by Sky Winters
His hand touched her shoulder lightly and his brow furrowed. "You must be mistaken, my dear. I had no guests and did not invite anyone to the wedding but your family. Even my trusted servant Joseph did not attend."
An image of the pale, skeletal face flashed through her mind; it was not an image she could have easily imagined.
"You are mistaken, Duke; a cloaked figure sat alone on the right side of the aisle. I presumed it was someone of your own family or acquaintance?"
His eyes narrowed slightly but his countenance did not portray any emotion. "You must be mistaken. Perhaps one of the servants did attend against my wishes but that is by the by. Now we are married you must call me Victor. Duke is a little formal, don't you think? Let Joseph show you back up to your room. It has been a long day and you must be tired."
Abigail stood in confusion. She had been preparing herself mentally for her wedding night and had fully intended to perform her wifely duties, whatever they may be.
Victor watched the expression in her eyes, his own cold and stony. "I may not have explained myself fully to your father. I need a wife in name only and will not expect anything else from you. The people of the village fear me and I hear the rumors and superstitions that surround this castle and the name of Duke von Reichenstein. I am hoping that with you by my side, if only in public, these stories will diminish. Now if you will excuse me, I have some urgent matters to attend to. Joseph will show you the way back to your room. I will not see you until tomorrow evening. Until then, goodnight."
With a brief kiss of her hand and a bow of the head, he was gone. Abigail stared after him open mouthed. She felt as if she had been slapped in the face and had never felt so insulted. Her cheeks flushed a deep red as Joseph crossed the room with a smirk and with a wave of his arms beckoned that she follow him.
Safely back in her room, she bolted the door before sinking onto the bed. The whole marriage was just a sham, a fake, a front to help restore the Duke’s good name. She had thrown away all chance of happiness for a lie.
Her image in the mirror now looked ridiculous; her hair was tousled and the dress, once beautiful and a symbol of purity, now seemed to be sullied and dirty. Tugging at the gown fastenings, she pulled the garment over her head and let it fall onto the floor. A beautiful white cotton nightdress had been laid out on the bed, but this, too, she threw onto the floor. She did not want anything from the Duke. It was all a mistake. Tomorrow she would return home.
Slipping her old gown over her head, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Of course she couldn't go home; the Duke had saved her family from ruin, and although she hated him, she must keep her part of the bargain for the sake of her father and sister.
The thought wearied her. She was exhausted and emotional and needed to rest. Laying her head back onto the pillow, she allowed her body to sink into the deep and comfortable mattress and very soon she was asleep.
Chapter Three
A sound awoke Abigail in the dead of night. She had been dreaming that someone was in the room watching her, and she held her breath and listened carefully. Opening her eyes, she lay very still without moving and looked blindly into the darkness. There it was again; a slight fluttering noise from somewhere in the room.
Abigail sat up and looked around the room as her eyes became accustomed to the darkness. The curtain covering the window fluttered gently in a slight breeze; she hadn’t noticed that the window had been left open and moved to close it. As her hand reached the fastening, a great shrieking sound erupted from the corner of the room. As she turned toward the noise, a great black shadow flew through the air directly at her. Instinctively, she raised her hands to cover her face as great wings rushed past her, the tips rippling her hair as the creature flew through the open space and was gone into the night.
Abigail closed the window quickly and made sure the latches were securely fastened. Her heart stammered in her breast as she sat back down on the bed to catch her breath. It had been a bird, a trapped bird. It must have been frightened, poor thing, and she had disturbed it; that was all.
It was late when she awoke the next day. A brand new set of clothing had been laid out for her; some of the most exquisite items she had ever seen. It seemed churlish not to wear them; she had made her bed and it was up to her to make the best of things. Sleep had refreshed her, and she felt more positive in the morning sunlight.
Stepping tentatively out of her room, she made her way along the long corridor and down the vast stone staircase to the main hall. Despite the day being a pleasant one, the castle was cold and damp and she shivered as she stepped across the marble flooring.
“Hmmm.”
Abigail turned at the sound of a man clearing his throat. Joseph seemed to be a man of few words.
Bowing politely before her and holding out his arm toward a door to the left, he escorted her into the drawing room.
The room was bright and cheerful and not at all what she had expected. The floor was carpeted with rich wool rugs her dainty slippers sank into. A huge fire blazed in the fireplace and was surrounded by a comfortable-looking couch and chair, all covered in a bright material that depicted colorful images of birds and butterflies. A small table had been set for her breakfast and as she took a seat, Joseph poured tea into a delicate rose teacup. Abigail could not help but smile at the sight of the gnarled old retainer playing at mother.
The whole room was fresh and clean. A bowl of white roses stood on a table by the window, and Abigail wondered if this had all been prepared just for her. The Duke was such a dark and strange figure that she doubted all this elegance could be for his own comfort. It was a shame that he was such a cold and distant man or things might have been different.
After she had eaten and Joseph had cleared away her dishes, he showed her into the library, another cheerful place with a great fire in the hearth and every wall filled to capacity with books. She had thought that they would be old and dusty tomes, dull and incapable of entertaining her, but she was surprised at the variety of the content. Most of the volumes appeared to be new, the latest novels, travel and adventure books, cookery and art, poetry and history; most beautifully bound and containing full-color illustrations. One smaller area was covered by a curtain. Drawing it back, she was surprised to see a collection of old and dusty volumes. They were probably the Duke’s private collection and she closed the curtain again without further thought. There was enough reading material here for a lifetime, and she wondered again at the nature of the Duke, a man who appeared to have such a wide and exquisite taste.
The library did not only contain the books. Set out on one of the tables were tools for embroidery and tapestry making, a set of watercolors, oils and brushes, plus an assortment of canvases and papers, and a beautiful wooden writing set containing enough pens, ink and writing paper to write her own novel. Someone had been very thoughtful indeed.
Abigail filled her day looking through the books and the beautiful gifts. No doubt these things were meant for her amusement and the day flew by quickly, only interrupted by Joseph when it was time for her lunch. She wondered about the other servants in the house. She had only seen Joseph, yet surely the castle was too vast for one man to look after? There had been the strange figure at the chapel and the Duke had alluded to other servants. They were obviously silent workers and kept themselves to themselves,
For most of the afternoon, Abigail found herself absorbed in a new book, a first edition of a book called Wuthering Heights by a new author called Emily Bronte. Its dark tale of love and passion set against the backdrop of the wild Yorkshire Moors struck a chord with Abigail, and she was fascinated by the dark and captivating Heathcliff. As she read, she pictured the Duke’s faceDuke.
By the time her eyes had grown too tired to read any further, the afternoon sky was dimming, the sun almost set in the west and Joseph appeared to light the lamps and to add more coal and wood to the fire. A small, golden carriage clock chimed out the hour, the small bell striking five times; s
he had been married for twenty-four hours and had hardly seen her new husband. What kind of work kept him away for most of the night and day?
Joseph stood close by and cleared his throat and with a wave of his hands, he ushered her through the door and back up the staircase to her room. At the doorway, she paused and turned to speak to him but he had already gone and was disappearing down the great stone staircase.
A new gown of emerald green silk had been hung next to the mirror with a pair of slippers to match. A note on the bed announced that dinner would be served at seven in the dining hall and that the Duke would be joining her. A tub of steaming water and towels had been set by a roaring fire for her to bathe. The whole thing was slightly unreal, and she wondered if her life would be so ordered from now on. Dipping her hand into the water, she checked the temperature; it was of course perfect.
Abigail sat ready and waiting in her chamber, she had over half an hour to wait until the appointed time, but she dared not wander around the castle in case she bumped into her husband. It would be different over dinner; if there was no conversation at least they could eat in silence. If she met him elsewhere, she wouldn’t know what to do or say.
The dress had fitted her beautifully and it brought out the green flecks in her eyes. Her dark curls hung loosely around her shoulders and contrasted with the pale whiteness of her skin and the overall effect was bewitching. Even Abigail herself thought that for once she looked beautiful. She wondered if she should have been more formal with her hair, braided it perhaps or worn it up as was the fashion, but without help it was difficult and probably one thing that Joseph wasn’t prepared for. At home, there had been no ladies maid, the two sisters had faired for themselves, helping each other, but now she was alone. At the thought of her sister and father at home, her eyes began to fill. However beautiful the castle might be, however generous the Duke might be, she would be very lonely.
At a knock on the door, she dried her eyes. The hall clock was starting to chime the hour and it was time. Her heart fluttered as she opened the door and followed Joseph down the stairs and into the dining hall.
The first thing that she noticed as she walked through the door was a huge chandelier hanging down from the ceiling, high above a long dark table. Its candle flames lit a myriad of crystal droplets that shimmered and sparkled on the cut-glass goblets and silverware that had been laid out upon the table.
As she gasped at the loveliness of the room, the tall, dark figure of the Duke stepped out of the shadows to greet her. Abigail was struck once again by his appearance and had almost forgotten how handsome he was. As he moved closer, his dark eyes met hers and she was at once entranced and stood unblinking in his gaze. There was something both deep and mysterious behind the handsome face, a secret that flickered behind those soulless dark pits and her heart raced. Her bosom rose and fell in quick shallow bursts within the confines of her gown.
“Come, my dear, you look exquisite.” The Duke’s deep tones Dukeseemed to whisper throughout the room as he took her hand in his and led her to the table. Once again, she noticed the coolness of his skin. As soon as he had taken his place opposite her at the table, the door opened and in walked Joseph to serve the soup as if he had been listening behind the door, waiting for his entrance.
Once the soup had been ladled and the wine poured, Joseph left the two alone.
Whilst dressing for dinner, Abigail had tried to think of topics of conversation in which to engage the Duke. She could not bear to think that they would sit alone, night after night, without speaking. It was bad enough being alone in the daytime but she must find some comfort in the man, if only in his words.
“I must thank you, Duke, for the fine gifts you have provided for me, the books and materials for my amusement; you are most kind.”
“Victor, please call me Victor.”
“Then, Victor, you are most kind and I thank you.” His name seemed strange on her lips and seemed too personal for their reserved relationship.
“I hope you like the gown, too? It appears to fit you perfectly.”
Abigail could feel her cheeks flush as his eyes traced the outline of her body to her waist and back up again. She was aware of her soft and heaving bosom, strapped against the fine silk and knew the Duke was aware, too. He did not speak and his countenance did not change. He appeared to be a man of little emotion.
“It, too, is beautiful, thank you, Victor.”
“It is only beautiful because you are wearing it.”
Her heart ached at his words. They were the kind of words spoken by lovers in the novels she read, yet from the Duke’s lips they were spoken without passion, without love. She wondered if a real heart beat within his chest or if it was as empty as his words.
The soup course was over, the broth sipped in silence and soon Joseph was carrying in the main. A huge roast of beef was revealed under a silver dome as Joseph expertly carved. She was served with a plateful of meat and assorted vegetables, yet the Duke’s plate remained empty.
“Are you not eating, Duke…Victor?” she quickly corrected.
“The beef is a little too well done for my liking. I have acquired a fancy for very rare meats on my travels across the continents and I know that is not to everyone’s taste. Joseph will be along with my dish shortly.”
On cue, Joseph entered the room, bringing forth a separate silver salver. The lid was lifted to reveal a plate of red and bloody meat, which the Duke started to devour with relish.
Abigail could not watch him eat. The blood dripping from his fork formed a small red pool in the center of his plate.
As she cut her own perfectly roasted beef, she searched her mind for conversation. “A strange thing happened to me last night.”
The Duke looked up from his meat and waited for her to continue.
“Yes, the strangest thing. I was woken in the night by an odd, fluttering sound. I had just been dreaming that someone was in my room, watching me. The window in my room was open and as I rose to fasten it, a great black bird that must have been trapped in my room flew straight at me and out of the window.”
The Duke put down his knife and fork and continued to stare at her. “Go on.”
“Well, that is all. I was frightened at first but I was just being silly. The bird was more afraid than I.”
Sitting back in his chair, the Duke seemed to turn a shade paler, his eyes burning brightly and the rims appearing red.
“You must promise me that you will keep your window securely fastened at all times and your door locked.” His voice was urgent, and she was surprised by his sudden passion.
“Yes, Victor, but I am sure that will not be necessary.”
Reaching across the table, he grabbed her by the hand; his eyes angry and fearful. “Promise me that you will do it. You must promise.”
“Yes, of course, Victor, I promise, but...”
The Duke had already risen from the table and bowed his head. “You must forgive me. I have work to attend to. Joseph will serve the rest of your meal. Now if you will excuse me, I will bid you goodnight.”
The door closed and the Duke was gone, leaving Abigail alone once more. She couldn’t tell if it were her words that had troubled him or if he would have left of his own accord. Yet he was normally such a cold and unemotional man; something had definitely stirred him.
She was in no mood for a pudding, yet she let Joseph serve her coffee before retiring for the night. Slipping out into the main hall, she made her way to the library. She would light a candle and read for a while; she was eager to return to the world of Cathy and Heathcliff.
Abigail had left the book closed on one of the tables but it had obviously been put away by the ever vigilant Joseph. Scanning the walls in the candlelight, she noticed that the curtain on the far side of the room had been opened. She was certain that she had closed the curtain over the ancient-looking books and even if she hadn’t, Joseph would certainly have done so.
She was about to close the curtain when the
front of a book grabbed her attention. One of the larger volumes had been removed from the shelf and had created a space, leaving the cover of the next plainly visible.
The book was all about local folklore and the cover depicted the picture of various creatures, some real and some imagined. Just under the title was a sketch of a bat, its dark wings outstretched as in flight. Closing her eyes, she thought back to the previous night and the fluttering sound in her room. The creature had been no bird; it had been a bat!
Wuthering Heights could wait another day; she would read up on the local ghosts and ghouls instead. About to leave the room, she stopped in her tracks. Raised voices came from the main hall. Panicked, she looked around the room for a place to hide. She recognized one of the voices as the Duke’s; he was shouting at someone quite loudly and sounded angry. The second voice was thin and reedy; it could have been Joseph, but she doubted it. The voices ceased as the door opened, and Abigail shot behind one of the armchairs. Duke von Reichenstein strode across the floor and to the bookshelf, replacing a large red bound book before closing the curtain to conceal them once more.
“What the hell are you doing behind the chair?” His voice boomed across the room, and she could sense his irritation.
Creeping from her hiding place, she felt quite ridiculous, like a small child about to be chastised.
“There is no need to hide from me, Abigail; this is your home, too, and you are free to wander as you please. However, the hour is getting late; I will see you safely to your room.”
She wondered what perils awaited her in the house and was about to protest when he noticed the book in her hands.
“What have you there, my dear?”
As if caught red handed with stolen property, she held up the book for the Duke to see. His eyes seemed to widen for a brief moment but his gaze was soon steady on hers once again.
“I doubt that will be of interest to you. More likely keep you awake at night. I’m sure there are others that will better suit. I see it is from my own collection. I have a number of rare and ancient volumes that I keep under that curtain to stop them from fading in the sunlight. I would rather that you do not read those; some of them are the only remaining copies in the world and the pages are quite fragile and could easily tear.”