Prologue
March, 1803, Branigan Manor
Daniel wandered through his father’s mansion in the darkness, aware of his surroundings and yet as if he were still asleep. He walked down the grand staircase, his hand on the smooth wooden railing. At the bottom of the steps, he made a turn and went through the grand hall.
Stop. Stop walking.
The voice in his head was distinct, and yet he could not heed its demand. His feet kept walking, stopping only when he reached the drawing room. The fire in the fireplace flickered still, the last of the embers clinging to life as it soaked up the remaining oxygen. There was a glass on the floor, and brandy had been spilled on the beautiful carpet.
His body shivered in the cold as a part of him longed to be back in his chamber, and back under his warm covers, safe and secure. And yet, another part of him pushed him forward, until he found himself spotting a bright light at the end of the hall.
Turn back. Don’t go further.
Again, he could not comply with the warning. He walked forward even though every fiber of his being wanted him to stop. His feet, his small, bare feet kept moving forward towards the light as the dread inside of him grew ever larger. At the door he stopped, suddenly aware that he was asleep.
No! Please! I want to wake up now. I want to wake up. I do not want to be here again.
Tears streamed down his chubby cheeks as his feet moved once more, over the threshold and into his father’s study. Why could he not wake? Suddenly, a sharp pain on his cheek made him blink and he found himself waking. Or so he thought.
His blue eyes flew open and he found himself looking at a man, his back to Daniel. It took a moment before his dazed mind recognized him.
“Papa?”
He turned then, his father. He was a tall man, or perhaps he only seemed that way because ten-year old Daniel was short for his age. There was blood on his father’s hands, dripping onto the floor.
“Daniel,” his father said in his deep, gravelly voice. “Go back to bed. There’s nothing to see here.” His father stared at the floor and Daniel followed his gaze. With horror he realized at once what the source of the blood was, for it was lying on the floor in front of him. It was his mother. His beloved mother.
She was pale and her eyes were open, yet still. Her body was surrounded with blood. Suddenly a scream tore through the silence of the room. It wasn’t until he felt another striking pain on his cheek that he realized: The scream came from him.
* * *
“Danny! Daniel! You are having another nightmare. Wake up.” Penelope’s voice drifted through the darkness and brought him out of that strange space between sleep and wakefulness that Daniel had found himself in once more. At last, he opened his eyes and looked into her frightened pale face. Her gray-blue eyes reflected the light of the sole candle in the room. Her long, dark hair ran down her shoulders like waves.
“Penelope? Penny?” Utterly disoriented, Daniel pushed himself up in bed and blinked. The room was almost dark except for the one beeswax candle burning on his nightstand. His friend sat on the edge of his bed, dressed in her long nightgown.
“Shall I fetch Mrs. Hargrove?” Penelope said, with concern on her fair face. Daniel shook his head. He had no desire to see their governess. She would only tell him that at three-and-ten, he was too old to still have nightmares about his dead mother. Penelope nodded. In a quiet voice, she started speaking again.
“Was it the same dream? About your mother?”
“Yes. But worse. This time, I knew I was asleep and yet I could not wake myself up. It was terrible. And she was there again, on the floor. All the blood…” Tears sprang into his eyes and Penelope took his hand.
Even though she was only two years young than him, her hand was tiny, like that of a smaller child. Still, she gave him more comfort than any adult ever could.
“Why do these dreams haunt me still?”
“Because you loved your mother. My mother appears in my dreams all the time.”
He sighed. “Not the way mine does, I am sure.”
Penelope nodded and slipped under the covers beside him. Her cold feet brushed against his legs for a moment and he shivered and moved away.
“I did not witness my mother’s death as you did. It is normal for it to haunt you still.”
Daniel said nothing and looked at the canopy above his bed. He did not want to think about that terrible day three years ago. It haunted not just his sleep, but when he was awake as well. His entire life had changed that day as he had not just lost his mother, but also his father.
If not for Penelope’s father, the Duke of Branigan, he would have had nowhere to go. Daniel was fortunate not to be sent to an orphanage or to some far away relative. Instead, the Duke, who’d lost his wife not long before, took him in as his ward and raised him alongside his only daughter, Penelope.
He rolled onto his side and tucked his hands under his head. “Your father will be very upset if he finds us sleeping in the same bed again.”
