Mistress of Darkness: Dredthorne Hall Book 2

by Hunter, Hazel

  But as he warred with himself, Gwen simply smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Sheraton,” she said warmly, and took his arm. They made their way toward the glass doors, and exited into the garden. “How has your work been today?”

  Robert groaned at the question. “Well, my brother has fallen off of the earth. No one seems to know where he is, and truthfully, I am about to write home and declare that he is missing.”

  He’d only delayed this long because of the consequences that he felt would surely come. His mother would have an apoplexy and his father’s fading health would not be able to withstand such news. In short, he could become both an orphan and a man whose only brother had vanished.

  “I’m so sorry,” Gwen replied softly, and in her voice Robert heard true sorrow.

  As she squeezed his arm, he considered declaring his feelings for her. But the same old obstacle presented itself: his brother had declared himself for her sister, who had accepted him. Until that matter was resolved, there was nothing Robert could do.

  They walked through the tall shrubbery and past the kitchen garden in silence as they approached Gwen’s favorite place on their circuit, the mossy pond. The overwintering Mallards there liked to talk back to them as she and Robert chatted on the stone bench. They took their seat but had neglected to bring their little friends the usual bread crumbs. Instead, both they and the ducks sat quietly among the brilliantly yellow witch hazel and the delicate pink blooms of elephant’s ears.

  Robert exhaled slowly. “I’m worried about writing to my parents about Christopher,” he confessed.

  Gwen’s delicate fingers threaded through his, and he made no move to dislodge them. “When I read Regina’s letter, I thought the world was going to end. My mother cried for days, while my father said nothing. It was frightening and I thought they’d both come undone. Worry absolutely consumed me.” She patted his arm. “But then, after about a week, at dinner, my father looked at my mother and simply said, ‘I never liked Christopher anyway.’”

  Robert blinked and stared at her. Only when she could no longer suppress her smile and started to giggle did he begin to laugh as well. Gods it felt good simply to sit and laugh. “You are incorrigible my dear Miss Archer,” he said, still chuckling. “I am sure that your father said no such thing.”

  “Ah, but that is what makes my tale all the more entertaining,” she assured him. “For he did in fact say it.”

  Now Robert had to frown. “Surely not. I can’t imagine such a thing. Your parents adore Christopher.”

  Her smiling eyes met his. “Well the point wasn’t that he didn’t like Christopher. The point was that even when things were looking to be at their worst, my family rallied together. I just know that no matter what has become of Christopher, your mother and father will support you in your search and your efforts.”

  “That may be true,” Robert said, the levity now vanished. “But I am afraid that my father may not be able to support anyone for very much longer.”

  “Oh, no,” she breathed, gazing up at him from under a furrowed brow. “Your father?”

  Robert nodded. “The doctors have told my mother to prepare herself,” he said quietly, then shook his head. “How can one truly prepare oneself for such an eventuality?”

  To that Gwen had no answer, though he hadn’t expected one.

  The ducks must have become bored or hungry, since they waddled off and splashed into the pond, their orange feet paddling beneath the water. With the coming change of the seasons, they would be off, flying back to the colder climate from which they had come to take shelter here. He cocked his head at them as they swam together, leaving little wakes behind them. It was odd to think of anyone, even ducks, taking shelter at Dredthorne.

  “I do know what you mean,” Gwen finally said. “How does one prepare for the inexplicable? For some reason that I cannot fathom, I do not think Regina is going to come back. Perhaps it is an intuition, or perhaps I just despair, but something inside me says that she will not return.”

  “She may not return to Renwick,” he said, “but I’m sure she’ll turn up.” He squeezed her hand. “She has a wonderful sister like you to take care of her, and parents who love her. Why wouldn’t she want to come back to that?” He paused for a moment, watching the ducks dive for their food. “I can see why she might not want to come back to Christopher, though. The man snores like a saw cutting wood.” He cleared his throat. “No doubt your father heard him.”

  Gwen giggled a bit, a sound that Robert found delightful. As usual, their garden walk had done him a world of good. Sunlight glittered on the surface of the mossy pond like wavy emeralds; the chill of the morning was lifting; and Dredthorne didn’t seem quite as imposing, nor his troubles so pressing, as they did just an hour ago.

  * * *

  In the back of the kitchen, the servants sat at the wooden table that kept them far from the ears of the master and mistress. As usual, the mysteries of Dredthorne Hall were the topic of animated conversation. Parks sat listening as Agnes, Jonathan, and Frances gossiped over their tea and biscuits.

  “And I say,” Agnes continued, “that this ghost business is nonsense. My parents worked here and my great uncle and none of them ever went mad or were struck deaf, dumb, or dead.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that. There ain’t no spirits in the stables, but I have seen and heard enough things in this house to make me wonder. Stranger things in Earth and Heaven than… Well, you know what I mean.”

  “It’s what I have been saying all along, isn’ it,” Frances said. “There are times on the upper floors when I hear the strangest sounds, like a sob, or a groan–”

  “Or the wind,” Parks put in. “Really, the lot of you. You sound like frightened school children.”

  “Well, it’s not just us,” Frances countered. “Miss Gwen hears something too sometimes. She gets that strange tilt of her head, like she is listening for something just beyond hearing. And…” Frances leaned forward and lowered her voice. “When I came to dress her for dinner the other day, she was covered in dust and cobwebs and dirt. I think the ghosts are leading her deeper into the hall.” She looked at Parks. “Explain that one, Mr. Parks.”

  He scowled at her over his tea and finished sipping before he answered. “How many ways are there for a dress to get dirty, Frances? Really. Some of the rooms in the hall have barely been opened and cleaned. You see how she explores and supervises the repair work.”

  “It’s all hogwash,” Agnes agreed. “You’re letting your imagination run away with you. I say there is nothing in this hall but a few loose fixtures and rat’s nests. You’ll see, once it’s all fixed up.”

  “Exactly my point,” Parks agreed. “We’ve just made a start. Why do you think we hear nothing here in the servant’s rooms? Because we’ve made sure that everything here is ready and working.”

  Jonathan took one of the freshly baked biscuits and took a decisive bite as he stood. “Well, I’ve got to get back to the stables.” But Parks heard him tack on under his breath, “Thank goodness.”

  “Well I say thank goodness that it’s not the servants that have anything to fear from the curse on this hall,” Frances said, watching him go. “It’s the master’s true love that is undone by its evil eye, someone he marries.”

  Agnes nodded. “That much is true.” Then she winked at Frances. “I’m just glad Mr. Sheraton has never taken a fancy to me. Frances here would be more to his taste.”

  Frances choked a bit on her tea. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  “Never mind, Frances,” Agnes said. “I’m only teasing. It’s plain to see that the master only has eyes for his lady guest. If the hall is calling to her, showing her things, than I can only hope she never marries him no matter how much he dotes on her.” A mischievous grin spread across her face. “In her younger days, she might have looked a bit like you. Better be careful if you start hearing things too.”

  As she sipped her tea, Frances sput
tered and coughed.

  Parks took out his pocket watch. “Enough idle chit chat. We must see to dinner.”

  Chapter 5

  Dinner had been quiet and, thankfully, uneventful. Gwen had particularly enjoyed the Welsh rarebit and the grilled mackerel, as had Robert. Though at first she thought he’d only agreed to their garden walks and choice of foods in order to be agreeable, it seemed that they genuinely appreciated the same things. There’d been little new to report from either of them, so they’d played a brief game of piquet. Gwen had proved lucky in cards this evening, and Robert had seemed to bear his losses with equanimity. It had all been quite pleasant and normal.

  Now she lay in bed under the pale moonlight, waiting for sleep to come. But as always, of late, her thoughts turned to Robert. He’d confided to her in the garden today in a way that no other man had ever done. Rather than think him weak when he’d confessed worry for his parents, she found that it endeared him to her. They were alike in this way, in their devotion to family. Of all the things she expected to find at Dredthorne, surely that had not been one of them.

  She blew out a breath. Sleep was obviously nowhere near. Her gaze fell on the journals that she and Robert had brought up. Perhaps they would distract her. She got up, put on her dressing gown, and lit a candle.

  “What happened to you, Miss Wilson?” she said to no one.

  Earlier, she’d found a letter from her, tucked between the pages of one of Mrs. Thorne’s journals. Though it revealed little, she read it again, impressed once more by how rushed the handwriting seemed.

  My Darling,

  I hope this finds you well. Spring has arrived in the countryside with a vengeance. Wildflowers seem to bloom everywhere and the staff take pains to keep all the vases full, even the large Chinese urns in the entrance hall.

  My stay in the great house has been rather pleasant until now. Mr. Thorne is an excellent host. I find I am entertained by his reading to me from his wonderful library in the evenings. He insists that he shall teach me to ride, so that I can accompany him in the mornings. The cook here is wonderful and my maid quite diligent.

  But I fear that not all of the family or staff approve of my presence here under Dredthorne’s roof. I have my own set of rooms, but I have seen Mrs. Thorne wandering the corridors when I return to my bedchamber in the early mornings. Of all things, one of the stable boys has been asking a great many questions about my past and my future.

  There have been some accidents around the hall of late. I’m nervous that they may be brought on by more than just unfortunate circumstances. I fear that someone is going to

  Going to what? Why had the letter not been finished? Is that the moment that she had gone missing?

  Gwen mused for a moment on the possibility that the courtesan’s disappearance might be the fuel for the rumors of the hall being haunted. But reading the letter again had proved no more illuminating than the first time. She tucked it back into the journal and went back to bed.

  Burrowing under the covers, she closed her eyes, trying not to think of whatever “unfortunate circumstance” might have befallen Miss Wilson. Instead, Gwen decided to think of weddings, particularly the one that she and her mother had planned for Regina and Christopher. They’d have made a handsome couple, but now she realized that Robert would easily have eclipsed his brother and made a very dashing best man.

  “Heavens,” she muttered. She was thinking of him again.

  With an exasperated sigh, she turned onto her side. Unfortunately, staring at the window did little to distract her. Instead her mind turned from the courtesan, to Mrs. Thorne, to her husband, to the Dredthorne curse, to Robert and Christopher, to Regina, and back again. Such thoughts continued to swirl through her head, until at last her eyelids grew heavy.

  Someone crept into the room so softly that she barely heard them. With deft and fluid movements, they slid into the bed behind her, resting a hand on her hip.

  “I could not help but to come see you,” Robert said softly.

  His fingertips gently caressed her side, and she shivered, feeling as though she were in that dim place between wakefulness and sleep. Dazed, she leaned her head back against the strength of his chest as he lightly slid his fingers across her waist, making her shudder against him. With a start, she realized that he was wearing nothing more than his sleeping clothes, not even a robe.

  “Robert,” she murmured, her eyes half-closed, as she reached back to hold his hand. He raised up and kissed the side of her neck lightly, then trailed his soft lips down her shoulder, and closed his teeth gently over her skin. Whimpering, she clutched his hand, and he slowly brought it up to her breast.

  His hand cupped her flesh and his clever fingers plucked at her pebbling nipple. Her body responded to his touch as if it’d been born for the very purpose. As he slipped his other hand beneath her and pulled her close, warmth spread down her belly. As though he’d sensed it, his hand found its way beneath her nightgown and his fingers slipped between her legs.

  “Yes,” she whispered hoarsely. “Yes.”

  “Shh,” he murmured softly, his voice deep and husky. “Let me pleasure you. You have done so much for me, Gwen.” Then he touched her, gathering the wetness from between her legs to rub against her throbbing nub. She squirmed against him, pressing back into him as she whimpered.

  “Robert,” she breathed. What he was doing felt so good. He flicked his fingers against her slowly, and then with growing haste. She was rocking her hips against him in little, urgent movements, bunching the sheets in her hands, trying to find something to hold onto. “Take me, please,” she whispered, almost at the point of tears.

  His fingers stilled. “Are you sure?” he murmured, his voice low and full of dark temptation.

  “Please,” she moaned louder, panting hard. “Please, I need you.”

  The words were still on her lips, when she sat upright in bed—alone.

  She blinked hazily, swaying, and realized that it had only been a dream. “A dream,” she gasped, feeling the flush in her cheeks and the warmth still lingering in her body. It took her several moments to adjust to her wakened state, if one could call it that, for the image of her and Robert still played in her mind.

  She swallowed hard, climbing out of the bed on shaky legs, and stumbled over to her dresser to find a dry nightgown. It was all she could do not to go down the hall, climb into bed with Robert, and re-create some of that dream.

  But even as she glanced at her door, she realized the utter folly of what she was thinking—and finally she realized why. The older she became, the less likely it was that she would ever experience such things. As the years mounted and the suitors dwindled, the fact was that a happy marriage and a family of her own were the real dreams. And yet…

  Perhaps she should speak to Robert about…a possible alliance. If Regina and Christopher did not find their way to each other again, nothing stood in the way of a different marriage. Perhaps their families could still be joined, even if it was not the way that they had intended. It was not too terribly far-fetched for the older siblings to marry; in fact, in hindsight, it may even have been a better idea than the original one to join Regina and Christopher.

  Gwen shook her head at her own temerity. Such must be the dreams of old maids in the making.

  “Stop your foolishness,” she chided herself. She would end up taking care of her parents, and likely live in the home where she’d been born until the day she died.

  She stared out the window into the star-pocked sky. As she watched, a cloud sailed slowly toward the moon and hit it, though neither seemed the worse for wear. Gwen sighed. Clearly, sleep had abandoned her for the night. Between musing on Miss Wilson and thinking about Robert, she would never rest. Maybe some warm milk would soothe her. She rang the bell pull at her bedside, and commenced to wait for Frances.

  As she looked at the pile of journals, a sudden notion occurred to her. Perhaps she could sort out her worries and troubles by commending her own thoughts
to a journal. For now she could start with pen and paper.

  She rifled through the drawers of the dressing table, found paper, ink and quill and began to write.

  Dear Journal,

  I am not quite sure what to make of this extended visit with Robert. He is becoming someone that I cannot say that I recognize—and that is a good thing, I think. He is helping me with Mrs. Thorne’s journals; we have four more to review tomorrow after dinner and have pored through so many that I have lost count. He is so far from the man that I once thought he was. And the dreams that I’m having about him are most unbecoming; he’s penetrating my thoughts, becoming someone that I think about daily, and apparently nightly.

  I would almost say that I am beginning to feel something for Robert, though I thought I had made my mind up about him long ago. I would never have thought it possible; I am older than Regina and was beginning to feel that I would be unmarried forever, with her getting married first. Now, that appears as if it will not happen for my departed sister, and here I am with Robert nearly courting me. He follows me around and shows me the grounds, ensuring my comfort and safety at all times. I feel as if he is my shadow, my bodyguard, and my confidant.

  Aside from Robert, I have heard things, noises, dim utterances coming from deep inside the hall. The door in my dressing room heads to the kitchen, I know—but why? When I listen close to it, I think I can hear muted sobbing and muffled words. I believe it is a woman’s voice, but no one is in sight. I cannot discern where it is coming from; its source lies somewhere beyond the walls.

  After a long minute, she frowned and looked to the door. Usually Frances was much quicker than this. Could it be that she’d rung too late? Maybe the young girl was asleep and had not heard the bell. Slipping on her house shoes and wrapping her robe tightly around her, Gwen wandered out of her room. All was stillness in the hallway, and also in the house. It seemed she would have to get her own warm milk.