BEGUILED
Windemere Hall Trilogy
Book Three
§
Victorian Villains Gothic Romance
CATHERINE LLOYD
Copyright 2015 Catherine Lloyd
Electronic Edition 2016
Writewood Creations
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ISBN 978-1-988003-23-8
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Cover Design by Writewood Creations
Table of Contents
BEGUILED............................................................................................................................. 1
Table of Contents..................................................................................................................... 2
Also by Catherine Lloyd.......................................................................................................... 3
From the Publisher................................................................................................................... 4
BEGUILED............................................................................................................................. 5
Chapter One......................................................................................................................... 5
Chapter Two....................................................................................................................... 13
Chapter Three..................................................................................................................... 20
Chapter Four...................................................................................................................... 27
Chapter Five....................................................................................................................... 34
Chapter Six......................................................................................................................... 41
Chapter Seven.................................................................................................................... 48
Chapter Eight..................................................................................................................... 54
Chapter Nine...................................................................................................................... 61
Chapter Ten........................................................................................................................ 68
Chapter Eleven................................................................................................................... 75
Victorian Villains Gothic Romance Serials............................................................................ 82
About the Author................................................................................................................... 85
Mandrake Falls Four Seasons Romance................................................................................. 86
Dark Redeemer Medieval Adventure Romance.................................................................... 87
Also by Catherine Lloyd
Mandrake Falls Four Seasons Romance
The Jilting ~ Summer
Lie for Me ~ Autumn
The Way Home ~ Winter
Love Rising ~ Spring
Dark Redeemer Historical Romance
Wanton
Wastrel
Traitor
Soldier
Victorian Villains Series
Windemere Hall Trilogy
From the Publisher
Clara Hamilton’s daring liberation from Gateshead Asylum leads to a shocking revelation about her cousin Branson that shatters her hope for their love. With nowhere to turn, Clara accepts Mrs. Brockville’s offer to join a shooting party at Petherham Manor that includes Strachan and his bitter fiancée, Trudy Delisle. But Windemere Hall is only a short distance away and Clara cannot stop thinking about its master, the enigmatic, haunted Branson Hamilton.
Beguiled is the third and final episode in Windemere Hall Trilogy, Catherine Lloyd’s Victorian Villains Gothic Romance Series. Steamy gothic romance in the tradition of Phyllis A. Whitney and Victoria Holt set in 1867 Victorian England. The novellas will be released in three installments like the “penny dreadful” of the Age. Each episode ends in a cliff-hanger. These spicy romances contain scenes, language and themes written for a mature audience.
BEGUILED
Windemere Hall Trilogy: Book Three
§
Chapter One
September 30, 1867 ~ Somerset County
BRANSON HAMILTON kept a carriage and horses stabled in London for his infrequent trips from the City to Somerset. The driver would deliver him to Windemere Hall, rest up and then make the return journey within the hour. It was an expensive system that Branson was willing to pay for, both for the privacy and the convenience of travelling on his schedule. He sat back against the plush upholstery and tried to enjoy the passing scenery.
The Down was dressed in autumnal gold and red, serene and exquisite. A sharp contrast to the war that was raging within him as he journeyed home.
Edgar’s petition to rescue his sister had arrived like a gift from the Fates. Branson could not resist taking his cousin up on his offer to personally bring about his father’s destruction. It was poetic! Arthur Hamilton’s daughter was confined to an insane asylum. His precious son would deliver the killing blow and the man himself would be tossed out of his own company. The entire Hamilton family was poised for ruin and they were too arrogant to realize it.
It was almost too easy. All Branson had to do now was renege on his promise to rescue Clara from Gateshead Asylum, let Edgar do his dirty work at the meeting and once Arthur Hamilton was thoroughly broken, Branson would arrive to snatch his proxy from Edgar and assume complete control of Hamilton Trading. Clara would spend the rest of her life in an asylum; Edgar would be dependent on Branson for employment, and Arthur Hamilton would be arrested for embezzlement and die in prison.
Like lambs to the slaughter.
Edgar had no idea of the Pandora’s Box he was opening when he came to Branson for help. No inkling of the sort of man Branson was, or why he agreed so quickly to restore the missing funds from the business accounts.
Edgar and Clara Hamilton. His cousins were hopelessly naive if they thought Branson would abandon his plans (and his sole reason for living these past seven years) to help them.
What was it to him if Clara died in an insane asylum? Edgar was a fool to send him on this mission of mercy! Branson would not lift a finger to help Clara Hamilton.
She had made her feelings clear the last time he saw her—she hated him. He remembered every stinging word she said the night of the Ball and every look. He remembered Strachan’s contemptuous intrusion and Clara’s coy enthusiasm for the Captain’s attention, the note of pride in her voice when she spoke of his status as the son of a lord.
Jealousy wrenched in his gut. Branson despised himself for this weakness. It was this weak desire for acceptance by his adopted family that was the source of his present trouble. His willingness to believe in their affection had made him vulnerable once; he would not allow it a second time. This time, he would make them pay.
Branson rubbed his hand over his mouth and glowered at the mellow count
ryside. Except that it would be he who paid the price for this revenge and would until the end of his days.
The carriage travelled the High Road, charting a course to Windemere Hall at a maddeningly slow pace. He ought to instruct the driver to stop and let him out. He could finish the journey in half the time by cutting across the Down. Branson could use the exercise to burn off this tension that was forming in his gut like a ball of wire.
The carriage was stifling, giving him too much time to think. There was nothing more to think about. His mind was made up. Edgar’s request for help was the final piece of the puzzle, giving his vengeance a sweet, satisfying finish. He only wished he could see the look on Arthur’s face when his son made the announcement. As for Edgar, he would finally understand the degree of hate Branson harboured for the entire Hamilton family. The wound they had inflicted on him would never heal.
Branson hung out of the window, sucking the raw autumnal air into his lungs. He would breathe freer from now on. Tomorrow it would all be over and he would be free of this smothering guilt at last.
The sun caught his cheek and warmed it, a gentle caress that reminded him of Clara’s smile, but only temporarily as he controlled the vibration that thinking about her caused. And then on a whisper of a breeze, he heard her voice. Far away and dimly felt.
I love you, Branson. I will not give way. I will not surrender.
His head snapped up. Branson turned this way and that seeking the source of the voice. It was Clara ... Clara....
He gnashed his teeth and threw his head back with a roar. “No, no, no—damn you!”
The driver called down in alarm. “Sir! Are you ill? Windemere Hall is just ahead. Shall I take the main drive or would you rather I go by the old road? It is a deal quicker.”
Branson came out of his reverie like a man reborn. He’d heard her, as clearly as he’d heard the driver.
“Neither,” he barked. His body was tense, ice-cold, and yet he was trembling as though he had a fever. “Carry on to the village, if you please, Mr. Harkness. I have some matters of business that require my attention.”
“Very good, sir.”
Dream or hallucination—what he had heard was real. He could not deny the warm, almost terrible joy he felt at hearing her voice saying those words. Branson’s plans, resentments and stratagems incinerated in his heart. He wanted only one thing now.
Would it work?
Unlikely, but he had to try. Branson Hamilton could no longer pretend to be the man he was this morning. The die was cast, he had made his choice. As the carriage hurtled toward Windemere village, he thought of what he would say to persuade Vicar Wimbley.
§
That same day in Gateshead Insane Asylum, Berkshire County
CLARA FOUND the girl, Laura Mayhew in the conservatory. The day was bright with clear blue sky beyond the glass walls. She could almost convince herself she was in a greenhouse garden about to take tea with an old friend. But the muscular orderlies and dead-eyed stares of the residents recalled her to the truth. She was in a madhouse.
“Come. Sit beside me,” Laura Mayhew said.
Clara sat down on the white wicker settee next to Miss Mayhew and glanced nervously about her. No one was paying them any attention.
“Hello.”
“Hello, Miss Hamilton. You mustn’t worry. I am not mad. I assure you, I am as sane as you are.” Miss Laura Mayhew smiled. The young lady’s eyes were startling green in colour and shone like jewels from her oval face.
Clara sagged with relief. “I am in my right mind, Miss Mayhew. If you see it too, then I must be! There are times of late when I doubt myself.”
“You mustn’t. You must hold fast to your beliefs, at least in private. Tell them whatever they want to hear in your therapy sessions, but when you are alone with yourself again, hold to the truth. It will stand you in good stead.”
Miss Mayhew’s nails were groomed and her hands were smooth. Clara’s new friend had the hands of a lady, but her manner was not that of a lady’s. Clara could not put her finger on the subtle difference.
“Were you in service?” she asked impulsively and then blushed, deeply ashamed by her rudeness. “Forgive me if I give offence; I don’t mean to, truly. I am eager to make your acquaintance. In here, we are all of the same class.”
Laura Mayhew smiled wryly. “The class of the feeble-minded; Gateshead is a great equalizer. But you have guessed correctly. I was lady-in-waiting many months ago to Princess Louise—and then I was committed to this place.”
Clara smoothed her skirt and cast a quick glance at the orderly. “You said that you were here by order of Her Majesty. What did you mean?”
Laura Mayhew’s dark green eyes slewed to the left and right. “Even to hear my story is quite possibly treason and you will not believe me for your pains. Are you sure you want to know?”
Clara swallowed. “I shall believe you, Miss Mayhew and I should like to know if you are willing to tell me.”
The young lady offered her hand. “We shall keep our secrets, thee and me. Shake on it. You must swear never tell anyone what I am about to tell you,” she warned.
Clara took her hand and they shook on their pledge. “I won’t.”
Miss Mayhew leaned closer. “Ten months ago, Princess Louise, my dear friend, gave birth to an illegitimate baby boy. I was present at the birth. We concealed her pregnancy for as long as we could but when it was discovered, the infant was spirited away. No one knows where—except me. That is why Queen Victoria sent me here. I would be dead if I didn’t have the sense to pretend to be insane.”
“Good heavens,” Clara whispered. “Who else knows about this? Where is the child’s father?”
“Those intimate with the Royal Family know the truth—including the father—but they are too frightened of the Queen to stand up for Louise and her baby. I am not. One day I shall leave this place, find him, and restore him to his mother.”
Clara squeezed her hand. “I am frightened for you. You must never talk about this, Miss Mayhew. It is too shocking to be believed.”
“What will they do to me, Miss Hamilton—lock me in an asylum? In any case,” Miss Mayhew said with a light laugh, “there’s not much more I can tell you without putting you in grave danger. You must tell me your story instead and we shall bear witness to one another. I have a sketch of the details; I long to see the whole picture. You were the only witness to a crime that your father committed some years ago. I believe I’m remembering correctly. For that reason, your father has had you shut up in this place. You must have given him a terrible scare.”
“I suppose I did.” She had to laugh at the absurdity. Clara collapsed a little and touched her brow with a shaking hand. “It is a relief to discuss it with someone who does not instantly discount the story or accuse me of imagining things. Witnessing his crime left me emotionally scarred. I had a terrible stutter for many years and when I tried to say as much to my father, he said I couldn’t trust my own mind. What he did seven years ago was bad enough, but what he has done to me this past week feels far worse.”
She was distressed by her selfishness. “I prize my sanity over that of his victim,” she murmured sadly. “I am beginning to believe that a demon lives inside me and that’s why I am here. I am an evil person. I deserve to be in a madhouse.”
Laura Mayhew shook her head firmly. “That is what they want you to believe. It is only natural to prize your sanity over that of a dead girl. You must fight your father’s persuasive arguments that you dreamt the whole thing. Were there no other witnesses?”
“My cousin, Branson Hamilton was engaged to be married to the young lady. He was not a witness but he found her shortly after the attack. The discovery was deeply troubling for him. I said I was left with emotional scars; Branson suffered as well. He confronted my father and Arthur denied the whole thing. I was too much of a coward to corroborate Grace Leeds’s story.”
A silence fell between them. Clara looked away and fixed her gaze on the fern
s and hothouse flowers. “I don’t know what possessed me to confess that to you. Perhaps your opinion of me has changed and you would rather keep your distance going forward. I am not offended. I feel I am a despicable person, Miss Mayhew.”
“I hardly think so, Miss Hamilton. You must have been very young at the time. A young girl cannot easily accuse her father of rape. No, we shall lay the blame where it belongs—on your father’s shoulders.” Laura Mayhew frowned in thought. “It is very sad. Did your cousin stand by the girl or was she discarded, as is most often the fate of ravished young women.”
“Branson loved her very much,” Clara said quietly. “Miss Leeds was frightened of being cast to the streets after the attack. She was friendless and alone. My cousin did the honourable thing and married her.” Her voice caught. She could not speak about Branson and Grace without feeling shamefully jealous.
“You said she took her own life,” Miss Mayhew replied meditatively. “That is the part of the story that perplexes me. Why would she do such a thing if she was happily married to your cousin?”
Clara cast a sharp glance at Miss Mayhew. “I have wondered the same thing. I believe there is more to my cousin’s story than he lets on. He concealed their marriage from me without explanation, yet he maintains his wife is dead.”
“I have the impression you don’t believe him. What makes you think she is not dead?”
Clara was hesitant to relate the incident in the chapel, and then she remembered she was in an asylum for the insane. Her mad tale might sound almost rational to another inhabitant of this place. “I had an encounter—rather strange and terrifying with the late Mrs. Reilly as she called herself. Reilly is my cousin’s birth name,” Clara explained.
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