The Victorian Gothic Collection Boxed Set 1-3

by Chasity Bowlin

  That was direct enough, he thought. If he had concerns that Adelaide would be too meek or too reserved to voice her opinion and answer him honestly, those fears were now firmly allayed. “Very well. I doubt you’ll need a wrap. The air is crisp but the sun is quite warm.”

  She rose, clearly eager to get on with it, and preceded him out of the room. They passed Tromley as they headed out the front door and over the circular section of the drive and the overly ornate fountain at its center. It was only when they’d cleared it entirely and were walking along the lane that led toward the road that Eldren spoke, “Let us begin with your questions. I imagine in many ways they will relate to the things that I must tell you.”

  “Who is the woman in the tower?” Adelaide demanded.

  Eldren sighed. She’d driven straight to the heart of it without even a qualm or hesitation. “She is my mother. And she is hopelessly mad.”

  Adelaide drew up short then. “I see. And you keep her locked away in the tower?”

  He paused, turned to face her, and as much as he could, implored her to understand. “That must seem cruel to you… she does have rooms in the family wing and when possible she remains in those familiar surroundings. But she’s been more agitated of late and the tower is a more secure location for her, so I had her new nurse and the footmen who attend her move her there this morning before I left for the office. You must understand, Adelaide, that when I say she is mad… she is also given to fits of violence so extreme that she cannot easily be restrained. Only two months ago, she snapped her previous nurse’s arm in two. The poor girl may never entirely regain the use of it.” The sound would haunt his nightmares forever. The quick break and the wail of pain from that poor girl immediately after had tormented him endlessly. If he’d been quicker, if he’d more accurately gauged his mother’s intentions, he might have spared her that.

  She was silent for the longest time, studying his face with a fierce expression. To determine whether or not he was lying, Eldren realized. Given that she’d shared a residence with Muriel Hampton Parke, he supposed it was reasonable.

  “I see,” she said, finally speaking. “And when I asked Tromley for the basket of mending to occupy my morning… the linen nightgown with the satin ribbons that was torn to shreds and stuffed in the bottom of it was hers, wasn’t it?”

  He dropped his head, letting his chin rest against his chest for a moment. “It was. She had a fit the night you arrived. The screaming you heard was not the wind… it was my mother. Ranting at me because my twin brother, only ten minutes my elder, should have survived and taken the title… She despises me for living. For letting him die. It’s been a decade or more since she even acknowledged that I am her son.”

  He was unprepared for the gentle touch of her hand on his arm, or for the compassion that he saw in her gaze when he dared lift his head to meet it.

  “I am sorry for that. But you must not keep such things from me. All families have secrets, and illnesses of this sort! I would not have thought less of you for it. I understand!” Her reply was impassioned and sweetly sincere.

  “My mother’s madness is not an isolated occurrence, Adelaide, but rather one more in a long line… How the family has not died out entirely is something I cannot fathom. Our father was mad, as well, though in an entirely different way. In fact, it may be his cruelty and abuse that drove my mother to her current state. He enjoyed inflicting pain and degradation, gloried in it. And my elder brother, god help me, was like him. And yet, despite that, my mother adored him above all of us… and his death was the final straw for her.”

  “How did he die?” she asked.

  Eldren turned away from her, his gaze drifting over the desolate moor. “I killed him… I had no choice. He was in a rage, mad with it. His tempers were well known near and far as he’d often lost control and destroyed the property of others or started brawls. That night, Warren was little more than a boy… not quite sixteen and still growing. He hadn’t quite yet shot up to his rather impressive height. Alder had him by the throat and would have killed him had I not intervened,” he explained. “There was an inquest, of course, but ultimately, given Alder’s history and the evidence of his assault on Warren, the decision was made not to have charges brought.”

  She was silent then, saying nothing. But she hadn’t withdrawn from him. Of course, he had not told her all of it yet.

  “For many of the people in my family, they live perfectly normal lives… they marry, they work, they have children. And then suddenly, as they reach their middle years, it’s rather as if something inside them snaps. And I very much fear that is the fate that is in store for me,” he continued. “And that is why, if we marry as agreed, that our marriage will never be a real one. It will never be consummated, and we will never have children. I will not be responsible for unleashing more madness into this already overburdened world.”

  Her steps faltered, then stopped entirely. She stood stock still in the center of the lane and stared at him, her expression entirely unreadable and her reaction yet a mystery to him.

  “Naturally, you may refuse. You may break the engagement and tell the world whatever you wish so long as it is not the truth.”

  She nodded, and finally managed to utter a restrained, “I see… And are you certain that is the only reason that you have no wish to see our marriage consummated?”

  “What other reason could there be?” He asked.

  “I am well aware that I am not a great beauty, Lord Llewellyn. My father never despaired of it because he thought his fortune would suffice to compensate any worthwhile suitors. Naturally, Muriel was less kind in her assessment.”

  It was his turn to be shocked. Perhaps Adelaide was not beautiful in the traditional sense. But there was something arresting about her, something compelling in the calmness of her demeanor in the face of even such unusual circumstances. With her delicate features and the softly rounded curves of her figure, she was certainly more than capable of drawing and holding a man’s eye. “I assure you, Adelaide, that were I free to do so, if the consequences would not be so great, then things would be very different between us.”

  She appeared to be considering the statement carefully, weighing it, “Nothing has changed in my situation. If I do not marry you, I will be ruined. I am incapable of making the return trip to America and even if I could… my welcome would be cool at best.”

  “I have made certain requests of my solicitor. The marriage settlement from your father is a sum that you might find surprising. It exceeds one million dollars in American currency. Upon our marriage most of that will be returned to you. Should you decide that you wish to go to London and partake of society with the other American heiresses who have taken London by storm, I would not interfere. I can be your husband, but not your lover. If, after a suitable amount time, you choose to take one—.”

  “Is that what you want? For me to have a string of lovers and debase myself for the joy of lurid gossips?” she snapped.

  The very idea of it enraged him, sparked a strange feeling of possessiveness inside him that he could ill afford to indulge. He desired her. The more time he spent in her company the more apparent it became to him that despite her tender age, Adelaide was a force to be reckoned with. “It is the furthest thing from what I want, I assure you. It seems wrong, however, to damn us both to a celibate life when the weakness of blood is entirely my own.”

  “I would like to be alone,” she said. “I cannot think clearly now and there is much to consider. I never thought that I would marry at all, honestly. Muriel certainly never tired of telling me that I’d be lucky enough to land a rat catcher! But I certainly never imagined that I would be married to a man who encouraged me to have other lovers when he will not even share my bed.”

  They both recognized that it was not a request. Eldren nodded and then turned away, heading back for the house and leaving her behind to consider all that he’d just imparted to her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Adelaide f
elt as if she couldn’t fully draw breath. If she’d had the strength she would have stripped off her gown and loosened her corset right there. But it wasn’t the fault of the garment. Her lungs had tightened painfully with each revelation that he’d made. No real marriage. No children.

  The rest of her life would be devoid of love, of intimacy, or anything resembling passion. All those secret dreams and the whispers between herself and her girlhood friends that had resulted in peals of giggles would remain unfulfilled. The fear she’d held for so long, that when she did have her debut and did enter society to find a husband, no one would want her—all of that had simply been an outcropping of the underlying fear of being alone. If she married him, alone was all that she would ever be. Somehow, it seemed worse to be lonely with someone.

  Finally, a shuddering breath escaped her. It hadn’t been that she couldn’t inhale at all, but rather that she’d been so stunned she’d been unable to expel the air from her body. The sudden rush of it left her weak kneed and she sank forward, propping herself up against the small stone fence that bordered the moor. It stung her injured palm and picked at the bandage that Dyllis had applied there.

  Looking across the expanse of it, the air of desolation reflected her mood far too accurately. An inexplicable anger filled her. Defiantly, Adelaide rose to her feet again and climbed over that fence, placing her feet firmly on the spongy earth of the forbidden moor.

  “Where are you now?” she said aloud. “Where are your insidious whispers and your fearsomeness, now?”

  There was no answer, of course. She had not expected there to be. The moor was utterly silent, the brightness of the day mocking her for ever having feared it. Not to be daunted or cowed, Adelaide struck out across the wide expanse of rocky and uneven ground, ignoring the tall grass that tugged at her skirt and the earth that seemed to suck at her booted feet until every step required concerted effort.

  It was a challenge to herself and it was blatant defiance of what everyone else seemed to consider normal. She’d heard the servants whispering when they hadn’t thought she was near, about her walking across the moor at night, alone and in the dark. She’d heard other things too. The whispers of hauntings, of ghosts and demons, of curses that dogged the Llewellyn family from a time immemorial. But she was not in the mood to concern herself with the Llewellyn family. She was disgusted with the lot of them and Eldren in particular—disgusted, hurt, bewildered and above all, she recognized, disappointed.

  She hadn’t gotten very far before her bravado began to falter. Because the air itself seemed to change. It grew thicker about her, pressing in on her just as the sea had in the darkness the night the Mohegan had sank. A heavy cloud passed over head, covering that desolate patch of earth with shadow and her along with it. In that prelude to darkness, something stirred.

  “I’m not afraid,” she whispered. But the deeper she went onto the moor, the more distant the drive and the house became, the less that was true. It wasn’t what she heard or saw. It was simply what she felt. There was a charge to the very earth beneath her feet, it seemed, like standing on the platform as the train grew near and feeling the energy and vibration of it coming up through her toes. Her steps halted and she simply stood there for the longest time.

  Slowly, it began. A soft hum at first, but it grew louder. For the first time since hearing it, there was an actual voice in it. It wasn’t simply the roar of a crowd. Although that was certainly present, there was another voice in the midst of it, distinct and discernible. Closer, she thought, and stronger. A shiver wracked her body.

  Regardless of how close it sounded, and how crisp each syllable seemed, as if spoken directly next to her ear, it was gibberish to her. No, she realized. It was Welsh. A language she did not understand. Listening, trying to memorize those sounds and make sense of what strange things were being imparted to her, Adelaide couldn’t move. She felt frozen to the spot, compelled perhaps. But those syllables were nonsensical to her ears, sounds with no context or meaning. And yet they held some sort of strange sway over her, as if she were enthralled like the cobras of India that she’d seen at an exhibition.

  The clouds overhead darkened, drawing into a swirling blackened mass. The first rain drop struck her cheek and it was as like being roused from sleep. The pall that had been cast over her was broken, and abruptly, Adelaide turned and fled back toward the safety of the lane. She scrambled over the low stone fence, tearing her stockings and dislodging several of the pins from her hair. But despite looking an utter mess, as soon as her feet were planted firmly on the other side of that rock wall, she felt instantly more at ease. Warily, she dared a single glance over her shoulder and what she saw left her speechless.

  Fog shrouded the moor, mist swirling over the ground where before there had been none. It eddied and moved almost as if being directed by unseen hands. It grew thicker and denser, coalescing into a single slender line that inched forward, ever closer to her. It almost seemed as if it was in pursuit.

  Her sense of safety abruptly shattered, Adelaide did the only sensible thing she could. She ran. Her legs pumped and her side hitched as she charged up the lane as fast as she could. Only when she was nearer to the house and in sight of others did she slow, but it was a difficult thing for her. Because she still felt hunted. And foolish, she thought. Very, very foolish. She’d dared test it and clearly it, whatever it was, had won.

  The door opened and Tromley looked at her askance. “Are you quite all right, miss?”

  “I’m fine. I was running to beat the rain,” she lied. “I think I’m going to have a lie down in my room before dinner, Tromley. But I have some letters I need to write, as well, and sadly my writing box was destroyed.”

  “There are a few lying about the place, miss. I’ll have one fetched for you and sent up by Dyllis.”

  “Thank you, Tromley.”

  In the library, Eldren was seated at his desk staring into the swirling amber liquid of a brandy snifter and contemplating how poorly it had all gone. Of course, he could not blame her. She had every right to refuse him, to toss his pathetic offer of marriage back into his face. If she did refuse him, he would have to assist her. She would need a husband, whether it was him or not, in order to have any access to the funds left for her by her father.

  Warren entered the room then, bleary eyed and clearly suffering. His skin had taken on a sallow cast and as he seated himself in the chair opposite, his hands trembled. The servants had been instructed to give him access to only small amounts of liquor during the day, enough to keep the worst of the sickness at bay and wean him slowly from the poison that Frances had been letting him guzzle.

  “I hate you,” Warren said.

  “Hate me as you will… but I’m your brother and I refuse to stand by while you drown yourself in a bottle of brandy, or whiskey, or scotch, or rum, or gin,” Eldren said. “And you needn’t search because it’s all under lock, key and guard.”

  “I see you’re not depriving yourself of it,” Warren said accusingly.

  “I am not dependent on it as you are. You have no control of yourself when you are in the throes of drink, Warren. We both know that,” Eldren replied. “But it was not my intent to be cruel and torment you with it. Had I known you would enter here, I would not have partaken.”

  Warren didn’t reply, but he did look away.

  Eldren drained the glass and placed it out of sight. Changing the subject, he asked, “Have you seen mother today?”

  “No. I didn’t wish to upset her further.”

  “Not a bad plan. I won’t let Frances come back. Mother will be fine for months but as soon as Frances enters the house she starts raving.”

  “She wants me dead,” Warren said.

  “Mother?” Eldren asked. She certainly wanted him dead, or more precisely, she wanted him to have never been born.

  “No. Frances wants me dead… I’d given it up six months ago. I went over a month without touching the stuff. And then she poured a glass of brandy, sat it in
front of me, and told me what a bore I’d become without it,” Warren admitted. “I don’t know why I ever married her.”

  “Because she is wealthy and beautiful… because for a time she made an effort to hide the vile monster that lurks beneath her pretty mask,” Eldren answered. He was not without sympathy for his brother, but he was only too well aware that sympathy would only nurture Warren’s weaknesses.

  Warren said nothing to that, just leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose as if to ward off a headache. “And your bride? Your American heiress… is she pretty?”

  “Yes, she’s pretty. But I have doubts as to whether or not she’ll be my bride. I’ve just told her that we will not have children. That I will not have children,” Eldren confessed, finding it unaccountably strange to be having a rational conversation with his brother again.

  “Are you certain that’s the course that you wish to set for yourself and for her? There have been plenty of Llewellyn’s who managed to avoid the curse altogether.”

  “Not those who lived here in this house… all of those who live here, next to that bloody moor, feel the effects of it.”

  “Then don’t live here. There’s no law that says you have to remain at the family seat. Build some monstrous manor house in Cardiff or Swansea. Go to London for all that. Get your American and take London society by storm.”

  Eldren laughed at that. “I don’t think my American is very happy with me at the moment… and even if she were, I don’t believe society holds much interest for her. But London might. Museums, shops, parks. I think that part of it she would enjoy. Perhaps if she does consent to marry me after all of this I will take her there as a peace offering of sorts… But we both know the truth of it, Warren. This house will always bring us back, whether we wish it or not. It’ll never tolerate us being gone for too long.”