Imprisoned at Werewolf Keep (Werewolf Keep Trilogy)

Imprisoned

at

Werewolf Keep

Werewolf Keep Trilogy

Book 2

Nhys Glover

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. With the exception of historical events and people in the public domain, the names, characters and incidents portrayed in this work come wholly from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental

Cover image
© Canstockphoto.com/yekophotostudio

Published by Belisama Press
 

© Nhys Glover 2013

The right of Nhys Glover to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

This book is copyright. All rights reserved.

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CHAPTER ONE

Lady Fidelia Montgomery cried deep, wracking tears into her dainty lace handkerchief. It was not nearly big enough to soak up the torrent pouring forth from her eyes and nose, but fashion had never been known for practicality. And truth be told, such a flood of tears was hardly a lady-like display, even in the privacy of her own sitting room. She hiccoughed and tried to regain control.

'Dee
, I am so sorry. This is devastating news. Why didn’t you send word earlier? I would have come down immediately.' The new Mrs Philomena Carstairs offered up her own, slightly larger and less lacy, handkerchief to help stem the flow.

From the look on Phil’s face
, it was clear she was fighting the urge to give her the big hug she most desperately needed. But upper-class Victorian society frowned on public displays of physical affection, even in circumstances like these. So she continued to sit across from Fidelia on the hard horsehair chaise lounge and plucked at the skirt of her beautiful, green day-dress that was quite the height of fashion.

Having come into substantial wealth after the death of her father, it was clear that Phil was using at least a little of that money on
improving her appearance. Not that she needed beautiful clothes to make her beautiful. Phil had always been stunning, even in her threadbare apparel of recent times. But now she looked magnificent, even after the long train trip down from Yorkshire.

‘I didn’t want to disturb you. You have your new life and happiness. I didn’
t want to upset that with my situation.’ She sniffed, trying to make the sound as dainty as possible.

‘You are such a goose! As if I would not want to be here for you when you have just become a widow. You are my best, and up until recently, my only true friend on earth. How could I not be here in your time of need?’

Fidelia
smiled weakly and felt the tears finally subsiding. In the last few days she hadn’t been able to stop them, day or night. It was like a deep reservoir of grief had opened up inside her at the death of Howard and the loss of his two girls, and it was totally disproportionate to the mild affection she had felt for her little family. It was almost like she was grieving for her whole life rather than the loss of these people from it.

But that was absurd. Hers had
been a gifted life. Born into wealth and influence, the pampered only child of affluent older members of the Ton, she had attended the best schools and coming out balls, had been offered for by the noblest of eligible men of the time, and had, for the next two and a half years, lived in this magnificent mansion in Hertfordshire where she did her best raising her husband’s two darling daughters from his previous marriage.

It was the kind of life others looked on with envy. And it had been hers until a week ago wh
en Howard had fallen to his death, while riding to hounds. He’d only been forty-five years old.

‘I know you would have been
here, darling Phil. I just did not want to disrupt your life so soon. If anyone deserves some happiness after so long without, it is you. I will recover. To be entirely honest, I have no idea where all these tears are coming from.’

‘How are the girls handling it?’

'Oh, well enough. You know them. As long as they have each other, all's right with the world. And Howard always kept his distance from them, so they did not really know him as a child should know a father...' A fresh torrent of tears broke forth and the new hanky was soon saturated.

'T
he Duchess has taken them,’ she finally admitted. ‘She took them straight after the funeral. She said I was too young and silly to take responsibility for the upbringing of her granddaughters. I am nearly twenty-two, Phil. I am not a child! Those girls would be far better off with me. You know that, do you not?'

Fi
delia looked across at Phil, hoping to read agreement on her expressive face. Phil had been the girls’ governess for almost the whole time Fidelia was their stepmother, right up until she came into her fortune nine months ago. If anyone knew what was best for those girls she did.

'That
odious woman! She was the one who always tried to get in my way when they were in my charge. “Spare the rod, spoil the child,” was her motto. No wonder Howard was the way he was... Oh, Dee, that was insensitive of me.'

'No, it
is perfectly all right. I would be the first to admit that Howard was not one to show affection. To bend at all, really. But I think he loved me in his own way, and I know I would have been able to mellow him, had we more time. Two and a half years was not long enough to really know a man, or to truly form the bonds of affection that marriage requires.'

‘I’
m sure you are right,’ Phil said flatly. ‘And you are certainly a better parent for those girls than that woman. But it will not be long before they are ready to marry. They can put up with their irascible grandmother until then.

‘
And that termagant is right in one sense. You are too young to be raising them. Not because you are silly or unsuitable – no one who knows you would ever label you silly – but because you deserve to have the life of a young woman, not that of a middle-aged matron. Howard took you off the marriage mart too soon. You had barely begun to blossom.’

Fidelia
blushed and mopped up her face again. With determination, she dropped the soggy scraps of material onto the side table. There would be no more tears now. They were done with.

'Phil
, I have to get away,’ she confided, growing more confident the longer she was in her determined friend’s company. ‘Since Howard's accident, I just cannot stand to be in this house. It was never to my liking, being so cold and austere as it is. But it is even worse now that the girls have gone. And I will have to move out shortly, anyway, when the legalities are settled. The new Duke of Clarence must have this place. Can I stay with you for a while, just until I feel able to cope?'

She had expected her dearest friend to jump at th
e suggestion. After all, they’d been so close all these years. It had been very difficult for Fidelia when Phil moved away. Not because she lost the best governess her stepdaughters could have, but because she’d lost the companionship of her best friend and confidant. The letters they’d exchanged over the last months had hardly made up for their separation.

But now Phil was looking at her like a cornered doe, twisting her gloved hands
as if washing them clean of some unpleasant substance.

'Darling Dee
, I would love to invite you to stay with us, but the place is full to the rafters with people already. You know my father turned the Keep into a form of retreat for those with health problems. We are not far from Harrogate, you know, where the springs are known for their therapeutic powers. If I could offer you a spare room I would...'

'I understand. I should
not have asked. It was very impolite of me to invite myself. I just miss you. We were like sisters when you lived here with us. It was the best time of my life.' Fidelia tried to smile, but her mouth just wouldn't co-operate.

'You
are
like a sister to me, Dee darling. I … I wish I could invite you to stay... And I will stay here with you for the next few weeks, at least, until you are feeling stronger. I just cannot invite you to stay at Breckenhill Keep.'

Even in her distr
ess, Fidelia was able to pick up that something wasn't quite right with her friend. There was something she was hiding. Maybe her inheritance and hasty marriage to the reclusive Byron Carstairs wasn't as wonderful as she’d made it out to be in her letters. It was almost as if she was ashamed of her new home.

'Never mind, let u
s change the subject. I am sure that once the initial period of mourning is over I will feel much better. And wearing black only serves to make me feel so much worse.’ She paused as she once more remembered her marriage. ‘I may not have loved Howard as a good wife should, but I did care for him. As much as I am able.'

A fresh wave of tears
threatened, but she fought it back. And this time Phil didn't restrain herself. She flew to her side and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders.

'Pleas
e do not cry anymore, Dee. You will make yourself sick. Why not visit your parents? I am sure they would love to see you. In fact, I expected to find them here.'

'They a
re on the Riviera for the winter. They could not have made it back in time for the funeral, even had I asked them. And you know mother's ague acts up at this time of year. I did not want to be responsible for her increased discomfort. She is not getting any younger, you know.

‘They won’
t be back for another two months. And before you say anything, I do not want to join them. Those people on the Continent make me feel...plain and boring.'

'You are neither plain nor bor
ing!' Phil said staunchly.

Fidel
ia managed to smile genuinely for the first time. Phil’s indignant reaction warmed her heart. Even at finishing school she’d been the one to stand up for Fidelia against the bullies that abounded in that high-priced institution. She’d often seen Phil as her very own St Joan – without the armour and the army of course – but with all the fierce belief in the rightness of her cause.

'Thank
you, dearest girl, but I am not the stunning redhead that you are. Nor do I have your passionate nature. I am quiet, and I like a peaceful life. I could never engage in witty repartee like you did at my soirees. I stopped having them when you left, you know. They became very boring affairs without you...'

'Howard did nothing for your confidence
, did he? I wish you saw yourself as I do. You are like an exquisite china doll with that perfect skin and storm-cloud eyes that look almost violet under certain light conditions. And I would kill to have your ash blonde hair rather than this fiery mop!' She brushed a stray curl back disparagingly. 'And you have the sweetest disposition of anyone I have ever known. I used to call you my guardian angel, you know, when mother and I were living in such dire circumstances. If not for you, I do not know what I would have done.'

Fidel
ia reached up and stroked her friend's flushed cheek. Phil always coloured up when she was passionate about something. It was one of her most endearing qualities. She, on the other hand, always looked as pale as porcelain, her features rarely animated. The idea of being a life-sized china doll appalled her. But that was what she felt like sometimes. Just once she would like to feel carried away by passion – to feel vital and alive.

She allowed the conversation to change, determined not to press for hospitality again. It was not in her nature to
force herself on anyone. If her friend said she couldn't find a place for her, then that would be the end of it. But oh how she would miss Phil when she went back to her ancient Keep in the wilds of Yorkshire. And the thought that she might be in danger or unhappy for some reason disturbed her greatly.

Maybe there
was something she could do. She may not be able to stay with Phil, but the mention of the waters at Harrogate started her thinking. What if she went to stay at one of the hotels in the area and journeyed out to the Keep one day? She could surprise Phil, without imposing herself. It wouldn’t be a long visit, just morning or afternoon tea. Then maybe she might be able to repeat the visit a few days later.

She knew that Phil was still a
newlywed, and was busy with her father's business, but she had no doubt that her friend would be pleased to see her, once she was there. And Fidelia desperately wanted to meet the mysterious Byron Carstairs and ascertain his suitability. He sounded too good to be true.

As Fidelia waved goodbye to her friend two weeks later from the front steps of Fotherington  Manor, she realised she no longer felt the desire to cry. At least that part of her ordeal was over. Phil had given her back her strength and optimism. She was now ready to engage with life once more.

During Phil’s
visit it had been like old times. They’d laughed and talked as they had in their school days. But even though it had felt like old times, there had always been a shadow hanging over them. A secret unshared that threatened to break apart their hard-won connection. She wished that she’d had the confidence to press the issue. What use was a friend if she was too frightened to help when the need arose? Maybe a few discrete inquiries might be enough to determine the problem. There were people on the edges of the Ton who knew everything about everyone of note. If there was a problem with this Byron Carstairs, she could find it out.

Just as she was about to turn back inside, she caught sight of a lone rider cantering down the long drive
way. She paused to see who it might be. There had been a steady flow of acquaintances to her door since the funeral, most of them old friends of her husband or her parents. But this lone male rider looked too young to be one of those.

The closer he came
, the more mysterious seemed his arrival. He was dressed as a flamboyant member of the ton, his clothing at odds with Victoria’s sombre dictates. She knew that some of the more rebellious youths within their set liked to create this image, simply to set people talking. And they did.