Always Your Love: A Gothic Regency Romance

by St. Clair, Ellie

  Edmund wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait. But Hannah made the decision for him as she leaned up and unfastened the fall of his trousers. He pushed them off himself, and saw her eyes widen further than he had ever seen them as she took him in.

  She said nothing, however, as she seemed to accept that all would be fine. When she reached out and stroked him, he nearly came undone right there, and he closed his eyes tightly and willed himself to wait for her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked at what was surely his agonized expression, but he could only shake his head, not trusting himself to say anything. Ensuring she was ready for him, Edmund knelt between her legs, running his hands over her hair to frame her face.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, and at her nod, he positioned himself at her entrance and began to slowly ease into her, his own arousal slightly ebbing as he concentrated on her face, ensuring that he was not hurting her beyond what he had to.

  She encouraged him to continue with her nod, and he could tell when he broken through her barrier, for she winced. He stilled for a moment and she began to relax around him.

  “I’m fine,” she said when he didn’t look away from her, “truly I am.”

  He nodded before beginning to slowly retreat and then thrust forward again, and she closed her eyes, tilting her head up as the smile remained on her face. Edmund needed her to finish, for he had no idea how much longer he could wait, and yet he was determined that she enjoy every minute of this. For this was about her. Everything was now, he realized. Was this the reason he had lived? So that he could be the man for her, the one who would protect her and take care of her, to show her what it meant to make love, to make her feel as though she was the most important woman in the world?

  As he rocked in and out, he teased her nipples, and that was what must have finally sent her over the edge. While her motions stilled, she began shaking around him, squeezing him in such a way that he couldn’t help but come himself, pouring into her all of the emotions that he just couldn’t say to her aloud.

  She looked up at him in wonder, to which he could only offer a breathless grin. Never, in any sort of imagining, would he have guessed that his marriage to this woman would result in a coupling like this, in the possibility of a future of, at the very least, some sort of amiability between them.

  Edmund rolled off of her onto his side, turning her so that she didn’t have to look at his face and scooping her toward him, his arm coming possessively around her.

  As he held her in his embrace, closing his eyes while nuzzling his nose into her hair, all he could think about was how his life had so drastically changed since his marriage to Hannah.

  He had thought he would bring her here, show her what his life was like, and soon enough she would be running back to London, away from him, Hollingswood, and his great-uncle Andrew.

  But instead – he swallowed hard as she wiggled against him while making herself more comfortable – he was losing his heart, something he didn’t think was whole enough to ever give away.

  And the next morning when he woke up in Hannah’s bed without any sign of having a nightmare – no twisted sheets, no sweat on his brow, no acknowledgement from Hannah that she had witnessed anything? He knew he was well and truly sunk.

  10

  Hannah smiled as she looked around the withdrawing room, which had previously been void of any life or furniture besides the reminders of those who had lived here years prior. Over the past few weeks, with Edmund’s permission, she and Molly had converted it into a room of her own. She still spent much time in Edmund’s library, but that room would always be his, as much as he was willing to share with her.

  Hannah and Edmund had certainly become closer, that much was certain. He was as gruff as ever, but he was slowly showing her the side of him that had previously been surrounded by walls and buried underneath layers.

  Hannah looked forward to each evening, when the two of them would sit together and read the letters which had been exchanged between Andrew and Isabel fifty years ago. It was a sad story, that much was for certain.

  The south-facing bay window allowed light to flood the room. Edmund had told her that he didn’t like her staring at the tragic story crudely painted on the wall, nor the paintings of marble and inlay. He said she deserved a room of marble itself, but in its stead, he had paneled the wall with wood. Having been freshly cut, it beautifully scented the air, and Hannah took a grateful sniff as she turned around the room. It wasn’t finished, she knew, though she couldn’t quite determine what was lacking.

  “My lady?”

  Hannah looked up to find Molly in the doorframe. She had been awaiting her to finish with Mrs. Ackerman, and then the two of them were going to go search within the guest rooms to find additional furniture or decoration for the room.

  “I’m ready, Molly, if you are,” she said.

  Her maid nodded in agreement. “I am, my lady.”

  “How are you finding Hollingswood?” Hannah asked as the two of them began climbing the staircase.

  “It’s quiet, that is for certain,” Molly said, to which Hannah nodded in agreement. “Mrs. Ackerman and Falton are kind, and have been welcoming to me. The house could use a gardener, perhaps, or a footman, particularly if company ever comes.”

  “I’m not sure that is anything we should be particularly concerned about,” Hannah said with some regret.

  She enjoyed the solitude and life here away from the city, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy a new face now and again.

  Molly nodded, apparently having learned much about her new employer. “I understand that my lord does not enjoy visitors,” she said. “I have enjoyed my time in the nearby village when I have my day to myself.”

  “I must make more effort to get there,” Hannah murmured as they rounded the top of the staircase, emerging near the guest quarters on the second floor.

  “The villagers would be most interested if you did,” Molly said. “Lord Edmund is quite the mystery there, and they were all very intrigued to learn that he returned home with a bride.” She stopped for a moment, intent upon Hannah. “Though I made certain not to share with them anything about you.”

  “I appreciate your loyalty, Molly,” Hannah said with a smile, “and thank you for coming here with me.”

  Molly nodded as they entered the first chamber. She lifted a blanket off of the furniture, waving a hand in front of her face as dust filled the air. “I must speak with Mrs. Ackerman about cleaning out some of these rooms,” she said. “I’m sure your parents or your sister will want to come see you at some point, and they must have acceptable living quarters.”

  Hannah felt slightly uneasy about the thought of Edmund welcoming her family as guests, but she said nothing.

  Molly wrinkled her nose in an expression of dismay as she found what was underneath.

  “Have a look, my lady, but this is quite dismal,” she said, moving from one piece to another. “I think it’s best left here.”

  “There is another room,” Hannah said, remembering the upstairs chamber, which Andrew had made his. “It has some beautiful paintings, if I recall. There’s also a lamp that could be something we might use, if it is as I remember.”

  “I’ve never been up there,” Molly said, and she bit her lip worriedly as she lowered her voice as though someone could hear. “I’ve heard noises, though, coming from above my room at night.”

  Hannah met her eyes, attempting bravery. She had heard the odd noise herself, but had told herself that it was likely one of the servants. It was also much easier to push aside her worry when she had Edmund’s arms around her.

  Ever since the night they had first been together, he had come to her for the beginning of the night, though he always left her bed by morning. She had waited for him to have a nightmare such as the one she had discovered him in the throes of during her first night here, but so far, he hadn’t woken her. She slept deeply and had no idea how long he stayed with her, but she kept waiting for
the day when he would still be snug against her upon the sun’s rising.

  As of yet, she had been disappointed.

  “It’s an old house,” Hannah said, attempting to reassure herself as much as she did Molly of the strange noises. “I’m sure it’s just shifting, or creaking in the wind.”

  Molly nodded, but Hannah could tell that she didn’t quite believe her.

  They were silent as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. Hannah led Molly through the long gallery before they stepped through the door into the end bedroom.

  “It looks lived in,” Molly exclaimed, to which Hannah nodded.

  “That’s what I said as well,” she said. “It hasn’t been touched since…” It seemed wrong to share Andrew and Isabel’s secret, somehow, even with Molly, “since one of Edmund’s relatives lived here.”

  Molly nodded again before setting herself to the task at hand.

  “These draperies are pretty,” she said, running her hand over them. “You could use them downstairs. Or perhaps this painting on the wall. It’s a beautiful landscape – in fact, it looks like something that could be found near here, although I’m not sure from what vantage.” She looked out the window beyond, and Hannah saw she was right.

  Far below them, they could see the ruins of the guest house – the reason why Andrew had chosen this room.

  “Perhaps the view is from the guest house,” she murmured. “I shall have to look sometime.”

  Molly began walking over to take the painting down from the wall, but as she did it fell off on its own, landing at her feet. Molly gasped as she looked up and met Hannah’s eyes.

  “I… I think we were meant to take it,” Molly said, her eyes wide. She bent and picked it up, passing it to Hannah.

  Hannah took it in her hands, words on the back catching her eye as she did.

  She turned over the painting, reading it aloud.

  “Always my love, Isabel. She painted it for him.”

  Molly cast her an inquisitive gaze. “Who?”

  “Who… whoever this was,” she said, looking forward to sharing her discovery with Edmund. So Isabel was a painter as well. It sent eerie chills down Hannah’s spine when she thought of the similarities between the two of them.

  She clasped it to her as Molly looked around the room. “Anything else?”

  “Perhaps the lamp,” Hannah said. “It is nice. And that chair in the corner could work in the withdrawing room, but I’ll have Falton or Edmund bring it down.”

  “Very good,” Molly said, seemingly relieved that Hannah was ready to leave the room.

  Hannah took a look back, sensing a presence – though somehow, she wasn’t frightened. It was as though it was smiling on her, telling her that all would be fine.

  * * *

  Edmund paused in the doorway, looking down on his wife before she knew he was there. She was curled on the settee, reading one of the books she had found in his library. He hadn’t told her, but he had always had a feeling it was written by his great-uncle. Edmund had been the one to read Andrew’s letters aloud, and he recognized the script. It was eerie, how many similarities he shared with the man. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought Andrew was his director ancestor, as opposed to his own grandfather.

  He wished he didn’t have to enter and break her solace. But he had news, and it was better she know sooner rather than later.

  “Hannah,” he said softly, trying not to scare her, but his wife was not one who was startled easily. She looked up at him with a smile, and he wondered whether she knew he was there the entire time and had been allowing him to announce himself at his own leisure.

  “Edmund,” she said, her voice as comforting and soothing as ever. “What do you think?” She waved her hand around the room, and he was startled to find the painting from upstairs on the wall, in addition to a lamp and a chair that he could only hope Falton had carried down.

  “It suits the room,” he said in amazement, “as though it was meant to be.”

  She nodded.

  “Look on the back of the painting,” she said, and he did as she bid. “It seems that Isabel was a painter too.”

  “As you are,” he said, shock filling him as he looked up at her in wonder.

  “Yes,” she said, setting her book aside as she stared at him intently. “I know you said that you don’t think things are meant to be, but does it not seem like too much of a coincidence, Isabel and Andrew, and you and I—”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head adamantly. “It cannot be. They ended in tragedy.”

  “So they did,” she said, “but perhaps we are meant to make things right.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a soft laugh. “We are nearly done with the letters.”

  “We are.”

  “It’s so sad,” she said now, quite wistfully. “They loved each other so much. Most of their writings to one another are simply descriptions of what they felt, and a longing to be together. That she had to marry his brother… well, it wasn’t fair.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “And that his brother was so horrible to her… it must have been devasting for him to have to watch it.”

  “I think that’s why he had them stay with him as much as possible. To be close to her, yes, but it must also have been torturous to see her married to another.” He could hardly imagine if he had to see Hannah with his brother. “But if she was near, perhaps he was able to protect her as much as he could.”

  “That’s what he says,” she agreed with a sigh. “The part about their code, to meet in the guest house when Alastair was in the village…” she didn’t mention the part they had assumed, that he was there to find pleasure with the local women, “the light flickering off the mirror as a sign Alastair had gone – it is quite romantic.”

  “Except for the fact that we know the ending.”

  That Alastair had learned of the affair and burned the house down, with Isabel still inside.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.

  “Speaking of brothers…” he said slowly, “my own is coming for a visit soon.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes. Apparently, he wishes to visit before his nuptials.”

  “But why?”

  Edmund didn’t like the worry apparent upon her face, and he crossed the room and sat next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

  “Not to worry,” he said, “I’ll be here with you the entire time he is here. Hopefully, I can quickly ascertain what he wants and then he’ll be gone.”

  “Very well,” she said, managing a smile for him, and he tugged his arm tighter around her, his heart reaching out to her when she snuggled in close next to him.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he loved her, but he couldn’t – not yet. For while he thought he did, his emotions had been dormant for so long that he wasn’t even sure if he properly understood what the words meant. And so, he stayed silent, content to sit with her and watch the sun set out the window in this room she had turned into one of the most beautiful in the entire house.

  That’s what she does, he mused, brings light and life into everything she touches.

  Could she do so for even his dark soul?

  11

  Hannah sat outside in the back gardens of Hollingswood, painting the landscape beyond – much like Isabel had done so many years ago.

  Falton had crafted an easel of sorts for her, and she had taken a stool from upstairs – the very one she had tripped over, causing her to fall into Edmund’s arms – and set up her watercolors. She had been remiss from her craft for some time now, so busy she had been adjusting to her new life and preoccupied with the house itself and the letters it held within.

  “I’d like to paint the ruins next,” she said aloud, and Molly looked at her with some horror.

  “Why?”

  “Because of all of the secrets they hold,” Hannah said. “I’d like to see if
I can somehow capture the very essence of them, and not just the eyesore some may see.”

  Molly shivered. “It’s not for me.”

  “You don’t have to come,” Hannah said with a smile, which increased when over Molly’s shoulder she saw her husband walk out of the back doors toward them.

  “Edmund,” she greeted him, as Molly nodded at the two of them and then took her leave. “What brings you out here?”

  He held up a sheaf of papers, and she looked at him expectantly.

  “We haven’t read the last letter, and my brother is due to arrive this evening,” he said. “I thought perhaps we might finish this first?”

  He raised his one eyebrow at her, and she nodded, surprised when he took a seat beside her. She wasn’t sure the ground could accurately be called grass, for it had been grown over long ago, but it was certainly an array of vegetation that might be somewhat comfortable.

  Edmund opened the letter with his long fingers and began to read. Hannah sat back and simply watched him. It was interesting – she hardly even noticed the scars on half of his face anymore. They were simply part of him, as much as was the burden of guilt he carried around with him over the deaths of all of the men who were with him in that prison.

  “Are you listening?” he asked, breaking through her thoughts and bringing her back to the moment.

  “Yes, I’m sorry,” she said, “can you please continue?”

  He nodded.

  “My darling Isabel. It seems strange to write to you when I can look out the window of my bedroom and know that you are but a short walk away. It tears my soul apart knowing that you are there with him, when you will always own my heart. I fear that Alastair has some suspicion of the two of us, and therefore I will stay away. Please, my love, be careful. Give him no reason to doubt you, and if you must, leave and come to me. I will protect you. Always my love, Andrew”

  Edmund looked up at her. “That’s the last of it. He was obviously right. Alastair did discover the truth, and Isabel was taken from him soon after.”