A Love So Dark (The Dark Regency Series Book 4)

by Chasity Bowlin

  When Collins finally entered, Olympia couldn’t even speak. Instead, she just thrust the letter at the maid. Collins dutifully took it. As she read the words, her hands began to tremble.

  “Do you think she knows, m’lady?” the younger woman asked, her voice a terrified whisper.

  “I think she suspects. She can’t know for certain, but if he regains his ability to speak, she certainly will. We both know he’ll tell. And it won’t be the true version of events, either! It’ll be us plotting against him instead of—.” Olympia broke off, unable to say aloud what he’d meant to do, what he’d try to do half a dozen times before that night.

  In the year and a half since her parents’ deaths, she’d narrowly avoided ruin at his hands on more occasions than she cared to admit. It was always worse when he’d been drinking. He’d groped her, tried to kiss her, but when he was drinking, there was a meanness in him that wouldn’t be stopped.

  She’d made it a point to never be alone, but that night, she’d been careless. No, she corrected, not careless—just exhausted. Her aunt had set her to beating the rugs until her neck and shoulders had ached horribly. She’d gone to the kitchen to fetch the liniment that cook made for just such reasons. He’d tried to corner her there, but she’d escaped, running to the drawing room, where there was only one escape.

  Realizing she’d been trapped like a rat, she’d grabbed up a bust of Julius Caesar and when he’d cornered her again, tearing at her clothes and spewing obscene things from his lips, she’d brought it crashing down on his head. The sickening thud it had made was a sound she’d never forget. The sight of blood welling from his scalp and pouring over his face as he collapsed was also permanently burned into her mind.

  “What will do, m’lady? If he talks and she goes to Bow Street we’re done for!”

  “If who talks?”

  At the sound of Griffin’s voice, Olympia glanced up and felt her heart jump into her throat. How much had he heard? She tried to speak, but no sound emerged. Instead, she simply gaped at him before finally managing to close her mouth entirely and shaking her head.

  “Collins, leave us,” he instructed.

  The maid passed the letter back to Olympia and then scurried away quickly. She was clearly terrified and rightly so. Would he send them away? When he learned what she had done would he deliver her to the magistrates himself? It wasn't simply the fear that he would send them away, or even fear of the legal consequences of their crimes. Something in her had awakened at his touch, something more than the passion he spoke of so easily. Since her parents’ deaths in that horrible carriage accident, she’d tamped down her emotions, locking them away ruthlessly in self preservation. And yet, when in his presence, she felt giddy almost, giddy and hopeful. She was no longer so all alone in the world, and she very much feared that if he were to spurn her, she would never recover from it. She didn't want him to know the violence she was capable of, for fear that it would alter the way he looked at her. And yet, she did not wish to lie to him.

  “Tell me,” he implored. “Whatever it is, tell me and I will help you.”

  “You won’t. You can’t. You certainly shouldn’t. There’s no help for what I’ve done,” she admitted grudgingly.

  He knelt in front of her, covering her cold and trembling hands with his. “Let me be the judge of that.”

  When he pried the letter from her fingers, she didn’t resist. But she did watch his face as he read the brief missive. At the end, he simply frowned.

  “There is nothing in this letter to account for your sudden change in disposition… and yet, I know this is the cause. So why don’t you explain to me what all of this really means?”

  “I tried to murder my uncle,” she said abruptly.

  Nineteen

  It was not wholly unexpected, her admission. Not the nature of it, at any rate, but she was clearly surprised to have made a confession at all. Her eyes widened and he could see the panic settling in.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because I’m a horrible person,” she said. “Why does anyone commit murder? Because they lack morality!”

  Griffin would have laughed at that, but she seemed to be completely sincere in her belief. “You are not a horrible person. Not in the least. You are kind and understanding, and I cannot believe that you would attempt bodily injury to someone who had done nothing to provoke you. So tell me, Olympia, what did your uncle do to you that preceded your attempt to end his life?”

  Griffin watched her expression closely. He had a very good idea what might have prompted it. As she blushed and looked away, her eyes downcast and her lower lip trembling slightly, he knew that he was correct.

  “I wish you had succeeded,” he said softly. “Any man who would abuse a woman, a relative, in his care, doesn’t deserve to live.”

  “You don’t know… I wasn’t just defending myself!” she protested.

  “I do not know. And that is why you should tell me,” he said. “Tell me, so that if the time comes that I need to help you with this, I have the information I need to do so.”

  “I was in the drawing room… I had run there to get away from him, not thinking that there was only one way in or out,” she said haltingly. “And when he came close to me, within reach, I picked up a marble bust from the table and I hit him as hard as I could. There was blood… so much blood.”

  “Then it was an accident,” he said. “You were defending yourself, as is your right.”

  She looked up then, their gazes locking as her expression grew even bleaker by the second. “No. Once was an accident. Once was self-defense. But then I hit him again. And when he fell to the floor, bleeding and unconscious, I struck him twice more. I wanted him to die. I wanted to never again feel cornered or threatened, or to wonder if the ancient, rickety chair I’d wedged beneath the doorknob would hold through one more night. That is why I am a horrible person… that is why I am morally compromised.”

  “Do you expect me to judge you for this?” he asked incredulously. “Do you think that it would somehow change my opinion of you to know that you harbored rage for a man who forced you to live in fear? It does not. It will not. You could have struck him a dozen times and shot him for good measure, and I would still say he was deserving.”

  She blinked at him then. “Then you are a rare man my lord. Most men, while they would be scandalized by his actions, by his inappropriate attraction to his own niece, would never dare to question his behavior… but they would be very quick to judge mine.”

  “I am not most men… and I don’t find his behavior scandalous. I find it reprehensible. Criminal, or at least it should be. Now tell me what part your mouse of a maid played in this.”

  Olympia glared at him. “She is not a mouse!”

  “She’s as timid as one when I’m around!”

  “Collins helped me move him. To cover up my crime, we tried to make it look as if he fell down the stairs, so we carried him to the foot of the staircase and then cleaned up the blood in the drawing room, though I daresay we didn’t get all of it… in fact, I know we didn't. Collins slipped on the wet floor and turned her ankle badly. That was why I had to walk to Darkwood alone that first day.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “It was dark. We were both terrified,” she said, throwing her hands up. “How else would my aunt know?”

  “She doesn’t know. From the tone of her letter, she may suspect… but you must remember one thing, Olympia.”

  “What is that?”

  “You are now the wife of a Viscount… and whether it is fair or not, in a court of law, if it were to even go that far, my title would count for something,” he explained.

  “But the scandal—.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I could hang for this, Griffin. My aunt and uncle are the type of people who would pursue this to the ends of the earth!”

  He rose and pulled her up with him, folding his arms around her. “It will not happen. Whatever it takes, Oly
mpia, I will keep you safe… I promised you that the first day I brought you here and I mean to keep that promise. Trust me?”

  “I do,” she said. “I do trust you… Thank you.”

  “Whatever for?”

  She leaned into his chest, pressing her face against him. “For believing me, for not judging me, for standing with me regardless of my wrongdoing. I’ve been so alone, Griffin… no one has believed in me, cared for me in this way, since my parents died. I didn’t think anyone would ever again.” She paused then, lifted her head and looked up at him with a slight smile. He could see the hint of tears in her dark eyes. “It was the very next morning that I saw the advertisement Mr. Swindon had placed in the paper. I’d never believed in fate… until now. It feels like fate brought me here to you.”

  He kissed her then, unable to do anything else. He didn’t believe in fate, but whatever had brought her to him, he was grateful.

  “Mr. Swindon should be arriving in a few days. He will offer your aunt and uncle a settlement… a gesture of goodwill on my part, but it will be made clear to them that my goodwill is contingent upon them never bothering you again.”

  ***

  In the dressing room, with her ear pressed to the door, Mrs. Webster listened. Initially, she’d been thrilled at the confession, but Lord Darke’s response chiseled away at her glee until only bitterness remained. The girl was, by her own admission, a murderess, if an incompetent one. Yet still he protected her, vowed to eradicate any consequences of her misdeeds out of some misguided sense of chivalry.

  She thought of Lady Florence’s suggestion, to use Cassandra to rid them of the interloper. As wrong as it seemed to exploit that poor damaged child, it was even more wrong to let that woman take control of Darkwood Hall, to steal control of the one place she’d always called home.

  “I won’t have it,” she whispered. “I will not allow her to take this from me!”

  Using the servant’s passageways, she slipped from one dressing chamber to the other and then exited into the hallway through the master chamber. In the hallway, she came face to face with Lady Florence who waited eagerly for news.

  “She’s told him her secrets and he’d vowed to do whatever is necessary to protect the worthless chit,” Mrs. Webster said.

  “I see. So we revert to my original plan,” Lady Florence said briskly. “If he will not throw her off because of scandal, we will simply have to find a more permanent way of ridding ourselves of her. You will do what is necessary, Mrs. Webster?”

  The housekeeper nodded. “I will, my lady, whatever is necessary.”

  Twenty

  Griffin climbed the stairs to Cassandra’s chamber with a heavy heart. It had been two days since Olympia’s confession, two days that had been remarkably peaceful. A letter had arrived from Swindon, stating that he was delayed in London. Griffin had the sneaking suspicious that Swindon was still making himself scarce on purpose. After all, filing for an annulment without his solicitor was hardly a likely occurrence. Of course, an annulment was no longer possible, nor was it wanted, but Swindon had to be aware of all that as soon as Griffin’s letter describing the gift he wished to give to Olympia had arrived. But, Griffin reflected, it wasn't the first time Swindon had pointedly ignored his wishes and it undoubtedly would not be the last. But Swindon wasn't his primary concern at the moment.

  Whatever changes he’d made to Cassandra’s medication had been working. He'd thought that the formula was finally perfected. She’d been calmer than he’d seen her in years—until a few hours ago. She’d been having a difficult evening. The screaming had begun even before dinner and had only grown in intensity. As he neared the top, he heard the shattering of glass.

  As he entered her room, he saw Mrs. Webster desperately sweeping the broken glass from his sister’s reach. It was the last vial of the new batch he’d made, the one that had been working so well for her.

  “I’m so sorry, my lord. She knocked it from my hand,” the housekeeper offered, sounding truly contrite for the loss of the soothing draught.

  Cassandra was wilder than he’d seen her in some time, pacing and growling like a caged animal. What went on her mind then, he wondered? Was there any consciousness remaining or had his uncle managed to eradicate all of it with his ill fated attempt on her life? “It’s fine, Mrs. Webster. I shall simply make more. It will be at least an hour. Will you give her laudanum to calm her until I return?”

  “I can try, my lord. But it only works for a short time on her anymore.”

  Griffin nodded. “I will hurry as much as possible, but the herbs must cook for the proper amount of time or they will be too potent for her.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Griffin left the room again, heading for the conservatory and the small hothouse there so that he could gather what he needed. As he closed the door to the East wing behind him, Lady Florence emerged from a shadowed doorway.

  With Griffin gone, she climbed the stairs to Cassandra’s chamber. “How much time do we have?” she asked the housekeeper.

  “Only an hour. I’ve given her the laudanum already. It should have her docile enough in a few minutes,” Mrs. Webster said.

  “We’ll place her in Lady Darke’s dressing room…Are you sure she’ll enter the bed chamber when she awakens?”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Webster said. “If her ladyship is awake, if she makes any noise at all or if there’s light, Cassandra is likely to follow it. This is not a foolproof plan, my lady. There are many ways for it to go wrong.”

  “She’s dismissed her maid already,” Lady Florence said. “I saw the girl in the corridor with the dress Lady Darke had worn to dinner. She won’t return with it until morning.”

  By the time they’d finished plotting, Cassandra had slumped against Mrs. Webster, her limbs lax and her mouth slightly agape; her eyes were glazed and distant.

  “It’s time, Mrs. Webster… once we’ve placed her, you must return here and make yourself appear injured.”

  “Yes, my lady. It’s already planned out,” the housekeeper replied.

  Together, the two women dragged the barely conscious Cassandra down the hall and into the main corridor. It was no mean feat to get her into the dressing room without making a sound, but somehow they managed. Settling her onto the small cot there that was sometimes occupied by the maid, they parted ways—Lady Florence to waylay Griffin and delay his return and Mrs. Webster to fake Cassandra’s escape.

  ***

  When I discovered that I was with child, I had thought my life had simply ended. My lover was gone, and surely my new suitor would spurn me the moment he learned the truth. But the Honorable Sir Richard Griffin has proven to be far more charitable than I could ever have dreamed.

  He confessed to me today that there is a history of madness in his family, an infirmity of the mind that some are born with and that strikes others much later in their life. Not only has he chosen to accept me, but also to accept my unborn child as his own, an heir, he hopes, that will be free of any taint of the illness that has cursed his family.

  Olympia read the passage in the journal again. Still not trusting her eyes or her mind to have interpreted again, she read a third time. It was written plainly in Miss Patrice Landon’s handwriting. Griffin, her first born son, was a bastard, but one claimed by her husband and welcomed with joy.

  One thought came unbidden then, and it was the most welcome thought she’d ever entertained. She could bear his children. Would he be pleased if she told him? Or would the knowledge of his mother’s affair anger him?

  Curious to know more, Olympia read on. She read of their marriage and then of Richard’s botanical studies. The entries grew fewer and further between, sometimes months would be missing. It wasn’t until Patrice wrote of her second child, a girl that was damaged, that Olympia abruptly closed the book. The woman’s pain had been profound and her belief that the child’s mental defect was in some way her punishment was too horrible to contemplate.

  A noise in the dressin
g room gave her a start, lost in thought as she was. Assuming it was Collins, she settled back into her chair and considered her options. She could tell Griffin but that would require a confession on her part— that she had in fact been lurking and spying, just as Mrs. Webster had once accused her. Though in light of what she had to disclose and what it could mean for both of them, she had to believe that he wouldn’t be overly angry or if he was, it would surely give way to relief when he realized that he was free from the fear of losing his own sanity.

  Another noise from the dressing room brought her up on alert. The smashing of glass was not something she’d expected to hear. “Collins?” she called out. There was no answer.

  Olympia got to her feet. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears and taste the bitter tang of fear on her tongue. Her hand trembled as she reached out and placed it against the dressing room door. Even as she reached for the knob, it turned. Another sound came from beyond that door, the low keening wail that she’d come to recognize. Cassandra had been freed from her tower.

  When the door started to open, Olympia threw all of her weight against it. She struggled to keep it closed, but the young woman on the other side of it was impossibly strong, enraged beyond the point of reason or return. Olympia screamed out for help, but she had to wonder if it was a futile effort. Everyone at Darkwood Hall had become inured to the sounds of screams in the night. Would hers even be heard or would they simply be dismissed as a familiar night sound in this strange house?

  The door reverberated painfully against her shoulder as Cassandra continued to throw herself against it. How long would it hold? Was there enough intellect left in the girl for her to figure out that there was another way into the room? Olympia had no sooner thought it than the continuous thumping stopped.

  But it wasn’t movement at the main door to her chamber that prompted her fear to soar to new heights. It was the acrid scent of smoke.