The Dark Regency Series: Boxed Set

by Chasity Bowlin

  The door opened and Larissa glanced up, surprised that the footmen would arrive so quickly with her bath. It wasn’t the footmen. There was no one there. The room was empty save for her. A feeling of cold dread settled through her. It was not a spirit, she knew that, she would have felt it otherwise. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t manipulation of some sort, psychically, or even metaphysically. She’d never encountered powerful witches personally before but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. Everything she’d seen at Kinraven thus far seemed to indicate a darker force at work. The knowledge of herbs, the manipulation of the chamber where Mary had been held, and the dark swirling mist that Spencer had described, that she’d seen in her dreams —there was evil at Kinraven, but she’d wager it was initiated from a very human source.

  Angry and more frightened than she cared to admit, she called out, “What do you want?”

  There was no answer. A faint breeze carried the scent of cloves and something else she could not name. Curious, Larissa rose and began searching the room. She looked under the furniture, checking beneath the bed and in the vases that sat upon the mantle. It was only when she dragged the chair over from the fireplace and managed to stand atop it, balancing herself against the bed post that she could see over the bed’s canopy. There, near the head of the bed was a small leather pouch. She had only just managed to reach it when the door opened again. Dorcas screamed, startling Larissa. The two footmen put down their pails of steaming water and rushed forward, but it was too late. The chair toppled and she landed in a heap on the floor.

  “Are you alright, miss?” one of the footmen asked.

  “Merely embarrassed. I’ll be quite alright. Thank you.”

  The commotion of Dorcas’ screams and the crash of her overturning furniture had brought curious onlookers. Mrs. Agatha stood in the hallway, but Spencer marched past her and entered the room.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded.

  Larissa held up the pouch. “Do you know what this is?” The question was not directed at Spencer but at Mrs. Agatha.

  “I could not say,” the woman replied.

  Larissa did not miss the fact that it wasn’t really an answer. “We’ll see about that.” Larissa opened the pouch and dumped the contents onto the floor. A piece of polished amber rolled out. Sprigs of fennel and elder had been tied to it with twine, along with the skull of a small bird. Whether there was any magic in the pouch or not, the person who had prepared it clearly believed so. “Do you still deny knowledge of this?”

  “I most certainly do! I’d never have anything so filthy in my house!”

  Spencer cast a dark gaze upon the housekeeper. “Clearly you did have something that filthy in my house. And you will watch your tone when you speak to Miss Walters.”

  Mrs. Agatha sucked in a breath and lifted her chin, her bony and prominent nose notched upward in the air. “It was an oversight and will not happen again, my lord.”

  “You may go now,” Spencer said coolly. He nodded to the footmen, “Go about your business of preparing the bath and then take yourselves room to room in this house looking for any more of those hideous things.”

  The footmen looked at the contents and the pouch and then back to Spencer. Only one of them was brave enough to speak. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but what do we do with ‘em if we find any?”

  “Bring them to me,” Larissa said. “I’ll see how best to dispose of them.”

  “Here, miss?”

  “No,” she said. “Bring them to the library. Do not open them however. Merely collect them and deliver them intact.”

  “Is it dangerous, you think?” the other footman asked. Clearly, the idea of potions and spells was enough to overcome of his shyness. The poor young man looked terrified.

  “You are in no danger, I’m certain,” Larissa promised. “Now, fill the tub and see to your tasks.”

  Spencer came forward and collected the items, returning them to the pouch he slipped from her hand. “I’ll take this with me and await you in the library. We have a great deal to do and much to discuss.”

  She nodded. “Some questions will not be answered today,” she said pointedly.

  “That will not stop me from asking them,” he replied quietly and then left the room.

  The footmen filled the tub with the pails of steaming water and then returned to the end of the hall where they could access the cold water from the cisterns on the roof. They returned once more with buckets for rinsing and left. Dorcas hauled the bucket before the fire to warm it while Larissa struggled out of her gown.

  “Here, let me do that for you tear it!” Dorcas groused. “Good lord! These laces are tied up tight as me late husband’s purse strings! Wonder he’d do it up so when he clearly wanted to strip you out of it again!”

  “Dorcas!”

  “Dorcas!” the woman mocked. “I’ve got eyes, haven’t I? ’Tis plain as the nose on yer face that he’s head over arse for you!”

  Her heart raced at the thought. He’d said as much, albeit more eloquently. It was more than she’d hoped for, but that didn’t allay the fear that faced with such ridicule he would come to reevaluate his feelings for her. “I do not wish to discuss Spencer right now!”

  “Spencer is it? No protestants of his lordship, or the earl!”

  “Protestation,” Larissa corrected patiently.

  “That’s what I said!” Dorcas cried as the laces finally gave.

  The gown drooped loosely and Larissa stepped free of it. Her stays and petticoat followed. She doffed her chemise and sank quickly into the water before it grew chilled. She ignored the various twinges and the tell-tale aches that were vivid reminders of all that had transpired the night before. And in the wee hours of the morning, she thought with a smile, as she recalled Spencer tugging her to him in the dark of night and making love to her again.

  “Come, Dorcas, and help me wash my hair. I need to get downstairs quickly. We’ve much to do today.”

  “I hope shaving is on his lordship’s agenda,” Dorcas said. “You’ve got beard burn till it looks like you rolled in briars!”

  Larissa whimpered softly and covered her face with her hands. “Do not talk. I beg of you, please, do not talk anymore. Just wash my hair and be gone!”

  “Fine then,” Dorcas said. “Ain’t my fault you got no sleep and now yer peckin’ at everybody like a hen with chicks!”

  Larissa opened her mouth and closed it again without speaking; realizing that having the last word with Dorcas was nigh to impossible and certainly not worth the effort.

  Chapter Eleven

  Spencer was once again seated at his desk in the library. For the first time in weeks, however, he actually felt able to address the pile of correspondence that had gathered there. Forrester would be pleased, undoubtedly. While Kinraven was impoverished, his other estates were not. Forrester need not fear that they would all wind up in the poor house, though assuring the man of it would take daily effort.

  Near the bottom of the stack of letters, he found one from Rhys. It could not be in reply to his plea for help as Larissa had intercepted it. Also, given how long it had been on his desk, it was quite likely the letters had passed one another in transit. With a flick of the letter opener, he broke the seal and perused the contents. As he read, he realized quickly that Larissa had downplayed the extent of Moreland’s gossip. The man wasn’t just insinuating to society that he and Larissa had been intimate, he was actually telling them in no uncertain terms that he had taken her innocence and it was only the machinations of her brother-in-law that had prevented him from doing the honorable thing and marrying her.

  Why, he wondered, would she keep such significant details from him? Of course, he hadn’t really been in any position to assist her with her problems. They were entirely focused on those at Kinraven. Admittedly, given the grievous injuries of John and Mary, the fact that he’d been driven half mad by some herbal concoction and that they still weren’t entirely certain who was ultimately respo
nsible for it, matters in London did seem less immediate than those at hand.

  Spencer looked up as the door opened and light shone through the window where it glared off the snow. The sensitivity to light had lessened, but had not receded entirely. He had noticed that his ability to judge distances was still impaired as well. He was not fit to challenge Moreland anyway. Disgusted with himself and with the situation, he tossed the letter onto the desk and rose to pace the room as Larissa entered.

  Larissa paused and gave him an appraising glance. “Shall I go then?” she asked. “Clearly, your mood seems to have worsened since I arrived.”

  He tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. A sigh of frustration escaped him. “It isn’t you. I am always happy to see you, even when I should not be.”

  “And when is that?”

  “When you’re here,” he replied. “Kinraven is akin to a pit of vipers at this point. There is no one to trust here. Finella has lied, Katherine has never done anything but, Mrs. Agatha lurks like a shadow and Fergus nearly murdered a maid who’d unwittingly poisoned me. There is no reason for me to be happy that you are in such a place when I am incapable of protecting you here.”

  “We shall simply have to look after one another then,” she said as she stepped deeper into the room. She placed a hand on his arm to halt his pacing.

  Spencer stared down at the delicate hand that rested on his forearm. It was an innocent gesture, but his response was anything but. It was only too easy to recall the soft skin and lithe curves beneath her gown. His fantasies, numerous and explicit as they had been, had failed to do her justice. With her hesitation on the subject of marriage, he had to wonder if it was a sight he’d ever enjoy again. His honor would not allow him to make her his mistress. His love for her, his friendship with Rhys, it would be impossible. “I fear that is more complicated than you imagine,” he said softly, his comment edged with double meaning. “For there is no greater distraction for me than you. You fill my mind even when you aren’t here, though.”

  She removed her hand, clearly having understood that he hadn’t just spoken of their situation at Kinraven. “Spencer, we can’t. You don’t understand how awful Moreland’s gossip could make things for you.”

  He picked the letter up off his desk and passed it to her. “On the contrary, Rhys has written a far more detailed account of Moreland’s perfidy than you provided.” He watched as she read the contents. Her face paled and she let out a heavy sigh as she reached the end of the missive. “Why did you not tell me everything?”

  She returned the letter to him, but her face etched into a cool mask. “So that you could go haring off to London and issue a challenge that would only make matters worse?”

  “I’ve no intention of challenging him. To do so would afford him the status of a gentleman and that will not happen…I will see him dead but not through a duel. There will be no witnesses and there will be no chance of his survival,” Spencer said. His tone was cold and matter of fact. It was what he did, after all, or what he had done for years. The Crown had identified its enemies and he had been dispatched to eliminate them.

  She leveled a shocked stare at him, mouth agape and eyes wide. “You’re talking about murder!”

  “Execution, actually,” he corrected, calmly. “It’s a very different thing… Murder would indicate that he was an innocent victim. That description has never been applied to him.”

  “No,” she said and shook her head firmly. “I will not have you fighting battles for me!”

  He arched a brow. “I wasn’t asking your permission. I mean to end him, regardless of how you feel about the matter. It is something that should have been taken care of long ago. That he continues to wreak havoc in your life is more justification than I require!”

  “I don’t care about him… not what he says, not what lies he spreads, or even what truths. I would not have you put such a stain on your conscience for me!”

  It would not be a stain. In fact, ridding the world of one of Moreland’s ilk would undoubtedly tip the scales in his favor in the eyes of the almighty. Of course, she would disagree and there was really no need to discuss it further. He would deal with things in his own way and in his own time and she would never be the wiser. “We’ll revisit the topic later… Let us tackle the more immediate matters that are occurring here. You said you wished to look at who would benefit from my demise here. The truth is, I have no idea. This line of my family tree was so distant, I was not even aware of the title, much less that I stood to inherit it.”

  “Wouldn’t it be the same cousin who stands to inherit Wolverstone?”

  “No,” he said. “Apparently, a few generations back, a special remainder was commissioned that allowed the title to be passed to the daughter of the Earl at the time. Her mother was a cousin, I believe, to my grandmother. It’s all very convoluted.”

  “No one of closer relation, remains?”

  “None except, Katherine and Finella, but they are ineligible for the title as no record of the marriage of Finella’s grandmother to the Earl can be found.”

  “The one who was either burned at the stake or disappeared from the dungeon, depending on whether you prefer Finella’s version or Seamus’,” Larissa said with a frown. “My goodness it is convoluted. So, if Finella could produce the documentation, the title would revert to her?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I would be exposed for the imposter that I am… happily.”

  “Then we should find it and free you of this albatross!”

  “If it were that simple, the documents would already have been discovered!” His tone was mild as he pointed out.

  “Naturally,” she said, her voice tinged with mild sarcasm. “Nothing can ever be simple!”

  “Let’s focus our attentions as you suggested earlier… let us see who stands to inherit. I will send a letter to the solicitor who contacted me and ask him to continue looking for heirs. I can always disclaim the title and pass it on to the next poor bastard.”

  “You wouldn’t do that,” she chided softly. “You want answers, Spencer, and you want someone to pay for what has been done here.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “I do. So, while we wait to contact the solicitor, we can search this library for any pertinent information. It will be a dry, dusty and thankless task.”

  Larissa retrieved the pouch from his desk and took it with her to the window. In the light, she examined it closely. “There are markings on the outside of it. It had become so covered in dust that they were difficult to see without direct light… I am no expert, and heaven knows they are faded, but I believe they are runes.”

  Spencer approached her and examined the dry, cracked leather. “They look very similar to markings I saw while at Blagdon. There is a stone circle in the woods there, near the hall. I couldn’t tell you what any of them mean.”

  “You don’t need to,” she said, her voice heavy with worry. “They are all well marked in the book that Finella gave me. If Finella knows them… If Katherine knows them—every discovery fails to narrow the field of suspects! Is there no one in this house who doesn’t have a secret agenda?”

  “Dorcas,” he offered with a half-smile. “Her only agenda is gin… or whiskey. Or whatever other intoxicant that she can get her hands on.”

  She smiled in spite of herself. “And her imaginary suitors. Good heavens. What a tangle this all is!”

  “You work on identifying what that disgusting thing is and what its contents were intended to do, and I will work on identifying possible heirs.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “The account books. The one thing I’ve learned over the years is that any distant relative will come calling with their hands out the minute someone inherits a title or an estate. I will look for names, for payments that do not seem to be directly related to the care of the estate… I have grave doubts regarding the stewardship of the previous earls, but I can’t see how else to begin,” he said.

  Larissa nodded.
“It’s as good a place to start as any.”

  Spencer returned to the account books while Larissa took the pouch, its disturbing contents and the book that Finella had given her and settled on the small window seat there. The sun, weak as it was, shone in. She was bathed in light, her hair flamed with it. It was a tempting vision and one that, for the moment at least, it was in his best interest to ignore. Perhaps looking at countless rows of numbers and barely legible scrawl would distract him from her nearness, or at the very least curb his less appropriate thoughts. It was doubtful, but there was always the faint hope.

  Spencer settled at his desk and focused his attention on the ledgers there. It would be a long and in all likelihood futile day but that was something he had grown used to.

  It seemed that hours had passed. With weary eyes and stiff shoulders, Larissa looked up from the nearly crumbling pages of the grimoire. She rolled her head side to side in an attempt to release the tension that had gathered there as she studied the often faded and illegible scrawl that had adorned most of the pages within. She’d found some information that was helpful. She’d identified the sprigs of herbs that had been included as elderflower and fennel. The stone was clearly a piece of polished amber. As for the bird’s skull, the only mention she’d seen in the book of anything related to its use was as sacrifice and the blood as a binding agent. In all, it was gruesome.

  Forcing her stiff limbs to move, she stood and stretched staring out the window at the grim landscape beyond. As she looked out, she noted that the snow had at least begun to melt. It was not an inviting view. The remaining snow was tinted brown from the mud beneath and it lent the entire scene an aura of neglect and desolation. Or perhaps her interpretation was colored more by her mood.

  “It’s a rather depressing view,” Spencer commented as he closed the account books.

  “Have you found anything?” she asked. It was a mistake to look at him. Through the course of the day, he’d shed his coat, and then his waistcoat. His cravat was loose and his shirtsleeves turned back. His hair was disheveled from the repeated path his fingers had taken as he rifled through it in frustration. The whiskers that Dorcas had scolded her about once again shadowed his jaw and the very sight of them made her shiver. He was too appealing by far.