“She lied to her husband—.”
“No. He knew,” Olympia said. “He knew right from the start and he accepted you gladly. His reasoning was that he would have an heir, he would have a son who would be spared the melancholy and the madness that had plagued the rest of your family… And he loved you, Griffin, as if you were his. Do not ever think otherwise.”
He said nothing for the longest time. Olympia searched his face for any indication that he’d heard her, much less understood the gravity of what she'd just said to him.
“Griffin? Did you hear me?”
He closed his arms around her, holding her so tightly that she could scarcely breathe. There was a desperation in him as he clung to her.
“I heard you,” he whispered. “You're certain?”
“Yes,” Olympia replied. “Quite sure. I have the letters and the journal if you want to read them, though the content is perhaps more risqué than one would wish to associate with one's mother."
He shuddered then, but chuckled softly as she'd intended. “I’ll defer to your judgement then.” Griffin drew a deep breath, “I’m not going to go mad. The thing I've feared my entire adult life is not going to happen.”
She smiled. “No. You will not go mad. Well, I might drive you to it… but not like your father, not like your uncle, and not like poor Cassandra. That is one burden you can shake off.”
“Let us go to bed,” he said. “I cannot think anymore tonight, I simply cannot take anything else in. Tomorrow will be soon enough to sort everything out.”
Olympia could not have agreed more. She climbed into the bed with him. A sigh escaped her as he pulled her close, holding her against him. It wasn’t about passion or desire. It was about comfort, about being there for one another. Turning into his embrace, she laid her head against his shoulder and closed her arms around him. They slept that way, holding one another through the night.
Twenty-Two
Florence was wasting no time in making the necessary preparations for her getaway. Staying at Darkwood Hall was no longer an option. Griffin would be furious, furious enough that he might actually be beyond caring about the scandals she and Mrs. Webster could bring to light. Retreat, for the moment, was her only option.
She did actually still have a friend or two in Liverpool. Her statement to the contrary had only been to avoid having him send her away before she’d discovered what she needed to about his new bride.
Mrs. Webster, she thought, as she tossed another chemise and petticoat into her bag, was another matter altogether. The woman, in spite of her cold demeanor, had actually cared deeply for Cassandra. With the horrible events that had unfolded after their plan went awry, it was anyone’s guess what the housekeeper would do. She didn’t mean to be there to find out. It was one of the reasons she’d elected to pack her own bag rather than asking for the assistance of one of the maids. She didn’t want any of the servants to be privy to her escape until it was underway. Only her personal maid was aware of her plan and she meant to keep it that way.
The door opened, but she didn’t turn around, assuming it was her maid returning with the items she’d requested. “Leave my green traveling gown, Parks, and pack the rest,” she said.
“That won’t be necessary, Lady Florence. You won’t be going anywhere.”
Florence had been stuffing clothing items into her bag, but at the sound of that voice, she stopped, going completely still. Taking a calming breath, she turned to face her co-conspirator. “Mrs. Webster,” she acknowledged. The tidy and incredibly severe woman she was acquainted with had vanished. In her place as a ravaged creature, her face streaked with tears, hair wild, clothing disheveled. But it was the absence of the cold and reserved expression she normally wore that was truly telling. In its place was a murderous rage, a wildness that reminded her of a feral animal.
“I knew better,” the woman said. “I knew better than to go along with your ridiculous scheme…Because of us, that poor girl is gone. Even mad, I can’t help but fear that suicide is a mortal sin.”
“It wasn’t suicide,” Florence said sharply. “The poor, daft thing hadn’t a clue what she was doing. Suicide implies intent!”
“Like our intent? To use her and exploit her, to take what the last Lord Darke did to her and use it for our own gain?”
“If Griffin would have married me we wouldn’t have had to do any of it! It’s his fault… All of it is his fault,” Florence protested. “If we’re lucky, this will be the last straw for him. It’ll drive him mad, he’ll take his own life and hers… and then I’ll marry that distant cousin of his and together we will rule this house as we were meant to! It was your birthright! When Roger’s father forced himself upon your mother, when she bore you in this house where she served, you earned it. Do not falter now.”
Mrs. Webster shook her head, “I’ve been listening to you since you first came here—letting your feed my bitterness, stoking it like a flame until it consumed me entirely. No more.”
The housekeeper’s expression hardened. There was a resolve in her that was utterly terrifying, but Florence reminded herself that the woman was a servant, and servants would always do as they were told. It was simply the way of their world.
Attempting to brazen it out, Florence laughed bitterly. “What do you plan to do? Confess? He knows. He’s guessed already that it was the two of us who led Cassandra to Lady Darke’s dressing room!”
“I don’t mean to confess, Lady Florence. I mean to atone. We’re going to pay for what we did to her,” Mrs. Webster said, walking towards her.
As she neared, Florence saw that she held a brace of pistols, one in each hand. “What are you doing? Stop this at once.”
Mrs. Webster raised the first gun, leveling it at her. Florence had not time to beg, no time to plead for her life or for forgiveness. The pistol ball ripped through her bodice and she fell to the floor with a shrill scream.
As she lay there, bleeding on the carpet, Mrs. Webster lifted the second pistol and placed it to her head. Florence closed her eyes as she heard the report of the weapon.
***
The sound of gunfire pulled her from sleep. Olympia sat up with a start, but Griffin slept on. Reluctantly, she jostled his shoulder. It didn’t work. She repeated it again, more forcefully. Finally, he opened his eyes.
“What is it?” he asked groggily.
No sooner had he asked the question than another shot rang out. “Griffin, I think something awful has happened.”
He rose immediately, reaching for his shirt and the still damp breeches he’d discarded. After he’d dressed hurriedly, he left the room. Servants were appearing in the hall, coming down from the floor above where most of them slept.
“Where did that sound come from?” he asked.
One of the maids pointed to Lady Florence’s door. “Mine and Marjorie’s room is just above hers, m’lord.”
“How can you be sure?”
The maid blushed furiously. “Well, we can hear her when she’s…. entertaining, m’lord.”
Griffin sighed. “Of course.” Without saying anything further, he took two long strides and then banged on the door.
“Florence?”
She called out weakly, though the words were unintelligible. Griffin opened the door and cursed immediately. Charging into the room, he didn’t bother to check Mrs. Webster. It was glaringly apparent based on the nature of her wound that the woman could not possibly have survived.
He moved toward Florence. She lay in a pool of blood that was spreading rapidly around her. He moved to lift her but she screamed out in pain.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t. It’s too late.”
“Florence, we can send for the doctor!”
“We both know I’ve lost too much blood already,” she said. “Mrs. Webster—.”
“Don’t try to talk.”
“I have to tell you,” she insisted. “She was Roger’s half sister… his father forced himself upon her mother when she worked her
e.”
It all made more sense then, Mrs. Webster’s obsession with control of Darkwood Hall and her resentment of him and everyone else in the house who had a legitimate claim to it. But there was no time for more questions. Florence’s eyes fluttered closed and her breathing stilled.
Griffin stared down at the body and simply felt numb. So much had happened that he couldn’t actually generate an appropriate emotional response. That part of him had simply shut down altogether.
He heard Olympia’s gasp from the doorway. “She’s gone,” he said softly. “Both of them are.”
“Shall I send for the magistrate, m’lord?” one of the footmen asked.
Simms, the normally dour but unflappable butler stepped forward. “There is no need to send for a magistrate, Thomas. ̓Twas a terrible tragedy that the three of them succumbed to a fever… and on the same night as the fire. A terrible tragedy.”
“But—.” Thomas was cut off abruptly before he could finish his question by a chorus of ‘ayes’.
“An awful tragedy, m’lord,” Marjorie said. “The fever was just too much for all of them.”
Another chorus of ayes. But Griffin shook his head. “I cannot ask you all to lie.”
“Begging your pardon, m’lord,” Marjorie replied, “But you didn’t ask us to do anything of the sort. We’ve been following Mrs. Webster’s orders, God rest her, for as long as we’ve been here, even when those orders felt wrong somehow. It’s time that we started serving the true master and mistress of this house.”
Griffin had nothing to say to that. Nothing at all. “We’ll hold services for all of them tomorrow. Can you prepare them?”
Marjorie gulped, but then nodded. “We can, m’lord. We will. You should rest now. It’s been a trying day.”
Griffin rose and walked toward Olympia who was standing at the door, her arms wrapped about herself as if to ward off a chill. “You shouldn’t be seeing this,” he said. “You’ve suffered enough shocks of your own tonight. Let’s go to bed. We can take care of all of this tomorrow.”
She nodded her agreement and he ushered her back to the chamber they’d taken for the night. With everything that had happened, with all that had changed and shifted so completely in his world since she’d arrived, he could still say without question, that he was infinitely glad that she was there with him. She offered him a kind of peace he’d never known, and he never wanted to let that go.
Epilogue
Griffin entered the library and found Olympia there, her nose buried in a book as pale wintry light streamed in through the windows. It had been nearly two weeks since the horrible events had unfolded that had robbed Cassandra of her life and that had led to Mrs. Webster taking Florence’s life and her own. He’d made peace with those things, of a sort.
Guilt still plagued him, but more for Cassandra’s life than for her death. He’d come to see her death as a way of giving her peace from the demons that had tormented her so.
Olympia looked up at him and smiled. “Where have you been all morning?”
“I went into the village,” he said. “I had Swindon order something for me in London and it was delivered to John Short this morning. He sent a message by his son to come fetch it.”
She frowned at that. “Why wouldn’t he just deliver it himself?”
Griffin smiled as he settled onto the window seat beside her. “It was not the sort of thing one would entrust a twelve year old boy to deliver,” he said. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a small wooden box, small enough that it would fit into the palm of his hand. “I realized that you did not have a proper wedding ring, only that cheap band that Swindon had given you… I felt it was time, since you are my wife in every sense of the word, that you had something to mark it.”
Olympia’s hands trembled as he placed the box in her palm. But it wasn’t nerves. It was excitement, she was all but bouncing in her seat. “I can’t recall the last time I was given a present,” she said, her eyes alight with happiness.
His expression soured at that. “Soon you will not be able to remember a time when you were not receiving them.”
She opened the box and gasped. The ring was a large and heavy emerald, haloed with alternating diamonds and pearls. “Oh, Griffin! It’s lovely.”
“You are lovely,” he said. “And you are loved.”
She’d been removing the ring from the box, eager to slip it on her finger. But at his words she paused, growing unnaturally still. “What did you say?”
“I said, wife, that you are loved… Is it any wonder that I’ve fallen madly in love with you? That somehow, in this house of horrors, you have brought light and laughter to me when I thought both lost forever?”
She launched herself at him, her arms closing about his neck as she pressed a kiss to his lips. “I love you so much,” she said. “I didn’t dare to hope that you’d love me in return… Fondness, affection… and you’ve made your desire for me quite evident, but I didn’t think to expect love.”
“Whether you expected it or not, it is yours forever,” he vowed, holding her close. “And I’ve been thinking about our initial agreement… The impediment to us having children, the fear that I might somehow pass on the madness that afflicts this family, is no more. And I very much want to have children with you, Olympia. I want that more than anything.”
“Of course! I want that to… The very idea of it gives me joy,” she said. “I don’t want this house to be filled with darkness and ugly memories. I want to fill it with new and happy ones… What better way to do that than with the laughter of children?”
“Then come upstairs with me,” he urged, smiling roguishly as he stood and tugged at her hand.
She blushed. “Griffin! It’s the middle of the day! The servants will be scandalized!”
“They’ll grow used to it,” he replied. “Come upstairs with me and let us see what we can do about filling this house with children.”
He saw her waver. Even as the blush on her cheeks burned brighter, she slipped the ring he’d given her on her finger and then placed her hand in his. He was still smiling as he led her from the room, up the stairs, and past the smug and knowing glances of the butler, Simms, and their new housekeeper, Miss Marjorie Jones.
THE END
If you enjoyed A Love So Dark, the next novel in the series, A Passion So Strong is now available for pre-order.
Thank you for reading.
THE END
Also by Chasity Bowlin
The Dark Regency Series: Volume One
The Haunting of a Duke
The Redemption of a Rogue
The Enticement of an Earl
Standalone Novellas
The Beast of Bath
The Last Offer
The Dark Regency Series: Volume Two
A Love So Dark (September 2016)
A Passion So Strong (December 2016)
A Heart So Wicked (February 2017)
And writing as Seraphina Donavan:
The DuChamps’ Dynasty Series:
Been Loving You Too Long
Have A Little Faith In Me
I’ll Take Care Of You
Back To The Beginning: A Duet (with Laramie Briscoe)
The Bourbon & Blood Series:
Bennett
Ciaran
Clayton
Carter
Quentin (October 2016)
About the Author
Chasity Bowlin grew up in Tennessee and now lives in Central Kentucky where she spends her time rescuing cats and consuming copious amounts of caffeine and chocolate. She also writes contemporary romance as Seraphina Donavan with many of her novels set in her home state of Kentucky. She also loves to hear from her readers and can be contacted at either [email protected] or [email protected].
oks on Archive.
A Love So Dark (The Dark Regency Series Book 4) Page 16
