A Love So Dark (The Dark Regency Series Book 4) (10 page)

A
ccompanied by a footman and Collins
, Olympia made her way along the main thoroughfare of the village. The snow had not amounted to much, but the temperatures were cold enough for the ground to be frozen solid rather than the soggy, muddy mess that they’d first arrived in.

The village of Easton on Ryburn was small, incredibly so, as Griffin had warned her. Still, there was a milliner, a haberdasher and a linen draper all within a short distance of one another. It would be a quick trip for them, she thought.

“You may wait out here,” she told the footman.

“But, m’lady, I was instructed not to let you out of me sight,” he said, his voice panicky and high pitched.

“And she won’t be out of your sight. There are windows right here where you can watch her the entire time we’re in the shop,” Collins said impatiently. “Your job will be complete and her ladyship can order personal items without either of you dying of the humiliation.”

The young footman blushed and then nodded furiously. “Yes, Miss Collins! M’lady?”

“That will be perfectly fine, Thomas,” Olympia agreed as she tried to make sense of Collins. As a scullery maid, she’d been meek and quite timid. With her elevated station, she’d become quite a force to contend with. Still, referring to the purchase of unmentionables in front of the footman was hardly appropriate.

Of course, her patience for Collins was also challenged by her lack of sleep. She’d lain awake for the better part of the night thinking of Griffin and his confession in the hallway. Had he not been so distraught he would not have told her about his sister. She was certain of it. But he had, and now she could not put it from her mind. Nor could she put the journal and those letters from her mind, and all she’d learned of his parents and the passion they’d shared. It all pressed heavily upon her and she wondered what course of action to take. To tell him and damn the consequences, or to keep the secret and let it fester inside her?

Entering the shop, Collins at her heels, the few women gathered inside immediately fell silent. The hush that swept through the shop was immediate and the atmosphere palpably tense. Ignoring the curious stares and those that bordered on hostile, Olympia approached the shopkeeper. “We are in need cloth for day dresses… wool, preferably, something warm. And velvets for dinner dresses, I think.”

“You’ll need to go to Liverpool, my lady,” the shopkeeper said. “We don’t have anything here for you.”

Olympia looked at the table to her left, piled high with bolts of wool in an array of colors. “Are these not suitable for me, then? Are the colors unflattering to me perhaps?”

The woman’s ruddy complexion deepened with either anger or embarrassment, or perhaps both. “You’d be happier with the finer fabrics available to you there, Lady Darke.”

Olympia’s smile did not waiver, though her eyes were cool and hard as she stared the woman down. “No doubt I would be, but Liverpool is a journey I am unprepared to make today. And I need several lengths of wool… enough to complete at least three day dresses. I like the green, don’t you? I think it would look lovely on me.”

“It would indeed, my lady,” one of the other women in the shop spoke up. Her voice was thin and high, tremulous as though she were terrified to even speak up. “I have one in the same fabric, but it would be much finer on you, I’m certain.”

Given that one of her other customers had shown support, the shopkeeper was left with no other option but to assist her. Clearly, it was against her will, as the woman bristled visibly as she began collecting the bolts of cloth.

“The blue, as well,” Olympia added, pointing to a bolt dangerously close to the bottom of the pile. “And the pink. Those should do nicely for now.”

“Yes, m’lady,” the shopkeeper ground out from between clenched teeth.

Olympia turned her attention to the woman who had spoken up. She was tall and rail thin, her blonde hair swept back into a lovely cascade of soft curls. She had a delicate quality about her, fae-like, in spite of her impressive height. “Thank you so much for your assistance. May I have your name please?”

“Elizabeth Marsters, Lady Darke,” the woman answered. “Forgive me, but I cannot stay. I must get home quickly.”

The woman was gone in an instant. Another woman in the shop spoke up then. “Don’t mind her, dear! It’s a bit much being confronted with the woman who has the title meant for you!”

“I beg your pardon?” Olympia asked, not certain she’d heard the woman correctly.

“Miss Elizabeth was quite close to the eldest son of the late Lord Darke… It was common knowledge he meant to ask for her. But then the tragedy occurred,” the woman said, dropping her voice to a low whisper that managed to be everything but discreet. “But, of course, you know all about that.”

The last was uttered in a smug way, as if the woman fully well knew that Olympia was being kept in ignorance. But she wouldn’t admit it, not to her, even if it meant her ignorance continued for far longer. “My husband has spoken of it,” she said. It wasn’t precisely a lie.

“I’m sure he has. Such a shame,” the woman continued. “You made an excellent choice.”

“The green?” Olympia asked. “I do hope it will be flattering.”

The woman laughed. “That too, my dear, but I meant in husbands. Fine looking man, rich as Croesus, and if the luck of the Lords Darke holds true, not long for this world to plague you.”

Olympia was still gaping after the woman as the bell of the door tinkled from her exit.

“I’d say she won that round,” Collins intoned solemnly.

“Be quiet, Collins. Or you may be begging her for work.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

“I’m only teasing, Collins,” Olympia said. “We’re in this together, you and I?”

The maid nodded but then flushed guiltily. “Yes, m’lady. There’s something I need to tell you, but I don’t think to I ought to say it here.”

“Then tell me in the carriage on the way home. We’ll be private enough there.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After choosing several lengths of fabric for gowns, Olympia chose muslins and linens for undergarments. Her own were sadly worn. With arrangements made for their order to be delivered to Darkwood Hall, they left the shop.

The experience was eerily similar to the first. The shopkeeper was rude. The other shoppers were clearly nonplussed by her presence. Brazening it out, Olympia found herself exhausted by the whole debacle. As they left, she knew there was one more stop that had to be made. As the new Lady Darke, it was her duty to inquire at the church and see what the community’s needs were. She could only hope the vicar would be more welcoming than everyone else had been.

As they walked toward the church, which was at the heart of the village, people crossed the street to avoid her. Others simply turned their backs. Whatever had happened at Darkwood Hall, it wasn’t simply a tragedy. It was also a scandal. While she despised gossip, not knowing would only make her life more difficult and would make it increasingly hard to fulfill her duties.

Having a purpose in her life was vitally important to her. She’d realized it more so of late than ever before. While her parents had not been wealthy, they’d always encouraged charity and good works. Much of her time as a younger woman had been devoted to helping the poor and the sick, but when her parents had passed and her Aunt and Uncle had taken over their home, they’d dismissed most of the servants and instead used her for labor. She didn’t mind the work, but it was unnecessary. Her parents had left more than enough money to see to her care, and yet she’d been subjected to a life of penury, working in the kitchens as a servant rather than living there as a respected daughter of the house.

It wasn’t so different from the activities she’d engaged in while helping to feed hungry children at the church they’d attended. It was the blow to her pride that had been truly damaging. But that was all in the past now and she was once again in a position to do good works. Helping others had been incredibly satisfying. She’d looked forward to that with the change in her station— feeling useful again rather than simply used.

“I must speak with the vicar, Collins. You may wait with the carriage if you like.”

Collins nodded. “Certainly, m’lady.”

It was clear that Collins was immediately relieved at not having to accompany her into the church. Recalling the pious and drunken ramblings of her uncle, she found she couldn’t blame her. Where she’d once enjoyed attending church herself, it no longer held any appeal for her after being browbeaten with religion for so long, especially by a man who could not have been a greater hypocrite.

Entering the church, she found the vicar sorting through hymnals. The church itself was modest, but still lovely and clearly built with the ancient gothic cathedrals in mind. It mimicked them but on a far less grand scale.

“Good afternoon,” the vicar called out jovially. “How may I help you?”

“I’ve actually come to ask that question myself,” Olympia offered with a smile. “I am Olympia, Lady Albus Griffin, Viscountess Darke.”

The vicar’s warm smile faded. While he didn’t exactly appear unwelcoming, he was concerned, guarded. “What sort of assistance would you offer, Lady Darke?”

Olympia considered her answer carefully. “I was rather hoping that you might be able to tell me what is needed here? I volunteered with many charities while I was in London and was hoping that I might find some sort of purpose in helping those less fortunate here in my new home parish.”

The vicar frowned thoughtfully. “I apologize for speaking so bluntly, your ladyship, but I fear that very few people in the area would welcome your assistance. The name of Darke is not well received.”

“I have gleaned that from my interactions thus far.” Deciding to beard the lion in its den, she asked the question directly. “And why is that precisely?”

His expression had been thoughtful before, but at that point, his gaze shuttered and any hint of welcome faded. “I couldn’t say, m’lady.”

“You cannot say is not that same as saying you do not know,” she pointed out.

“Regardless of whether I am simply unwilling or innocently ignorant, I have no intention of discussing the matter further. If you have questions about the history with the Lords Darke and the villagers, I suggest you take them to your husband.”

And she was back to the beginning, she thought bitterly. Everyone wanted to whisper and point fingers, but no one would tell her anything worth knowing.

“If you think of any way that I might be of service within the parish, please let me know,” she reiterated. “Obviously, you’ll know how where to reach me.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said. “Good day, my lady.”

The dismissal was quite firm. It was a first for her, being tossed out of a church on her ear. Turning on her heel, she left with her head held high though it goaded her to do so. There was only one solution. Griffin would have to tell her. Whether he liked it or not, she would not continue to blunder about in ignorance. It was long past time he told her the entire truth.

Retreating to the carriage, she found Collins offering sweetly flirtatious smiles to the footman who appeared to be equally enamored of her. That was quite a turnabout. “Collins, we’re going home. Now, please.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Lady Darke! Lady Darke!”

Olympia turned back to see a shopkeeper running towards her.

Breathless, the man stopped a few feet away from her. “These came on the mail coach! Wanted to save me boy a trip to Darkwood Hall.”

Olympia accepted the packet of letters from him. “Thank you, sir. What is your name?”

“John Short, m’lady. My wife and I run the mercantile, and our son does deliveries.”

“And you are also the local postmaster?” she asked.

He flushed. “No, m’lady. The local postmaster refused to hold mail for his lordship after what happened… so I do it.”

“I see… Are there other merchants in town who have refused to do business with his lordship?”

“Most of ‘em, m’lady. But I reckon he’s never been nothing but kind to me,” the man replied stoutly.

“Thank you, Mr. Short. What sort of items do you sell in your Mercantile?”

“Bit o’this, bit o’that, m’lady.”

“Fabric and sewing notions?”

“Only a bit. Nothing so fine as would befit a lady of your station.”

Olympia smiled at that. Before the small bit of coin Swindon had provided her, her wardrobe had consisted of only two dresses and one of them had been worn until it was little better than a rag. “Collins, go cancel the order with the milliner, the linen draper and the haberdasher. We’ll purchase what we need from Mr. Short, and if he does not have it, he will order it for us. Won’t you, Mr. Short?”

The man’s flush deepened but his chest puffed up with pride. “I certainly will, m’lady. You’ll always be welcome in our store.”

“Take me to it now, if you please Mr. Short,” she said. “I am in the mood to shop.”

While the selection of fabrics was smaller, she found several that were suitable. The buttons and other items were more plain and serviceable, but Olympia took no exception to that. With her shopping complete, she and Collins returned to the carriage.

“Collins, what was it you wished to speak to me about?” Olympia asked, recalling the maid’s earlier statement.

Collins ducked her head. “I overheard a conversation, m’lady, while I was in your dressing room. It backs up to his lordship’s dressing room and I suppose his chamber as well.”

“Yes… what did you hear?”

“I couldn’t make it all out, but it seems as if, the other Viscountess that was, Lady Florence, had been betrothed to him at one time.”

“I think you misheard, Collins… But I will look into the matter.”

The maid nodded, but her expression remained grim, prompting Olympia to wonder if she had the whole truth.

On the short journey back to Darkwood Hall, Olympia steeled herself for the confrontation to come. She needed the truth from him now, whether he wished to share it or not.

O
lympia entered
the drawing room upon her return, unwilling to be imprisoned in her room again for the remainder of the day. Hiding from Lady Florence was hardly a long term solution to her situation.

No sooner had she thought the name than the woman entered, sweeping into the room wearing an elaborately embroidered day dress in soft shade of violet. Her hair was arranged in a confection of curls that looked as if one loosened pin would send the lot of tumbling down her back.

“Oh, you’ve been shopping, I hear!” she cooed. “The village is rather disappointing… not to mention very
grim
. You should accompany me to Liverpool. I have a wonderful dressmaker there, and she makes the naughtiest little underthings.” Lady Florence stopped and then giggled. “But I don’t suppose you’ll be needing those. I understand Griffin is quite reluctant to cement your marriage.”

How would she know that?
Mrs. Webster, of course.
“You’re quite interested in the goings on within our chambers… And yet I hear there is an endless stream of footman lined up at your chamber door.”

Lady Florence shrugged elegantly. “Not an endless stream…two or three that I dally with when the fancy strikes. You will too, one day. Having lovers, Lady Darke, is infinitely preferable to having husbands. And when Griffin inevitably succumbs to the curse that befalls all men of this family, you’ll understand precisely why that is. The name Darke is quite fitting… for they are that. Black to their souls.”

Olympia shivered. He’d said the night before that the weeping woman had once been his sister but that if there was aught left of her it was buried beyond his reach. Was this the same kind of affliction that Lady Florence spoke of? Would he become like Cassandra, a violent and wounded creature lashing out at those around him? Screaming in the night?

“You are certainly a doomsayer, Lady Florence,” Olympia said, regaining her composure and schooling her features into a neutral mask. “My husband is quite sound and the picture of health.”

Lady Florence laughed heartily. “Oh, he is! And so handsome, too! Did you know that it’s illegal for me to marry a man who was my nephew by marriage? I checked. I thought perhaps that would be the perfect answer… but alas he turned me down flat, even when he desperately needed a bride to claim the inheritance left to him by that horrid old bat, Honoria. I thought it was just a convenient excuse, but he was actually telling the truth… Of course, it can still be arranged if one gets special dispensation from the bishop. And given that my marriage to Roger produced no children, and there is no blood relation between us, and that Griffin and I had a previous relationship—.”

The conversation with Collins in the carriage came back to her then, along with a feeling of dread. “What previous relationship?”

Lady Florence smiled. “We’ve known each other for ages, you see.”

“What is your point, Lady Florence? You try my patience!”

She rose then and walked over to where Olympia stood, leaning in to whisper next to her ear. “He turned down my offer of marriage… but that’s all he rejected, Lady Darke. Did you really think a man as virile as Griffin would exist in this isolated place without any feminine comfort? He’s been my lover for years. Enjoy it when he comes to your chamber. I fully intend to enjoy it when he returns to mine!”

It couldn’t possibly be true, Olympia thought. But as Lady Florence smiled at her, she knew that it must be. The woman was too beautiful by far. Lovelier than any she’d ever seen. Why else would he have turned her away in the library last night when she freely offered herself to him? Because his needs were being met elsewhere. The realization of it sank into her with the weight of stone. Had she been a fool to believe his words? Were his promises of a slow seduction merely an excuse to delay the dreaded act of being her lover?

“Good day, Lady Darke,” Florence said and left the room in a swish of violet skirts.

Olympia sank onto the settee and tried to quell the sick feeling in her stomach. Had he truly been lovers with his uncle’s wife? There was only one way to get an answer. She would simply have to confront her husband as she’d planned.

***

Griffin had stripped to his shirtsleeves as he worked. The small hothouse was kept at a steaming temperature for the survival of several rare plants that he’d cultivated in the hopes that their medicinal properties would provide some relief for Cassandra. And yet, he’d found nothing that worked.

Perhaps Mrs. Webster was right and it was time to give up. But the idea of placing her in an asylum, to be cared for by strangers, was something he could not bear. Of course there was also the brutal nature of their treatments. He couldn’t allow that to happen to her if there was any other option. That he would continue to care for Cassandra as she had was the last promise he’d made to his mother before the fever took her.

Thinking of his parents, of the unfairness of their deaths—the dark days before his father had succumbed to madness and his mother’s untimely death, his mood grew dark. And as he weighed the dilemma of his sister’s affliction, Griffin felt darkness growing in him. The futile anger and the urge to lash out that always accompanied it were something that he tried desperately to keep at bay, but it times it proved too much for him.

With the last of the new cuttings repotted, he brushed off his hands, put away his tools and walked from the room. His father had loved horticulture, had believed adamantly that the cure for every illness could be found in nature. He’d schooled Griffin to continue his work, to keep searching for answers. There was no joy in it for him, however. Only duty. The plants his father had procured over the years, some purchased, some gifted to him, and yet others carefully carted home from the journeys he would take before his own condition had worsened were the only legacy he had left of the loving father he’d been.

Annoyed with his melancholy thoughts, Griffin left the conservatory, and the memories it stirred, behind him. His decision to put away his work for the day had naught to do with the fact that he was eager to see his bride, to find some excuse to have a few moments alone with her. A stolen kiss would improve his mood.

Climbing the stairs two at a time, he retreated to his chamber to wash up and don something that didn’t leave him looking like a field hand. While Olympia appeared to be more than understanding about the informality and the unusual way in which his household was run, greeting her in his dirty shirtsleeves was hardly the best way to get on.

Stripping off his soiled shirt, Griffin poured water into the basin. It was cold, but he hadn’t thought to have warm water sent up, so he would suffer it. He scrubbed his face vigorously and had just began to wash his chest when a soft knock sounded on the connecting door.

It would be Olympia, and it would be foolhardy to let her in. Stolen kisses were all well and good, but alone in the privacy of his chamber, he would want much more and he was not yet certain she was prepared for that.

He should speak to her through the closed door and then meet with her in the drawing room. If he meant to take his time in wooing her, establishing some sort of rapport with her before simply taking her to his bed, then entertaining her in his chamber was a temptation he could ill afford.

But where she was concerned, poor decisions were proving to be the rule rather than the exception. He crossed the room in long, quick strides and opened the door. It would shock her and part of him wanted to. He wanted to see her rattled by him in the same way that he was by her.

Taking in her expression, he watched her eyes widen, watched her tempting lips part then saw the stain of her blush creeping over her porcelain skin. She blinked several times, but in doing so, her eyes roved over him. He could feel her gaze on him like it was a weight. When she managed to turn her face away, she swallowed convulsively. She said nothing, but her actions told him all she needed to. She wanted him, whether she understood what that meant or not.

“Did you need something?” he asked. It was a subtle double entendre, one that would escape her entirely. But his own mind was supplying the answer for her. She needed him, and God help him, he needed her.

“I wanted to talk to you about some things that happened while I was in the village today,” she said. “And also about some things that I have learned since Lady Florence has returned to Darkwood, but it can wait. I didn’t realize you were—.” She stopped abruptly as her mind failed to supply the words she needed.

“Undressed?” he offered helpfully.

“Indisposed,” she corrected, using the more politely accepted term.

Griffin noted that, though she kept her gaze averted, he could see the pulse beating at the base of her throat. It fluttered wildly, a clear indication of just how unnerved she was by him and his current state of undress. “We are married, Olympia. The lack of a shirt should hardly keep you from saying whatever it is that you wish to say to me.” His tone was casual, belying the fact that her nearness, the scent of her, incited a lust in him that he hadn’t known himself capable of. It went far beyond simply desire. It was a craving that burrowed into him, digging in with teeth and claws. There was something dark in it. Dark and ugly, but it was also insistent and would not be denied.

“Come in, Olympia, and speak your piece,” he offered. It was a challenge and they both knew it.