The Dark Regency Series: Boxed Set

by Chasity Bowlin

  Michael laughed in response and hugged her when she reached him. As she watched, he placed a hand on the swell of the other woman’s belly. Jealousy reared its ugly head again.

  “Emme, I swear that you have swallowed a pony!”

  She smacked at his hand, “You are as insufferable, as ever…Now, introduce me to your wife so I may warn her about all your bad habits.”

  He grimaced, “Please do not. I fear she’s heard quite enough already.”

  “Michael, my threat to shoot you for putting your hands on my wife still stands,” Rhys, Duke of Briarleigh, said as he entered the room. In spite of the rancorous nature of the words, they were said with a smile and lacked any real heat.

  Emme stepped forward to greet Abigail and said, “Ignore their banter. While it sounds ferocious, it is quite harmless. I’m Emme, and it is truly a pleasure to meet you.”

  In spite of her earlier, irrational jealousy, Abby liked her immediately. “Thank you Your Grace, it’s a pleasure to meet you, as well.”

  Another woman appeared on the stairs then. She was younger but so beautiful that Abby found it hard to look away from her. With Titian hair and wide blue eyes, there was a slight similarity in bone structure to the duchess. Any similarity ended there, however. Whereas the Duchess had been exuberant and obviously happy, there was a sadness clinging to the younger woman, a wariness in her. Abigail knew she'd endured something horrific.

  “My sister, Miss Larissa Walters,” the Duchess of Briarleigh said. As the younger woman reached the bottom of the stairs, her sister put her arm about her somewhat protectively. Her smile faded just a bit and a worry crept into her gaze. “Though I must insist that you call me Emme and her Larissa, we do not stand on formality here.”

  Abby held her hand out to the young woman, “I'm pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  The girl looked at her, hesitated for a moment, and then took her hand. As they shook hands, a smile began to spread over the young woman's face.

  “Oh, I like that you've given him such difficulties. He needs it,” Larissa said with a slight laugh. With that odd statement and another warm smile, she moved away to greet Michael and her brother in law.

  Puzzled by her, Abby couldn't stop the frown that furrowed her brows. Sensing her distress, the Duchess spoke.

  “Larissa and I come from a very unusual family... Please don't think her too odd. And if you are giving Michael a hard go of it, then Cheers, for he could certainly benefit from it!”

  As the party moved into the drawing room, the Duke addressed them together, “Spencer—forgive me, Lord Wolverston, will be arriving shortly.”

  Abby, her hand resting on Michael's arm, felt the tension in him and noted the tightening of his jaw. “Is there a problem with you and this Lord Wolverston?”

  Michael shook his head. “Not a problem, really. We're friends though we do occasionally, or perhaps always, butt heads.”

  They'd barely settled into the drawing room, Abby next to the duchess while her sister seated herself at the pianoforte. Michael and the duke were conversing by the fire, their ease with one another a clear indication of their long friendship. Abby had no friends. Lavinia had alienated nearly everyone when they were younger, and without a season, there'd been no opportunity to meet anyone with whom she might form a friendship. It was not an enviable position from which to face the Ton, alone and vulnerable.

  The doors opened and another man entered. He was not announced as the small gathering was shockingly informal. He stood inches above the other men in the room, the breadth of his shoulders blocking the entire doorway. The soft sigh that escaped Larissa would have been inaudible to anyone else, but as Abby was closest to her, she couldn't ignore it. A glance at the young woman showed a blush staining her lovely cheeks and her head ducked down. So that was the way of it, she thought.

  Lord Wolverston approached them, and Emme rose to hug him. Abby thought he looked uncomfortable with the affection, it was not unwelcome, but it did appear that he was unaccustomed to it.

  Emme turned slightly, her hand moving toward Abby in an elegant gesture. “Spencer, I am very pleased to introduce Abigail Sutherland, Viscountess Ellersleigh.”

  Lord Wolverston's eyes widened, his eyebrows arching upward in surprise. “I'd heard rumors, but never imagined they might be true.”

  Emme's eyes narrowed. “Play nicely or you'll regret it.”

  The large man's face colored perceptibly. “My apologies Lady Ellersleigh. My remark was indicative only of my surprise and not at all toward your worthiness... or your husband's, though I daresay he got the better end of the bargain.”

  Abby wasn't quite sure what to make of him, but she was saved by responding by the duchess rolling her eyes heavenward.

  “For goodness sake! The two of you are like children... always sniping at one another just for attention. Now, go join them and behave or I swear I'll make you regret it.”

  Abby noted that as Spencer turned away, his gaze caught on Larissa, held for just a moment, and then with the slightest of nods, he excused himself to join Michael and the Duke. Curious, Abby couldn't stop herself from asking, “Are you sure that he and Michael are friends?”

  Emme grinned. “Without a doubt... Either one would lay down their life for the other, but they're both entirely too proud to admit it. Spencer is judgmental and none too civil about it and Michael responds to criticism the same way he responds to most things... with a wink and a smile. But they have a history together that far outweighs any petty animosity.”

  It appeared slightly more than petty, but Abby refrained from correcting her.

  Despite the tension between Michael and Lord Wolverston along with Larissa's quiet preoccupation with the most recent addition to their group, the evening progressed in an easy manner, filled with pleasant banter and a great deal of laughter. It was only after they had moved into the dining room and the meal was drawing to a close that the conversation turned serious.

  Michael revealed the events that had surrounded Allerton’s death, including his suspicions that Lavinia and Rupert were involved in even more nefarious dealings. He also relayed the information he had uncovered at Wilhaven regarding the state of their finances and where it seemed that the vast majority of their wealth had gone.

  Rhys considered the matter for a moment before adding, “I seem to recall that the former Lord Whitby was involved in some sort of scandal related to ancient artifacts of a somewhat questionable nature.”

  “Questionable?” Spencer said, his tone skeptical. “The man was—.” He stopped there, his lips firming into a thin, hard line. “This isn't a discussion to have in the presence of any lady, but specifically not an unmarried one.”

  For the first time that evening, Abby saw a hint of fire in the young woman. Her head came up, her blue eyes leveled a glacial stare at the slightly pompous man.

  “Thank you for your concern, my lord, but I assure you nothing that is said in here will be shocking to my already abused sensibilities. Continue, Lord Ellersleigh.”

  Every person in the room grew uncomfortably quiet, watching the now silent battle of wills between a young girl and a man who dwarfed her in every way. After several interminable seconds, he sighed heavily and looked away, offering a curt nod to Michael.

  Abby exhaled the breath she'd inadvertently been holding. It was glaringly apparent that both parties were equally obstinate but pompous as he was, Wolverston was obviously as enamored of Larissa as she was of him. She would be talking to Michael about that later, perhaps some artful goading would put both of them on the right path.

  Michael ignored the tension between Spencer and Larissa, it wasn't the first time he'd noticed their odd behavior toward one another. Whatever it was, he'd let them sort it out. He'd played matchmaker for Rhys and Emme, but he imagined that Spencer would be less than pleased with any interference on his part.

  With a concerned glance at Larissa, he elected to continue the explanation. While she might be an unmar
ried woman, she was hardly an innocent. Her life had taken some unexpected turns that had left her with far more knowledge of the evils in the world than a young woman should ever have. He explained, “Erotica… ancient carvings and texts of an especially explicit nature. There were many ancient cults that utilized sexual acts as part of their rituals. Those held a particular interest for him, I believe. It appears that interest has been passed down to the current Lord Whitby and, by association, Lady Lavinia.”

  “But it seems they aren’t just collecting the artifacts,” Abby said, “They are also recreating the rituals themselves.”

  Larissa spoke then, “They are not alone. There are many people involved in this, at least a half dozen more.”

  Abby wanted to question her, to ask how she could possibly know that. But the conversation continued around them, Larissa's assertion accepted so easily that Abby found herself wondering what sort of household she'd been brought to.

  “What do they hope to gain from this?” Rhys asked.

  Michael shrugged. “What did the Hellfire Club get out of their activities?”

  It was Emme who took that particular point and expanded on it, “Many people believe that objects of significant age, particularly those with violent histories, also have power.”

  “Metaphysically speaking?” Abby clarified.

  Spencer made a sound that perfectly illustrated his opinion of their beliefs. “It's naught but myths and stories! They're obviously mad.”

  “They may very well be mad, Lord Wolverston, but it doesn't mean what they are invoking isn't real,” Larissa said. “The evil they are engaging in certainly has enough dark energy about it to stir up very nasty things.”

  Emme nodded her agreement, but her concern was clearly for the newcomer in their midst. She spoke directly to Abigail, “I know many people have difficulty believing in things they cannot see, but there are forces in this world—,” Emme began.

  Michael interrupted her. “You needn’t explain, Emme. Abby and I both have more than a passing acquaintance with the supernatural. With the wealth of other information imparted, I forgot to mention that Blagdon Hall has a resident ghost, one who appears to act as a guardian and warns of impending danger,” Michael said.

  Rhys looked at Emme and said with finality, “You are not going. Not now, at any rate.” He glanced down the table at Larissa, “And you aren't either.”

  Larissa said nothing, simply drank her wine and nodded slightly.

  Emme smiled, “Of course not! But after the baby is born, if you’d like, Michael, I’d be happy to visit Blagdon Hall and find out what I can.”

  Michael nodded and in response to Abby’s quizzical look, explained, “Emme has the rather unique ability to communicate with spirits, much more directly than any of us.”

  Abby accepted that bit of information with aplomb, “That must be quite frightening at times. I am quite happy that my only encounter with spirits, thus far, has been the Gray Lady… But I had heard stories of her and knew her to be a benevolent spirit long before I ever saw her. Am I to assume then, that Larissa has some ability as well?”

  Larissa spoke then, “My abilities are a bit harder to explain. I see both the past and the future... but only glimpses and usually not very useful information, at that.”

  Abby was still processing that when the Duke spoke.

  “So, what is your next step?” Rhys asked.

  Michael sighed, “I will pay a visit to the more questionable dealers listed in Rupert’s ledgers and see which Rupert and Lavinia have utilized the most, and what items they have expressed interest in procuring.”

  “Emme and I are returning to Briarwood Hall day after tomorrow, but Spencer is remaining in town.”

  “And is bored to tears, a bit of adventure is just what I need,” Spencer added. “I'd be delighted to assist you and your lovely bride.”

  “If you can refrain from killing one another in the process,” Rhys added nonchalantly, but it was clear from his expression that the rift between his two friends concerned him.

  Michael grimaced but didn’t refuse the assistance. Spencer was a good man to have on hand in a fight, it was the lectures that preceded it that Michael could do without.

  The remainder of the evening passed in a similar fashion. They made plans for the following day which included Rhys and Michael visiting the antique dealers in the afternoon. The morning would be spent seeing to Abby’s wardrobe. As they left the palatial townhouse, and stepped out into the mist-shrouded night, Abby allowed Michael to assist her into the carriage.

  Once he'd climbed in beside her, she began to ask questions. “What on earth is going on between Larissa and Lord Wolverston? The tension between them is thicker than this fog!”

  Michael glanced at her in surprise before laughing. “Larissa has a girlish infatuation and Spencer, as ever, is being an honorable gentleman.”

  “Larissa is hardly a girl...and I promise you, his actions might be gentlemanly, but his thoughts are anything but.”

  Michael frowned then, clearly uncomfortable with the idea, “How do you know that?”

  Abby looked at him as if were dense. “If he didn't have some awareness of her as a woman, he wouldn't make it such a point to avoid her, would he?”

  Michael's frown was answer enough. It was clearly part of the equation that he had not considered. “Larissa has been traumatized... If Spencer has behaved inappropriately—What am I saying? Spencer would never act inappropriately, not with Larissa and not with anyone else.”

  “You're certain of that? Even the best of men can be swayed by love... or lust.”

  “Completely confident... I honestly believe his avoidance is in deference to her tender feelings... He would not feel right about leading her on. But if there's more to it—I'll speak to him.”

  Spencer's head ached as he climbed into his carriage. He'd stayed behind, talking with Rhys, allowing the brandy he'd imbibed after dinner to catch up with him. The only thing worse than waking up with a hangover was going to bed with one. Perhaps it was his physical misery that distracted him and that left him unaware.

  “Good evening, my lord.”

  The small voice was achingly familiar to him. He tapped on the roof of the vehicle. “Hold, Smithers! Our departure has been temporarily delayed.”

  “Yes, m'lord,” came the coachman's muffled reply.

  Spencer turned up the wick of the interior lamp, ignoring the pain in his head from the light. He wanted his stowaway to bear full witness to his disapproval. “What the bloody hell are you thinking to climb into a man's carriage in the dark of night?”

  Larissa shrugged, the movement sending the hood of her cloak falling backward. In the dim light of the carriage, her skin was like alabaster. “I needed to speak with you privately.”

  Spencer wanted to shake her, which in of itself told him he needed to be as far from her presence as possible. No woman, in all his years, had tugged at his temper the way this slip of a girl did. “Young women of quality do not speak with gentlemen privately! It simply isn't done!”

  “As my reputation is already in tatters, it hardly signifies,” she reminded him, her voice sharpening. “It's important Spencer or I wouldn't importune you this way. Surely you know that?”

  He did know. Still, it was difficult enough to face her across a room full of people who would gladly slaughter him if he acted on even one of the fantasies he had of her. It was far different to be in a small enclosed space, with only the dim light of a lamp and not a soul to protest if he were to kiss her. Or more. “Then get on with it,” he said grudgingly.

  “Michael is in grave danger. You mustn't let him out of your sight.”

  “He's a newly married man, Larissa. I doubt he'll welcome my presence.”

  She might have blushed. In the darkness, it was hard to know, but imagining it did little for his own discomfort. When she spoke, her voice was slightly breathless which only further fueled his fantasies.

  “Spencer, I'm qu
ite serious. Tomorrow, you must beware the black coach.”

  “It's London, love,” he said, the endearment slipping out, catching them both unawares. He continued, acting as if the small breach meant nothing. “There are too many black coaches to be wary of them all!”

  She shook her head. “You'll know this one when you see it. It's out of place where you'll be... and they mean to kill him, Spencer.”

  “Rupert and Lavinia?”

  “Not Lavinia,” she said. “I only see a man who I assume is Whitby... but I can't be sure. His face is unclear to me.”

  “Obscured?”

  “No,” she said. “It's simply not there. Like a carnival mask that hasn't been painted.”

  Spencer ignored the chill her words created. “You need to return to the house before you are missed... I'll look out for him. I promise.”

  Larissa rose from the bench and moved toward the carriage door, she stumbled and Spencer caught her, his arms sliding about her to steady her. It was an intimate pose, far more intimate than she was ready for. He felt her body stiffen, felt her withdraw from him.

  “I would never hurt you,” he whispered.

  “No. But it hurts you... when I cringe, or when I am frozen in fear, it wounds you deeply and for that I am sorry.”

  He said nothing else, for she'd fled into the night, back to the solace of her lonely bed. He would be going to his own and it would offer no consolation at all. Easing back into the seat, he wrapped once more on the roof of the coach.

  “Onward, Smithers!”

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning found Abby and Michael in the Bond Street shop of Mademoiselle Beauchamps. Swaths of fabric had been draped over her and an endless stream of fashion plates had been paraded in front of her. Dresses had been ordered for every possible event, activity and time of day.

  Michael had insisted that everything be in vibrant shades, nary a pastel in sight. He’d also taken a far too active role in selecting her under things. Her stays and petticoats were no longer serviceable cotton but were of heavily embroidered silks and satins. Silk stockings and garters festooned with tiny bows and rosettes also accompanied them. Chemises were provided that were so sheer, she might as well have been naked.