Always Your Love: A Gothic Regency Romance

by St. Clair, Ellie

  Edmund dismounted and passed by her, not even pausing as he answered, “It’s home.”

  4

  He never should have brought her here.

  Hell, he never should have married her. But after that, he should have given her his name and allowed her to stay in London, with her family. That, however, would cause such scandal, especially after all that had occurred with his brother. He didn’t want to put her through that once more. Best to take her here, hide for a while, and then return her.

  Edmund knew he should walk her inside and provide her with a tour of the place. But, he figured, it was best to allow Mrs. Ackerman to do it. He knew his wife would likely feel far more comfortable with his housekeeper than she would with him. He had seen the way she looked at him, with such trepidation on her face. She was likely worried about the anticipated intimacy between them. But she shouldn’t be worried. He had no plans to assume his husbandly duties.

  “Dinner will be at eight,” he called over his shoulder as they entered the hall, before he continued upstairs to his bedchamber to wash himself for dinner.

  He was an ass. He knew that.

  But better an ass than a fool. He entered his room, the grate dark as his staff wouldn’t have known his arrival time, although he had written ahead to advise that he would be appearing much sooner than they would have expected him.

  He realized that he had forgotten to write about his wife. Well, Mrs. Ackerman would take care of that. Edmund walked toward the window to look out on the dense wood beyond, but as he did, he caught sight of himself in the mirror – a mirror that he kept only because he had no valet, and at times he had to ensure he was dressed appropriately. Usually, however, he kept the mirror covered in thick black cloth, but somehow it had come askew and was pooled on the floor.

  For every time he caught sight of himself, he was horrified anew at just how terrifying he looked – at least from the left. How had Hannah brought herself to stand next to him to be married, when he couldn’t even look at himself in the mirror?

  He grimaced and sank down at the bed, unable to stomach staring at himself any longer, and yet equally unable to look away.

  Finally, he stood up and threw the black cloth over the mirror once more, deciding that he wouldn’t be going down for dinner.

  He would allow the woman to eat without his terrible visage staring back at her.

  It was the least he could do.

  * * *

  Hannah had stood in front of the house, unable to move. To enter, they had to cross over the moat upon a small bridge, passing through what she took to be a gatehouse. When her steps had faltered within the courtyard as she stared up at the house, her husband had continued on, leaving her beyond to discover the secrets for herself.

  Marrying Edmund Marshville in the drawing room of his family’s London home had seemed an easy decision. But suddenly, as she stared at the entrance to the home, it all sank into her, and she began to involuntarily tremble as a chill ran down her spine.

  Molly said nothing, but she brought her hand up to rest on Hannah’s back, and at that moment, Hannah had no care in the world that the girl was her servant. She turned around and clung to Molly’s hand, staring at her beseechingly.

  “Thank you for coming with me, Molly,” she said, her eyes filling with tears at her gratefulness, and Molly nodded, though her own smile seemed rather forced.

  “The house might be an interesting subject to paint?” she said hopefully, and Hannah smiled in thanks at her attempt at levity.

  They stepped through a porch and screened passage, although the screens were missing, and the porches were decorated in elaborate carvings.

  Her husband now completely disappeared, it seemed that no one was here to greet them but the house itself, which seemed to begrudgingly welcome her into its bowels.

  She looked around the great hall in wonder, mesmerized by all it held within. The floor was flagged, embers in the central hearth providing little heat and a slight bit of light, which also entered through the gabled bay window that looked out over the courtyard. A doorway led to another room beyond, and Hannah could see a staircase leading up, though she had no idea whether she was supposed to follow it or not.

  Molly was circling the room, trailing her fingers along the wall. She looked across what seemed to be a dining room table at Hannah, her eyes wide.

  “This house must be centuries old,” she said with wonder, and Hannah nodded in agreement.

  They both jumped when there was a crash from the room beyond, and Molly quickly hurried over to join Hannah. They stood there in the middle of the room, nearly squeezed together, as shuffling footsteps sounded beyond the entrance.

  “Who is there?” a voice demanded before they saw anyone, and both Hannah and Molly jumped again. Hannah realized she had grasped Molly’s hand in hers and was squeezing it hard.

  Hannah opened her mouth to announce herself, but then realized she had no idea just how to do so anymore. Finally, a figure appeared in the doorway. The woman’s shoulders were somewhat stooped, her hair gray, her glasses low on her nose.

  “Who are you?” she said now, pushing her spectacles up as though to better see Hannah.

  “L-Lady Hannah,” she finally managed. “I am…” she exchanged a look with Molly. “I am Lord Edmund’s wife.”

  The woman stopped, not moving for what seemed to be a full minute.

  “Well, I’ll be,” she murmured, then placed her hands together in front of her chest and looked up, her lips moving in an apparent prayer. “I wish I had known you were coming.”

  Hannah nodded. She wished she had known as well.

  * * *

  For a house that seemed silent, it certainly held many noises.

  Hannah wished she had more chance to explore it, but Mrs. Ackerman had been quite busy preparing a room for her. Hannah also wished she had insisted that Molly remain with her, but Mrs. Ackerman had been adamant that the servant’s quarters were below. Hannah had a hunch that the housekeeper had done so with the notion that Hannah would expect time to be with her husband, but the man couldn’t even bring himself to have supper with her.

  Hannah was more than aware that he hadn’t wanted to be married. But this seemed to be quite beyond what she had anticipated.

  Her room was cold, despite the fire that was burning in the stone fireplace on the far wall. There was simply no decoration and no life to it beyond the panels on the walls, although they only further reminded her of the many people who had lived and died here over the centuries. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she told herself to take this one day at a time. For if she began to remind herself that this was her entire future stretching out in front of her, panic began to build in her chest that she didn’t know how to tamp down.

  After what seemed like hours, her eyes finally began to drift closed, until a soft keening from down the hall reached her ears, and her eyes snapped open as she burrowed deeper within the blankets.

  It must be the wind rustling over the roof of the house, she told herself. Except that she was currently on the first floor, and there was still a story above her. Hannah swallowed hard as the keening turned into a moaning, until an agonized cry rang out.

  Chills rushed through her anew, but Hannah told herself that the only explanation was that the sound was coming from a human – although what could be befalling him or her, she had no idea.

  But clearly the person was in pain. She wondered if there was anyone here besides Edmund and the servants. She hadn’t seen any sign of them, but then, she wouldn’t have believed Edmund lived here either had she not seen him enter the house.

  She took a breath, steeling all of her nerves to go and see what she could do to help the poor soul.

  Finding her wrapper within her as-of-yet unpacked bags, for Molly hadn’t had time to put anything away once the room was prepared, Hannah threw it around her shoulders, took up a candlestick, and pushed open the door.

  Her bedroom led out to a small balco
ny which overlooked the great hall. To her left was a staircase; to her right, a closed doorway. She had no idea where it led.

  “Hello?” she called out softly, hearing the noises continue from within. She knocked hesitantly on the door, staying back from the railing, the great hall below her a dark abyss.

  There was no answer, however, and she placed a hand on the doorknob, unsure of whether she should risk opening it.

  But a loud thrashing and shout solved the problem for her, and she threw open the door but stepped back, with thoughts of protecting herself from the unknown entity within.

  Her small candle cast just enough light into the room that she could see a shape underneath the bedcovers, tossing and turning with great agitation.

  “Edmund?” she called out, but he still didn’t respond. She took hesitant steps toward the bed, finally stopping when she was beside him. His brow was covered in sweat, his hair now unbound, long upon his pillow.

  “Edmund?” she repeated, this time reaching out a hand and placing it upon his brow. He stilled at her touch, and she expected him to fling open his eyes and ask her what she was doing there. But he didn’t. Instead, it seemed that she had stilled something within him, for his body went slack, and his head lulled to sleep once more. As his features softened and the noises ceased, Hannah became aware of the feeling of his rough skin beneath her fingertips. It intrigued her, and yet she could tell he had no wish to speak of what had happened to him.

  She gazed down upon this stranger that was now her husband, wondering at the nightmares that haunted him. She could only imagine the horrors of war he had faced, and wondered if he would ever get over them, or if he would ever share what it was that tortured him so.

  Did she even want him to? If she could ease his pain, she decided, then it would be worth it. It would have to be.

  He looked so serene in sleep that it seemed a wonder that he was the same man she had encountered before. She wondered anew at just what had actually convinced him to wed her.

  Well, she had no desire to have married him either – or his brother. She had been a pawn in a game played by their fathers who were supposed to love and protect their children, but who actually were only looking out for themselves.

  She picked up her candle, eager now to return to her room, for the sympathy that was rising within her was causing her to nearly forgive the way Edmund had treated her earlier. He might not have wished to have married her, she reminded herself, but he should still act the gentleman.

  Well, all she could do now was to get some sleep and wait to see what the morrow might bring.

  As she returned to her room, she couldn’t shake the sense that someone was watching her.

  It’s just the house, she told herself, attempting to be reasonable.

  But that didn’t stop her from running as fast as she could through the door, slamming it behind her, and jumping under the covers as though they would save her from all the unknown that threatened.

  It wasn’t reasonable.

  But it was instinct. She had relied upon it when it told her to marry Edmund. She could only hope that she could still trust it. Because right now, it was all that she had.

  5

  Hannah decided that if no one was going to provide her with a tour of her new home, she would just have to embark on one herself. She began in the great hall, where they had found themselves the previous day. Only now, with exploration in mind, she noticed the dragons carved into the arch-braced trusses above, as well as the service wing that was connected to it.

  “The little parlor is through here.”

  Hannah jumped, bringing her hand to her throat as she turned to find a middle-aged man standing in the doorway across the room. He was rather attractive, his hair a sandy brown just beginning to turn to gray.

  “You startled me,” she said, as her pulse began to return to its normal beat.

  “My apologies,” he said, though he didn’t seem particularly contrite. “I’m Falton, the butler. Well, butler, groom, footman, gardener – all except housekeeper, cook, and maid, which falls to Mrs. Ackerman.”

  “Are there no other servants?” Hannah asked wonderingly.

  “No,” Falton said, shaking his head. “Lord Edmund primarily takes care of himself and does much of the work as well. Doesn’t want many about.”

  “I see,” Hannah murmured. “Do you happen to know where my husband is at the moment?”

  A ghost of a smile played at Falton’s lips. “Not particularly. If it’s not too forward, my lady, I must say that your arrival was certainly a surprise to us.”

  “To me as well,” Hannah said, considering that it was Edmund’s place to tell his staff the story of their marriage. “I don’t suppose you could provide me with a tour?”

  “I’d be happy to,” Falton said with a nod, holding a hand out toward the room he had named the parlor. “This way.”

  Hannah followed him into the small room. Painted paneling that looked as though it had been part of the house for all of its centuries covered one wall, and she walked closer toward it in order to get a better look.

  “We believe it was painted to look like marble,” Falton said. “The drawings are crude, but they tell the story of Susanna and the Elders from the Apocrypha.”

  “Incredible,” she said, and it was. Hannah tried to picture the hand that had painted these so many years ago, wondering what joy they had found out of this painting upon the wall. She followed Falton through the sparsely furnished parlor, passing another staircase to an adjoining room.

  “This is the withdrawing room,” he said, and Hannah stood in the doorway, shocked to find the room completely stark, but for the carved wooden paneling and the wooden ceiling with molded coffering. “Lord Edmund doesn’t see the need for an additional room in use,” Falton said, “so this remains empty.”

  “What is through this door?” she asked, crossing over to it, but Falton hesitated.

  “Perhaps, my lady—”

  But Hannah had already opened the door, her eyes widening when she glimpsed the room within.

  Bookshelves covered the walls, with one side nearly bare but for the sizeable bay window with a rainbow of stained glass that would be beautiful when the sun shone through it. A chimneypiece was decorated with female caryatids and the arms of Elizabeth I; the plaster bore remnants of the original paint and gild. Hannah imagined that at one time it had been quite beautiful – in fact, the same could be said of the entire house.

  The furniture in the room was dark, though it looked comfortable. On one wall between two bookshelves hung a painting of a man that bore an uncanny resemblance to Edmund, though Hannah could tell that while he held his likeness, it wasn’t her husband depicted on the canvas. He was older than Edmund currently was, and it couldn’t have been painted before he had left for the war.

  “Who is that?” she asked, walking over to the painting, lifting a hand to touch the canvas.

  “My great-uncle.”

  Hannah whirled around at the low, gravelly voice, finding the silhouette of her husband standing in the doorway.

  “Edmund,” she greeted him, though she couldn’t help the hint of reproach in her tone. Her husband had deposited her here in this house and then left her for nearly an entire day. “Where have you been?”

  “Around,” he said nonchalantly. “Does it matter?”

  “Of course it does!” she exclaimed.

  “I don’t make the best of company,” he said, stepping into the room, and Hannah was shocked that when he stood looking out the window, with only his right side visible to her, there was not even a hint of his scar. And yet, the air of an injured man hung around him.

  “Some company is better than no company,” she said, but he snorted as though he did not completely agree on that count. “Would you continue the tour?”

  “Me?”

  “Well, you seem to have dismissed my tour guide.”

  “Very well,” he said begrudgingly. “If you’ve seen the groun
d floor, then we’ll continue upstairs.”

  He led her out a separate door into the courtyard, which, despite Falton’s claim to be the gardener, looked like it could use a great deal of care. She was surprised when a small entrance led to an additional stairwell.

  “How many staircases are there?” she asked.

  “Four in total,” he replied, and she held on tightly to the railing as the narrow wooden stairs were not particularly even. Like the other staircases, it curled round until they reached the first floor. “We are on the opposite side of your bedchamber,” he said, admitting that he at least was aware of where she slept. She couldn’t help but note how tall he was, his frame lean and wiry, far from the usual for a nobleman. He wore no cravat, the top buttons of his shirt open. He reminded her more of a laborer, and she wondered at Falton’s words that he enjoyed doing much of the manual work himself.

  “The garderobes are through here,” he said, pointing. “If you continue on to the far end, you will reach the servants’ quarters. These rooms would be for guests… if we were to ever have any.”

  A pained expression crossed his face, as though he realized it might be a possibility now that Hannah lived here. They crossed through a room he told her was the guests’ hall, though all of the furniture was covered in sheets and blankets.

  “This is a prayer room,” he said, walking into the next chamber, then laughed wryly before continuing on.

  “What happened?” she asked softly, stopping in the sparsely furnished room.

  He looked back at her over his shoulder, his scars shining in the light of the windows. “Excuse me?”

  “I asked what happened?” she repeated, keeping her voice gentle. “What has caused you such pain?”

  “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask about my scars,” he said, and she shook her head.

  “I meant the scars within you, although I am assuming they are related.”

  He turned from her, not making eye contact anymore.