Romance: Detective Romance: A Vicious Affair (Victorian Regency Intrigue 19th England Romance) (Historical Mystery Detective Romance) (7 page)

“Not even close,” Charles said. “It refreshes me. It is like a splash of cold water on a sweltering day.”

The carriage stopped at around four o’ clock in the afternoon outside an enclosed estate in which a ten-bedroom, stone-built house stood. The garden was not well-tended, but the grass was healthy and bright green in the waning sunlight. Pillars supported the house and wide windows looked out like glassy smiles. Charles helped Eve down from the carriage and she took the place in, which had to be at least three times the size of Mother’s house. “It is absolutely incredible,” Eve said, her voice full of awe. “Scarily so,” she went on. “I will certainly have to rise to the challenge to be worthy of such a magnificent place, shall I not?”

“You will not change one bit!” Charles exclaimed melodramatically. “If I have to, I will tear the place down and change it in
your
image, but never the other way around! Never!”

Eve laughed – allowed herself to laugh because he was her husband and Mother was not watching – and stood close beside Charles. Slowly, carefully, as though he was afraid she would bolt like a startled squirrel, he reached down for her hand. She opened her fingers and they interlocked hands. They stood like that for a long time, as the sun began to set behind them, and their home became more and more like a formless shape in the dark.

In the dark, alone, in his bedroom, and the pleasure and the discovery mixed together—running her hand along his face as they embraced in love—moaning in pleasure as they gyrated as one—rolling across the sheets—giggling into his neck—lying beside each other, exhausted and hopelessly in love.

When the marriage was consummated, Charles rose and walked to the other side of the room. He was naked and Eve could see that the scar on his face was not the only scar he possessed. Bluish moonlight filtered through the windows and illumed a crisscross pattern across his leg and back. He turned and faced her, his manhood – all of him – visible. Naked under the sheets, Eve had never felt so free and so scared in her life.

“Was it everything you hoped?” Charles said, his voice stilted and awkward again after what they had just done.

“It was,” Eve said, blushing fiercely. “I—” She was about to say
I want to do it again.
But she couldn’t say that! “I enjoyed it greatly,” she breathed.

“Perhaps you are with child,” Charles said, falling upon the bed and looking down at her. He kissed her forehead and held her close. “I know, I have a master plan. If you are with child, and if the child is a girl, how about we call her Alice, after your dear aunt?”

She looked up at him in astonishment, and then his lips curled mischievously, and he fell upon her with tickling, playful hands.

*****

They called their first child Mary, after Eve’s mother who died a few months after the marriage: just four months before Mary was born. Little Mary grew to be three before Joseph and William were born. Eve did not give birth for five years after that, and thought herself done with children before her little gift, her precious Grace came into the world. Eve was one-and-thirty when she gave birth to Grace, and when she looked back she had to wonder where those years had gone. She looked all around her and saw children and light and happiness and had to tell herself each day that she was a wallflower, the girl at the party nobody wanted to dance with, the ignored girl, the unpopular girl, the lonely girl—and that she had made it.

Charles, under the guise of purchasing the books for his own use, acquired many books on the natural arts, history, Latin, Greek, and many other academic topics usually barred from women. Eve and Charles would sit up later in the library together, him smoking his pipe and reading the newspaper, or some correspondence on war, or a collection of diary entries from a prominent soldier, and she would delve into the mysterious of Homer and
Lychnischalcedonica.
Every so often the two of them would look up, into each other’s eyes, and the unspoken message was there:

We have saved each other, you and I. Nobody else wanted us. Nobody else was interested in us. They thought we were freaks, ugly, revolting. They thought nasty things
of
us and so we thought nasty things about ourselves. We thought we were the rascals they made us out to be. And then we met each other, and we looked
within
each other, and we became interested and alive to the possibility that perhaps we were not that bad at all. Perhaps we were a little better than they made us out to be. We were different, yes, but perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. And so we held onto that, and now if we were to go back – if God were to grant us that gift – we would not change a thing. We would not alter one mocking stare, one scythe-like comment, one dismissive glance, because all that hate led us to the greatest love we have ever known; all that scorn led us to this. Led us to a love greater than anything
they
, with their pretense and their prancing and their cynical denial of true emotion and true closeness, will ever know. I love you, Eve. I love you, Charles. Before I met you, I was half.

They would look into each other’s eyes, and smile, and all this would be communicated. But they wouldn’t say a thing.

They didn’t need to.

Elizabeth Hawk had heard all the rumors about the Duke of Summerset, Harold Stonewall. She had heard that he aided the King in a decisive battle against the French. Some say he aided. Others say he smashed the French with a force of one-hundred men, and then allowed the King to take most of the credit. She’d heard about his two years in France, hiding in barns and on farms to avoid being spotted. She’d heard about his reputed coldness, and his inability to show
emotion
of any kind. She’d heard that he was
twenty seven
and had yet to take a wife.

But Elizabeth knew other things, too, things about her own family. They were on the wrong side of a monstrous debt. They had been whittled down by war to one son and one daughter, and their extended family was non-existent, and their friends had become ghosts. Elizabeth knew that her family was on the verge of total collapse. Soon they would be nothing but a footnote in England’s history, something to be passed over with bored eyes.

When she heard that the Duke of Summerset was holding a party, and that
she
had been invited, she didn’t know how to feel. She spent her days sewing and repairing gowns, helping to tend the chickens and pigs, and generally acting as un-ladylike as a supposed
lady
could. The Hawk family had let all their servants go. Father’s gambling debts had robbed them of most of their valuables. They were almost utterly ruined.

But a party at Summerset Castle! As soon as Elizabeth heard about it, she was excited. She had not been to a party for two years. Her friends had abandoned her since Father had insulted all of their fathers. She had lived alone, Mother rarely talking, Father too busy with drinking and lamenting over his past to engage in conversation. She spent her time when she wasn’t tending the livestock in books. Father had not sold their books, which was a small miracle in itself. She read as much as she could, if only to forget what was happening in the real world.

When the missive came, Father peered at it through a haze of
pipe-smoke
and scrunched up his face. “What’s this, then?” he said. “The Duke of Summerset wants you, Elizabeth, to attend a party at his Castle? Well, I wonder what tricks he’s playing! I’ve heard lots about him, I have! Lots! I’ve heard that he drinks human blood. Oh, don’t look at me like that. It’s true! He’s a beast on the battlefield, and he drinks human blood! When he returned from France, the first thing he did was order a chalice of blood!”

“Father…”

“No!” He lurched when he shouted, spilling wine down his shirt, which was already sodden with sweat. “You cannot go!”

“Dear, she can hardly refuse,” Mother murmured over her knitting. “Think how it would look. A Duke invites you to a party, you do not refuse. You accept, despite your misgivings.”

Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile, but quickly hid it with her hand. She made her face impassive again and then looked to Father, waiting for him to speak. She knew there was no use in pushing the matter. She simply had to wait. After a few minutes Father dropped the letter to the floor and sucked on his pipe. “Fine,” he grumbled. “You can go.”

Elizabeth did not show her joy. Inside she was jumping, cheering and screaming in excitement, but outside she was impassive and still as stone. Living around Father, one learnt to hide one’s emotions. Father was not overly fond of displays of inner feelings, and Elizabeth had learnt to make herself calm in almost every circumstances, even if she was only calm on the outside. Plus, the turmoil of the past years had dulled her emotions until it was difficult to feel anything not tinged with depression.

But a party, a real party… that was something to look forward to.

“Thank you, Father,” she said quietly.

“You will need a dress,” Mother muttered.

“Yes, Mother.”

“You can have my good gown, the one I have saved.”

Elizabeth knew all about this gown. It was beautiful and elegant, with gold trimming and forest-green silk. Father had sold all of their gowns, but Mother had not allowed him to sell this one. He had fought her, but she had persevered and managed to succeed in saving it.

“Thank you, Mother,” Elizabeth said.

*****

The chandelier caught the summer light as it beamed through the high-set windows of Summerset Castle’s
ball room
. Elizabeth accepted a glass of wine from a server and walked to the edge of the room, where she could sit quietly and privately. The room was packed full of beautiful and noble people all laughing and joking with each other. There were only a few people not attached to a group. Elizabeth knew she had to wait to be approached by somebody, that it would be presumptuous and rude to merely attach herself to a group, but she was beginning to feel like a woman on an island sitting on this chair.

Across the ballroom was Charlotte
Festrew
, a girl who had once been a friend of Elizabeth’s. Father had lost money to her father and had refused to pay until violence was threatened. Afterwards, Charlotte had sent Elizabeth a short note severing all ties between them. Elizabeth knew it was foolish to hope that Charlotte had miraculously changed her mind, but she decided to try and approach her anyway.

Elizabeth’s legs were shaky and her heart was like a war-drum, pounding, pounding. Charlotte was talking to a tall man with an elaborate beard, the mustache flicking upwards. She laughed at something he said and then turned to Elizabeth, the smile on her lips right up until the moment they met eyes. “
You
,” she said, her mouth hanging open for a moment.

“Who is your friend?” the man said.

“Elizabeth Hawk,” Charlotte said, with a worried look.

“Hawk? Daughter of Francis Hawk? The philanderer!”

“I do not believe he is a philanderer, sir, just a gambler.”

“Ha! This birdy has a sharp beak indeed!”

“Her family is in complete ruin,” Charlotte said, as though Elizabeth were not standing there. “Her father has completely trampled their finances. I’ve even heard rumors that her mother has taken to a situation in an estate, cleaning and helping with the children.”

“That is
not
true,” Elizabeth said, aghast.

Charlotte went on, oblivious of Elizabeth. “I’ve even heard whispers that the Father has taken to roaming the highways, pistol in hand, in the hopes of robbing some poor lord or lady.”

“Liar!” Elizabeth whispered fiercely, not wishing to disturb the party.

Charlotte turned to Elizabeth with a sad smile. “How are you even here, Elizabeth? Did you sneak in?”

Elizabeth was appalled. What had she done to provoke such slander? She had never been anything but kind to Charlotte. Only two years ago they had walked together in her family’s woods, laughing and joking all the way, telling each other what great friends they were. And now here she was, being viciously abused. She didn’t know what to say. No words would form. She only stood there, mouth hanging open, tears stinging her eyes.
No,
she told herself.
No, no, no.
She made herself cold, and forced the tears away.

She is playing a dangerous game
, the cold part of Elizabeth thought.
Does she not recall what she told me, when we walked through the woods, about a certain night in the stables with the gardener?

Charlotte and the man were laughing. Elizabeth forced herself to smile and then said, as pleasantly as she could: “Charlotte, you
must
tell me who does your gardens. If I recall correctly, they are absolutely beautiful.”

Charlotte’s face dropped. She choked back a laugh. “I—I’m sure I don’t—know what you—”

Elizabeth didn’t wait for her to stop stuttering. She walked straight to the door and into the gardens, where a few people strolled. She was able to find a bench and seated herself gratefully. A fine film of sweat had built upon her upper lip. She touched it with her fingertips, and then looked upon the garden.

“That was quite the show,” a voice said behind her.

Elizabeth turned and the Duke of Summerset, Harold Stonewall, stepped forward.

*****

The Duke of Summerset was a well-built man, with a muscular body, strong shoulders, thick arms, and muscular legs. He wore a military jacket and soldier’s britches, adorned with a dozen or so medals. His face was clean-shaven, and his black hair was cropped close to his head. His jaw was square and strong. His eyes were blue tinged with purple. “I have frightened you,” he said. His voice was cold and calm, untouched by even the slightest emotion.

“Not—not at all,” Elizabeth said, as she overcame the initial shock. “I merely came out here for some fresh air. I did not expect to see the Duke.”

“Well, here I am.” He walked around to the bench and stood over her. “May I?”

“Of course.”

“What happened in there? Lady Barnes seemed quite angry with you.”

“Our fathers do not agree on many things.”

“I have heard,” the Duke said. “I have also heard that Lady Barnes can be sword-sharp with her tongue. You must tell me, how did you rebuff her?”

“I’m sure you have more impressive tales,” Elizabeth said. “War, France, the King.”

He waved his hand. “They are not nearly as impressive as a riposte as expertly executed as yours.”

“It is rather a scandal,” Elizabeth said, whispering conspiratorially. “If I were to tell you, I would need your word that you would not spread the rumor.”

“You have my word, upon the King,” the Duke said seriously.

“Charlotte, two years ago, had a night in the stables with her family’s gardener.”

“A
night in the stables
, you say? You mean they fucked?”

Elizabeth blushed to her ears. She looked down at her hands, into the bushes, anywhere but into his eyes. When she glanced back, she saw that the Duke was staring steadily at her, his eyes burning into her. She quickly looked away. “That is—err, I believe what happened.”

The Duke nodded, and then jumped to his feet. He offered his arm. “Take a stroll with me, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth accepted his arm and together they began to walk around the gardens. She was aware of the jealous eyes that peeped from behind every bush, but she didn’t care about that. All her thoughts were seized by the Duke’s presence beside hers, by his arm on hers, by the hard muscle that Elizabeth could feel through the fabric of the Duke’s jacket. He led them far to the back of the garden, where none of the other
party
were, and they sat on a bench.

“It is nice here,” Elizabeth said.

“It’s private,” the Duke said.

“Is that a good thing?”

“It is a
great
thing,” the Duke said. “I do not want to share you with the rest of the party.”

Elizabeth did not know what to say to this. She looked around the gardens, watching a butterfly chart its course from flower to flower, watching a caterpillar crawl over and around a leaf.

“Tell me, Elizabeth, what do you crave most in the world?”

Elizabeth was taken aback by this question, and was not sure how to respond. What
did
she value most in the world? Was it riches? No. Was it love? Perhaps. Was it knowledge? Maybe. “I do not know,” Elizabeth said. “What do you, if I may, covet most?”

The Duke shrugged. “I have no idea,” he said. “I merely follow the King, and do as the King orders me.”

“That is a noble pursuit.”

The Duke shrugged again. “Tell me, Elizabeth, have you ever been kissed?”

Elizabeth was twenty years old, she had been an adult now for a long time, but she had never been kissed. She had thought
impure
thoughts before, and had felt horribly guilty afterwards, but in real life, she had never so much as been held by a man. “I have not,” she whispered.

She almost flinched when the Duke’s hand touched her face. He brushed her chin with his fingertips and then turned her face toward him so they were looking into each other’s eyes. His face was calm and composed. Elizabeth made her face calm and composed, though within she was more scared and excited and alive than she had ever been. The Duke moved his hand down from her chin to her throat, and then he leaned in and kissed her on the lips.

The kiss was full of passion. Feelings Elizabeth had not even known she possessed woke within her. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of the Duke. He placed both his hands on her face and moved his tongue into her mouth. She allowed him, and then moved her tongue around with his, their tongues dancing. Her hands were on his shoulders, and then she pulled away, breathing heavily.

“I can’t,” she said. “We are not married. We are not even engaged.”

The Duke smiled. “The world is still so simple for you, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know—”

“I want you to stay at the Castle for a week or so, after the other guests have gone. I will write to your mother and father. It will be impossible for them to refuse.”