambaste the woman for her brutal decision when he spotted that familiar person through the corner of his eye.
"You?"
