“Bitch,” he replied reasonably.
“Shall I tell her then?” Florence asked. “Shall I tell your meek, little bride that you once proposed to me? That you professed your love so gallantly and so perfectly that I was swept away by the romance of it all?”
“You will say nothing to Olympia about our former engagement. In fact, you will not speak to her at all!”
“Oh, we’ve spoken already. I might have even let slip that I tried to convince you to wed me to satisfy the terms of Honoria’s will. I bet she’d be very put out to learn that you were once completely enamored of me.”
What woman wouldn’t? She would be living under the same roof as a woman he’d once been engaged to marry. If he was lucky, she would simply stop speaking to him. If he was unlucky, and historically speaking that seemed the more likely outcome, she’d pitch half the contents of the house straight at his head. “What do you want, Florence? What is it that will buy your silence?”
“Increase my allowance… and hire a footman that I took a fancy to at Lady Jane Darlington’s house. He’s a veritable beast in bed. And you know how much I like that.”
It took all that he had not to choke the life out of her. “When you move to the dower house, I will hire him as your footman there. But not before. And I’ll look into raising your allowance, but I will not pauper myself or the estate for you fripperies.”
She snarled, her beautiful face twisting into a gruesome and angry mask. It was a more accurate reflection of her true self than anything he’d ever seen. “Be wary of offending me, Griffin. If you court my ire, I possess all the information needed to ruin you… and your plain, little bride.”
Griffin cursed under his breath. “Leave her be, Florence, or so help me I will toss you out into the snow myself!”
“I will see you at dinner,” she said.
“No. You will not. You will take a tray in your room and I will make your excuses,” he said. “I’m not going to have you tormenting her there!”
***
Olympia had taken a minor detour to the library before returning to her room. Upon her entrance, she found Collins coming from her dressing room nestled between her chamber and Lord Darke’s. She was white as a sheet and appeared nervous.
“Collins, has something happened?”
“No, m’lady,” the maid said, shaking her head vigorously. “Just got a bit spooked is all. This house is so big and so drafty, and all them tall tales from my grandmother started wafting through my head while I was alone up here. It’s nothing.”
Relieved at the explanation, Olympia nodded. “Fetch me those letters and the journal Collins, and then return an hour before dinner. I mean to find out all I can from them!”
“Yes, m’lady… The other Lady Darke, the one was married to Lord Darke’s uncle—.” The maid broke off abruptly.
“Yes, Collins? What about her?”
“Don’t trust her, m’lady. Not as far as you can throw her.”
Olympia nodded. “I have no intention of trusting anyone in this house save for you. And thank you, Collins… for everything.”
Looking much relieved, the maid fetched the books from where she’d hidden them, tucked carefully into the lining under the chair that sat before the window. Olympia accepted them from her and then sat down at her small writing desk to begin her study of them. She had the feeling that whatever information was contained within them would be very important.
Nine
Olympia dressed for dinner with care. She was acutely aware of the fact that she would have to withstand the presence of Lady Florence and she wanted—no, she needed—to put her best foot forward. It was a kind of armor, really. And it did truly feel as if she were on the verge of battle.
She hadn’t seen Griffin since their encounter in the hall, when he’d announced his decision to make theirs a marriage in truth. It was mostly by her own design that she’d remained hidden in her room for the remainder of the day to avoid any further conflicts with either Lady Florence or Mrs. Webster. Neither woman was to be trusted and while her place at Darkwood Hall was becoming more certain, that only increased their enmity. With Collins as her only true ally, she was sadly outmatched and she knew it.
While her chambers were grand and luxurious, after a certain number of hours, they still felt like a prison. The only bright spot in the entire ordeal was the realization that it had once been Lady Florence’s chamber and she’d had to forfeit it. It was something of a consolation prize.
Olympia reflected that the room was certainly finer than any place she’d ever called her own before. The modest townhouse that had belonged to her parents had been comfortable and more than adequate for their needs, but it hadn’t been overly luxurious.
The room was done in rich shades of apricot and blue. The carpet and the drapes complemented one another perfectly. The bed curtains were of the same fabric that covered the windows and the furniture was all intricately carved and quite lovely. The frescoed ceiling would take some getting used to, she thought. The nymphs and satyrs appeared to be leering down at her. It was as feminine as Lord Darke’s chamber had been masculine.
Would he join her in her bed, or would he expect her to come to his?
It wasn’t the first unbidden question to come to her mind about what her husband might expect of her. Her traitorous mind had tormented her with such thoughts throughout the afternoon. A part of her was eager to learn, to explore the notion of passion and desire. Another part of her simply wanted it all done. The uncertainty of it all made her nervous. Would he expect her in his bed that night? A traitorous part of her hoped that he would.
The gown she’d chosen was her best one, purchased just before she left London with money provided by Mr. Swindon. Made for another lady who had failed to collect it from the dressmaker, Collins had altered it for her. Whatever complaints she had about the maid, her skill with the needle was not one of them.
The claret silk molded to her curves, emphasizing the fullness of her bosom and cascading over her hips. It could not have fit her better had it been made specifically for her.
“You’ve done a marvelous job, Collins. Thank you.”
The young woman stopped in the midst of putting away her day dress. Her eyes widened and her lips formed a perfect ‘O’. “You’re very welcome, m’lady. Always enjoyed sewing. It’s a special treat to work on a gown so fine.”
“Do you make dresses, then?” Olympia asked, recalling how very fashionably Lady Florence had dressed. She could never hope to compete with the blonde beauty, but it wouldn’t hurt to be as well armed as possible.
“I can, m’lady. But we’ve no fabric to work with here.”
Olympia sighed. “Fabric is easy enough to obtain. We’ll go to the village… though I hear we will have a less than warm welcome.”
Collins nodded emphatically. “You’ve got that aright, m’lady. The servants do talk here. More than a bit. They all whisper about a tragedy. Something happened with the last Viscount. It’s all whispers and glances, but none of ‘em will say what. Though they are all stirred up a bit with the other Lady Darke coming back. But they all stop talking as soon as they see me. I reckon they know where my loyalties are.”
Olympia understood the maid’s frustration. All the vague comments and references to tragedy with no one ever actually just saying what they meant was enough to drive one mad. And while it might have been idle curiosity to Collins, for Olympia, it was something else. She felt compelled to know, riddled with questions and curiosity that would give her no peace. All of it was centered firmly around the man she had married, and whether or not he could be trusted. The secrets of Darkwood Hall weighed heavily on her. They weighed heavily on her husband, too. She sensed that in him; that he struggled with some inner pain. But sympathy for him could be costly and she vowed to guard her heart carefully.
Catching Collins’ eye in the mirror, Olympia posed the question casually, as if the answer meant nothing to her. “And what of the previous Lor
d Darke’s widow… have they said aught of her?”
Collins, though young, was no one’s fool. Her lips primmed in disapproval as she placed several items in the armoire. “Oh, they say plenty about her, my lady. A few of the footmen are right friendly with her… seems they were just as friendly before she became a widow. The maids don’t seem to like her overmuch… has a temper, I heard one say. Will toss a room till it looks like it’s been burgled just because her breakfast tray came with tea instead of chocolate.”
The gong rang for dinner before Olympia could press for more information. Rising from her dressing table, Olympia took one final look in the mirror. Collins skill with a needle was without equaled but her skill with the curling tongs was far from enviable. With that in mind, her hair had been fashioned into a simple coronet and laced with ribbon. It was far from fashionable but it would simply have to do.
As she descended the stairs, Griffin was waiting for her near the bottom. When she reached him, she accepted his proffered arm only too well aware that she was in fact accepting so much more. They were proclaiming, to all there to witness, that they were joined. And while the household consisted only of servants, servants’ gossip could travel far and wide.
“That gown is very fetching… but not nearly as fetching as the woman who wears it.” The words were uttered with a smile and a challenge. He was daring her to deny his statement.
“You’re being quite charming,” Olympia observed archly. “I wasn’t aware it was in your repertoire.”
“I have many things in my repertoire that you are not yet aware of,” Griffin replied smoothly, but with a wicked gleam in his eyes that left little doubt as to his meaning.
“You’re being scandalous… again. You do realize that if you keep this up it will be all over the county by tomorrow that we’re in a love match?” she asked.
“And why shouldn’t it be?” he asked softly.
“Because we are not in a love match, or in love, even. We are expedient for one another,” she answered.
***
Griffin’s smile faded as he led Olympia into the formal dining room. People would talk, but it was something he’d grown accustomed to. Their family had long been a source of gossip for those with nothing better to occupy their time. Was it fair to bring her into that world? To make her an object of ridicule and speculation? But did he have any choice? His great-aunt had known of his decision never to marry and because of that, she’d constructed her will in such a fashion that he would have no alternative but to do that very thing.
Aunt Honoria had felt all the talk of family curses was nonsense. She’d believed none of it even when confronted with evidence to the contrary. So she’d tied her money up in a neat little package that could only be opened in the event he wed, knowing all the while that he would have no choice but to comply or the family estate would fall into utter ruin and the lives of the farmers that depended on the estate would be ruined as well.
So now he found himself saddled with a bride who incited lust in him like no other woman he’d ever known, but who, for reasons he would never be able to share with her, he should not touch. It would have been amusing had it not been so damnably frustrating.
In the dining room, he paused at the end of the table and allowed her to survey the room. It would be their first dinner together there. She would not like the room. Few did. Cold, stark, it harkened back to Darkwood’s history as a fortress in years gone by. The swords and spears covering the walls gave testament to it.
“It’s a bit bloodthirsty, isn’t it?” she asked as she took in the rather austere decor.
He could tell her the true history of the room—that his uncle murdered his two sons and took his own life there beneath the carved family crest. That he’d shot Cassandra in the head and she’d survived only because the gun had malfunctioned, but that the wound had destroyed her humanity and left her a feral shell of a woman, broken beyond repair. It would win him no favors and would not endear him, or his home, to her.
“It is a room designed to intimidate,” he offered instead. “Has it worked?”
“If your housekeeper has failed on that score, nothing else will succeed…. Unless, Lady Florence is dining with us. In that case, I’ve developed a sudden and debilitating megrim.”
A rusty chuckle escaped him. He hadn’t laughed in so long that the sound was unfamiliar to his ears. And yet it was becoming a regular occurrence around her. Had his life really become so devoid of any enjoyment? Yes, he thought. It had. For years, he’d focused on his work, or finding the right combination of herbs and plants to offer her peace. Nothing had worked. The more he’d focused on it, the more desperate he’d become for answers that were not forthcoming. Then there was the loss of his parents, and the awful tragedy of his uncle. Joy was an unfamiliar and long absent visitor to him anymore.
The fact that his home was a battlefield pocked by the bloodless skirmishes between the women of the household did not help. Both Lady Florence and Mrs. Webster were impossible to deal with and yet he did deal with them both on a daily basis. It would drive any man mad, and he was close enough to that already. Rather than dwell on that topic, he instead took in Olympia’s appearance, allowing his gaze to roam over her freely.
“You are safe from her sting tonight. She claims exhaustion from her journey and is taking a tray in her room,” he explained. And a footman, he added mentally, or a pair of them. Spending his money recklessly always seemed to whet her other appetites. God help them all.
Olympia’s sigh of relief was quite telling. “I take it you spent some time with my aunt today?” he asked
She didn’t precisely roll her eyes in response, but the temptation to do so was upon her. He could see it.
“I greeted her in the drawing room upon her return, as Mrs. Webster kindly pointed out that it was now my duty to do so. The embroidery I despise was actually less painful.”
“Then why do it?” he asked. “The embroidery, that is. The other bit I understand. Mrs. Webster says to jump and we all jump.”
“Because it is expected,” Olympia replied. “In order to meet the standards society has set for me, I must prick my fingers until they are sore and blistering. But alas, this morning, I think Lady Florence inflicted more pain than my own clumsiness with a needle.”
“The dower house is uninhabitable at the moment, and the work that it needs cannot be completed until spring,” Griffin offered. “But there are other options. I have no issue with sending her away. She likes Liverpool well enough and when the weather has cleared, she can return there.”
“You may not have issue with it, but I daresay she will. And I would not let her out of my sight, were I you. Turning your back on a woman such as she is ill advised at best.”
Griffin did not respond to that, but he was impressed that she’d taken Florence’s measure so quickly. If only his uncle had not been blinded by her beauty. Deciding a change of subject was in order, he turned to her. “I should not say this,” he said, turning to face her. Every detail of her appearance, from the simply styled wealth of dark hair to the cut of her scarlet gown and all the attributes it displayed so charmingly lured him. He also noted the blush that stained her cheeks as his gaze traveled over her.
“In truth,” he continued, “I should feel guilty to possess such feelings… but I am glad you are here. Whatever Mr. Swindon was thinking when he completely ignored my requirements, I can honestly say that I am glad that you have made your way here to Darkwood Hall… and to me.”
Her blush deepened, but rather than acknowledge what he’d said and what it might possibly mean, she asked, “And what were your requirements, precisely? I know you were seeking a spinster… but that is a very strange type of woman to seek, don’t you think?”
Ten
There were things he had to tell her, things that could possibly effect her decision to remain. He dreaded it, outlining their lonely future together for her. But it had to be done. He wouldn’t have her stay on a lie.
Griffin waved the footmen away and helped her to her seat himself. When they were out of earshot, he spoke softly. “I have chosen, for reasons I will not discuss, not to have children. The Griffin line will end with me. The estates and title will pass to a distant cousin. For that reason, I wanted a woman who had given up the notion of children.”
Another servant entered, prepared to serve the soup, and Olympia paused before answering until they’d gone again. Griffin was only too well aware that nothing he said to her within hearing of any of the servants would be private. They strained to take in every word simply to report it to Mrs. Webster or to Lady Florence, depending on how and where their loyalties lay.
When the servants had all retreated, she pressed him again. “It doesn’t bother you that all of what you’ve worked for will just be handed to some distant and possibly undeserving relative?”
Griffin shrugged. It was of little consequence whether it bothered him or not. If she knew the truth, if he was free to tell her the truth, she would understand that the risk of bringing a child into the hell of his life was simply too much. “I question on a daily basis whether or not I am deserving of this… my cousins, John and Alfred, were well prepared to take on the running of this estate. I was content to live in the dower house with my work. I have, for the longest time, focused more on plants than people… to the point I often have no notion of how to get on with them.”
“That is a skill that can be learned. Clearly you have some natural ability in dealing with difficult people as you have not yet murdered Mrs. Webster or sacked her without a reference. I can’t imagine a person any harder to get on with,” she replied cheekily.
Laughing would only encourage her, so he refrained, but his lips quirked with amusement regardless. “She is difficult,” he admitted. “But she has devoted herself to this family and to Darkwood Hall. Under the circumstances, she’s earned a bit of leeway.”
A Love So Dark (The Dark Regency Series Book 4) Page 7
