A Love So Dark (The Dark Regency Series Book 4) (7 page)

His laughter was as much a surprise to him as it was to her. “I haven’t done that in some time,” he remarked.

“Laughed?”

“Laughed or been scandalous. I look forward to doing infinitely more of my both,” he said as he rose from the table. “Until tonight, Olympia. I will see you at dinner.”

Watching him go, Olympia sank back against the door. She’d gone from one fine mess to another and hadn’t the faintest idea how to navigate the murky waters she now found herself in. And her only ally was the unlikely Collins.

“I fervently wish,” she muttered, “that I knew how to curse.”

***

After leaving Olympia in the hall, Griffin sought out the woman who was currently making his life a misery. He dreaded it, but he had to face her down at some point. Mrs. Webster had always been somewhat paranoid. It was nothing new. But her current episode appeared more vitriolic than most.

Mrs. Webster had been a source of torment for the ages. While he hadn’t spent the entirety of his childhood at Darkwood, he’d been there often enough to form a mutual enmity with her. During his visits there as a child, she’d hovered over him, boxing his ears, scolding him incessantly and, in short, inhibiting any joy for all those in her vicinity.

Since the tragedy, since the death of his cousins and his uncle and the awful event that had robbed his sister of any semblance of her humanity, things had grown significantly worse. She was the only one who knew the true circumstances of their deaths and was lording it over him. If she made those awful details common knowledge he would be ruined. He’d invested heavily in several local enterprises in Liverpool and if they got wind of it, it would be detrimental to them all. He could not allow that to happen, allow those businesses to fail and people to lose their livelihoods because of his involvement.

He found her near the entrance to the east wing, bearing a lunch tray. “I have something for you to try, a variation on what we were using before… it should calm her,” he said.

“You said that about the last one,” she snapped back.

“I am an amateur botanist, Mrs. Webster, not a physician. We are both out of our depths here,” he replied evenly, though he wanted to wring the woman’s neck.

She nodded. “Very well. I will give her the new potion and we shall see if the night is calmer than the last. If it is not, what then, my lord?”

“Then we try something else,” he said.

“Your new bride is curious.” Her voice was laden with accusation.

“What would you have me do, Mrs. Webster? I had to marry to claim the inheritance from Aunt Honoria. Without it, with the ramshackle way my late uncle managed finances, and the fury with which Lady Florence can spend money, Darkwood would fall into ruin and decay!”

“I understand your need to marry, and I thank you for making such a sacrifice to keep Darkwood flourishing,” she said. It was the closest to praise he’d ever received from her. “But your choice leaves something to be desired. She’s a headstrong girl. Nothing but trouble will come of it…. her lurking and spying. She’ll bring ruin upon this house, my lord!”

He was living in a nest of vipers. A power hungry housekeeper, a dowager aunt younger than he was himself, who dressed like a trollop and behaved worse, servants in rebellion, a curious and willful wife—there was no winning in his present situation. “I have spoken to Lady Darke. She understands that Darkwood is not a place to wander. But you will speak to her with the respect her position deserves,” he said. “I cannot have her treated so.”

“Then I suggest you brew a potion to calm her, as well,” the housekeeper snapped again. She turned on her heel then, unlocked the door, and swept into the forbidden wing of Darkwood Hall.

O
lympia gathered
her composure after the encounter with her husband before making her way down the stairs. She had no idea what was awaiting her in the form of the dowager, but she was not eager to find out. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned some aging crone with a cane and an imperious stare. It was, after all, what the very word
dowager
implied. But instinct told her this would be something very different.

At the bottom of the stairs, the butler, Simms met her with a grim visage. She was learning that it was his natural expression. “Lady Darke will join you in the drawing room, my lady. She’ll be down momentarily.”

Olympia had brought her wretched embroidery with her, not because she enjoyed it, but because it would give her something to occupy her time while she waited for the dowager. She had no notion of what to expect, though she anticipated a battle axe of a woman, a compatriot of Mrs. Webster.

But the woman who swept into the room nearly a quarter of an hour later was not at all like Mrs. Webster. In fact, she’d never seen a woman as beautiful as the one before her. She possessed the kind of self-satisfied and practiced loveliness that inspired hatred in other women, Olympia was honest enough to admit she was not immune to that response herself.

The dowager’s was gown was of the first stare of fashion, if somewhat scandalously low cut, particularly for day wear, and her blonde curls were arranged in such a way that Olympia could only regret the reminder of Collins’ complete lack of skill at hairdressing. She possessed a slim figure, but one that was still adequately curved and feminine. The graceful movements as she all but floated across the room were enough to make any mere mortal woman despise her.

“Good morning, my dear,” she cooed in a voice as soft as an angel’s. “You must be Olympia! Oh, that naughty Griffin! He should have told me you were coming!”

“I am Olympia,” she said. “And Griffin appears to have been quite naughty because he didn’t warn me of your arrival either.”

Her laugher, which naturally had to sound like the tinkling of a bell, rang out. “How very droll you are! I didn’t tell the dear boy that I was coming… I do so love surprises!”

Olympia reckoned that the
dear boy
was a good five years older than the woman before her, if he was a day. “How nice for you then that this house has borne witness to so many of late,” Olympia stated softly. There was something about the previous Viscountess—the very young, very lovely and very possibly viperous Viscountess—that set Olympia’s teeth on edge. She hadn’t gone out much in society, but when she had, she’d seen enough of that sort to understand when a woman was talking out of both sides of her mouth.

“We’ve not had many surprises of late,” Lady Florence offered with a pretty pout that was just a shade too practiced to be genuine. “Not since my dear husband’s passing! And even then, they were rarely pleasant. But Griffin has been kind enough to let me remain here!”

She sounded ridiculously jovial about the passing of her husband rather than grief stricken. Commenting on that would only antagonize the woman or create an ugly scene, Olympia opted for diplomacy, though it pained her to do so. “I see. It is very kind of him. And I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

The woman waved a hand dismissively. Her smile might have been lovely, had her eyes not been utterly devoid of any warmth. “Dear Roger. A lovely man when we met… but not at all well. Griffin is very like him, I think. In many ways. Alas, most of the Darke men are not long for this world.”

It wasn’t precisely a threat, but it was near enough that Olympia was quite uncomfortable. “He appears to be the picture of health.”

At that, the other woman laughed snidely. “And so they all do… until they don’t. Many people in this family suffer a
peculiar
type of sickness. It occurs very suddenly, but I am unaware of anyone ever recovering from it.”

“Again, I can but offer my condolences to you,” Olympia repeated, uncertain of anything else to say. The woman appeared gleeful at the demise of her own husband and stepsons. She was positively aglow at the notion that a similar affliction might befall Olympia’s own husband. And yet she remained at Darkwood Hall on his charity, which, based upon the cut of the woman’s gown, was remarkably generous.

“I’m still quite young and not unattractive yet,” she offered with a smile. “If circumstances demand it, I might consider taking another husband. You certainly set yourself up very well! No title, no fortune… and while you’re an attractive enough girl, your looks aren’t exactly the fashion right now, are they? And yet you snagged a well-heeled gentleman with a title!”

“I snagged no one,” Olympia retorted, unable to tolerate the false joviality a moment longer. Wrapping a barb in a thin veil of silk did not make it less sharp. “An offer was made and Mr. Swindon assured me that I met all the requirements of Lord Darke.”

“Yes,” Florence said, hissing the word between her teeth. “A plain, long in the tooth, unappealing spinster that he would never be tempted to bed… I can certainly see where Mr. Swindon might have attributed such damning traits to you.”

The words cut like jagged shards of glass, burrowing beneath the skin and promising more discomfort to come. Had her husband expressed to his aunt that an unappealing wife was his wish? Or had the woman simply eavesdropped? Or had Mrs. Webster provided that bit of insight? Olympia didn’t want to make accusations against anyone and she didn’t know Griffin well enough to defend him. But she certainly had a well formed opinion of the woman before her.

Looking down at the embroidery in her lap, Olympia replied, “I believe I will retire for a bit. I’ve shed enough blood at the end of my own needle… I won’t be bearing the brunt of yours any longer.”

Florence giggled again. “Don’t run off on my account.”

Olympia looked squarely at her when she spoke as calmly and confidently as she could. “I’ve no wish to cross swords with you, nor do I wish to engage in some endless battle where we are constantly clawing at one another through the veil of polite conversation. I’ve greeted you as is my duty. Now we shall endeavor to avoid one another as best as possible… Good afternoon, Lady Florence.”

“What possessed you to accept an offer of marriage from a man you’d never met?”

Olympia paused, her steps faltering. The question had been posed thoughtfully. It wasn’t idle curiosity at all, but a woman fishing for the truth. “My aunt and uncle were less than generous,” she said, which was certainly the truth. “I was tired of living as a servant in a home where I had once been the exalted daughter.” It was technically the truth as well. If she’d left out the fact that she’d done grave injury to her uncle when he attempted to rape her and that her newly promoted lady’s maid had come to her aid in covering up the crime by helping Olympia place his broken body at the foot of the stairs, then so be it.

“That would certainly be a difficult transition,” Lady Florence said, clucking her tongue in false sympathy. “Still it seems a bit extreme. Such a desolate place you’ve brought yourself to! It’s almost as if you wished to be as far from London as possible.”

“I’ve always preferred the country,” Olympia lied. “The air, usually, is much better. But not here… not in this room.”

Lady Florence noted the barb and smiled. “This is going to be ever so much fun! You have a secret,” she accused gleefully. “I don’t know it is yet, but I will. And when I do, you’ll come to heel.”

Olympia’s blood ran cold at the threat, but she brazened it out. “You are as paranoid as Mrs. Webster. If you’ll excuse me, Lady Florence, I’m sure there is something, somewhere within these walls that requires my attention.”

“You needn’t pretty it up on my account,” Lady Florence spoke plainly for the first time. “We are enemies, Lady Darke. You threaten my position here. And I will always be a threat to you… tis the simply the way of the world. A beautiful woman can
always
take what a plain woman possesses.”

She possessed nothing, Olympia thought grimly, so there was nothing for her to steal. “You are not a beautiful woman… You are rotten inside. Like the pretty, red skin on a spoiled apple. Good day, Lady Florence.”

As she exited the drawing room, she could hear Lady Florence’s satisfied giggle behind her. With her fists clenched so tightly that her nails were digging into her palms, she made her way toward the stairs only to encounter the wraithlike and terrifying figure of Mrs. Webster at the foot. Never in her life had she been in a house where servants were so readily seen. No one hid below stairs, no one scurried away when their employers entered a room. It was as if the servants had total control of the house and Lord Darke rather than the other way around.

“She’s put out that you’re here,” Mrs. Webster said with cold disdain. “Thought she’d just trade one Lord Darke for another and go on being the Viscountess.”

“Well, I’m not pleased about her presence at the moment either, am I? She’s his aunt, for goodness sake!” Olympia retorted sharply. She was in no mood for word games or crossing swords with either of the women who clearly felt they had a more secure position at Darkwood than she did herself.

Mrs. Webster’s lips thinned in a pale and sickly imitation of a smile. “Only by marriage, and only for a very short time. Perhaps you should ask Lord Darke how it was she came to be in this desolate place to snare his uncle? As for the two of them, it would be scandalous to be certain, and would require special permission from the bishop, but it could be done. In the meantime, she’ll continue to act as if she’s still the lady of the house and entitled to it.”

“And you will let her, undoubtedly,” Olympia snapped. “Tell me, Mrs. Webster, do you always gossip about your betters?”

Mrs. Webster stared down at her nose with all the haughty disdain of a queen. “She is not my better. Neither are you. I would be careful of her, Lady Darke. Her pretty face hides a devious mind.”

Olympia shook her head in disbelief. “I cannot countenance that you are trying to help me! No, on the contrary, I think you are simply trying to intimidate me further than you already have. I’m not so easily cowed, Mrs. Webster. Good day!”

“More’s the pity, Lady Darke. More’s the pity.”

Olympia watched the woman walk away, a thin and shadowy figure disappearing into the gloomy corridors without a backward glance. She’d thought that leaving her childhood home, freeing herself from the fear and uncertainty wrought by her uncle, and brought to a head before her hurried marriage, would offer her peace. She’d never imagined that she might find herself in a place just as menacing in an entirely different manner.

***

Griffin was in his chamber, half dressed when the knock sounded. Assuming it to be a servant or, as some traitorous part of his brain suggested, Olympia, he called out for entry. He regretted it instantly. The scent of a familiar perfume reached him long before she did.

Florence.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he said. “It isn’t proper.”

She gave him a coy smile as she moved about the room, touching things, trailing her fingers suggestively over any object that could be considered remotely phallic. It left him entirely unmoved. He knew her to be a viper, soulless and untrustworthy. Nothing else mattered.

“You haven’t missed me even a little in my absence?” she asked, her lips forming a soft, pouty moue.

“No. I have not. I would say I hardly notice your absence but the house was unaccountably peaceful while you were gone. Get out, Florence.”

She laughed gaily. “Peaceful? Hardly. Not with your poor, mad sister wailing to beat the band!”

“Florence, I warn you,” he uttered through clenched teeth, “Do not speak of her so!”

“Whyever not, Griffin? Cassandra is poor, she is mad and she is your sister. I’ve said nothing that is untrue, and quite honestly, I am not without sympathy for her plight. I, better than anyone, know just how much damage your uncle could inflict upon a woman!”

He closed his eyes in disgust. “Speak your piece, Florence, and get out!”

“Send her away.”

“No.”

She smiled at him, her face a vision of perfection and her heart blacker than anyone he’d ever known. “You didn’t even ask who I meant,” she protested. “I was not speaking of your dear sister but your new bride. Send her away!”

“Whether you spoke of Cassandra or Olympia, my answer would remain the same. There is only one woman in this house I mean to send away and that is you. As soon as the weather has cleared, you will go to the dower house or back to Liverpool. I’ll leave the choice to you. But you will never again cross the threshold of Darkwood Hall. Is that clear?”

The small vase she’d been holding and fondling so suggestively came flying at his head. “Bastard!”

“Bitch,” he replied reasonably.

“Shall I tell her then?” Florence asked. “Shall I tell your meek, little bride that you once proposed to me? That you professed your love so gallantly and so perfectly that I was swept away by the romance of it all?”

“You will say nothing to Olympia about our former engagement. In fact, you will not speak to her at all!”

“Oh, we’ve spoken already. I might have even let slip that I tried to convince you to wed me to satisfy the terms of Honoria’s will. I bet she’d be very put out to learn that you were once completely enamored of me.”

What woman wouldn’t? She would be living under the same roof as a woman he’d once been engaged to marry. If he was lucky, she would simply stop speaking to him. If he was unlucky, and historically speaking that seemed the more likely outcome, she’d pitch half the contents of the house straight at his head. “What do you want, Florence? What is it that will buy your silence?”

“Increase my allowance… and hire a footman that I took a fancy to at Lady Jane Darlington’s house. He’s a veritable beast in bed. And you know how much I like that.”

It took all that he had not to choke the life out of her. “When you move to the dower house, I will hire him as your footman there. But not before. And I’ll look into raising your allowance, but I will not pauper myself or the estate for you fripperies.”