“You don’t need to call me that any more,” he said, taking my hand and squeezing it. “Just call me Nick. You’re my partner, not my subordinate, even if it did send me rock solid to hear you utter that word so often.”
He laughed, but I knew he meant it.
He was right. It was time to venture forward as husband and wife, as partners – not as mentor and apprentice.
“There’s something else I want you to know about me,” said Nick, his voice faltering. “Things I’ve never been able to share with you before.”
He leaned close and whispered in my ear. He spoke of his violence, in defence of his love. He spoke of criminal charges. I closed my eyes and leaned in to him, as if being lulled by sensual promises. He told me of his capacity for murder; of the darkness that had followed him since childhood, as a confused, misunderstood boy. The darkness created by the abuse he suffered at the hands of his brother. The darkness that only grew.
I kissed him with a ferocity, wishing we were alone.
“My complicated husband,” I said, touching his face. “I love that darkness in you.”
“And I love yours,” he said, kissing my fingers. “I always will.”
We danced again, drifting in our own private euphoria.
I fanned my face with my hand, the air thick with the heat of so many bodies. I searched the crowds for Eugenie, hoping to catch her eye and indicate that I needed her help.
“Damn it,” I said under my breath. “I can’t see her. I was hoping she could help me out of my dress.”
“Then let me,” said Nick, sliding a finger inside the lace fanning up around my neck. He traced my jugular vein, smoothing his fingertip over my pulse. I took it and kissed it, leaving rouge where my lips had pressed.
“I have a second dress, one that I can move in much easier to allow me to enjoy the evening.”And you, I wanted to add. There was no way we were making it to the end of the evening before tearing each other’s clothes off. I sighed. Wherever she was, I was certain she was having a good time.
“Never mind – I’ll shimmy out of it myself,” I said.
“Nonsense, that’s what I’m here for –”
Someone called to Nick, interrupting him. A man I recognised as another friend of his from boarding school. Over the months, I’d gotten to know many of his friends and peers in the funeral business, as well as all their wives. I was beginning to make friends of my own, and create a stable life for myself in Hampstead.
“Stay and enjoy the party. I won’t be long,” I said, planting a kiss on his chin before I made my way out of themarquis.
There was no way I was fitting into the small, cramped elevator to get upstairs. Sucking in a preparatory breath, I lifted my hefty skirts and scaled the stairs one step at a time, regretting that I didn’t let Nick assist me. He was my husband, after all. Just getting up the stairs was going to be difficult, let alone getting out of this thing.
I was sweating by the time I reached the first landing, stopping by the library to catch my breath. It was no use; the neck and waist of the dress had a vice-like grip on me, and I could barely breathe. I would get this damn thing off if I had to rip it off – and there was still another set of stairs yet to go.
It was then that I noticed the light streaming from the short corridor to the library.
A few steps more told me that the door was wide open, the chandelier lighting up the room. I ventured inside, breathless, to see which of our guests had gone roaming – but there was nobody there. The bookcases held their breath, the mezzanine waited silently. I sensed there was no other life sharing the space with me, even if I couldn’t be certain. I glanced warily at the portrait of Louisa, a stabbing pain in my heart reminding me that I hadn’t been the first. That I would never be the first.
A worse pain gripped me when I realised that the portrait’s cover had been opened. Her dark, mournful eyes looked out at me, urging me never to forget her.Warning menever to forget her.
But who had unlocked it?
If it hadn’t been for her madness, you wouldn’t be here,the dark voice in my head reminded me.
“Shut up,” I muttered to myself, urging the cruel thoughts away.
Remember the night you met him, when he called out her name into the darkness?
“We’re happy. We’re in love. We’re married.” I told myself over and over like an incantation, as if repeating the words would strengthen their power.
He loved me. He would always love me.Iwouldn’t let my madness betray him.Iwouldn’t let it consume me until it ate up our vows, destroying our love, sending our whole lives up in smoke. I would make something of myself, of this opportunity, to create a marriage as strong as our business, as impenetrable as a bronze casket.
I switched off the central light, left the library, and closed the door. After taking a moment to calm myself again, I scaled the stairs to the attic room. I had left my simple white lace dress hanging by the tall mirror, ready for me to slip into once my wedding gown became unbearable, and I couldn’t wait to get into it.
A strange grey seeping beneath the oak door frame made me halt. I felt I had to be seeing things, and wondered if my nightmares were returning; if I would be plagued by rotten figs and the furious humming of wasps for the rest of my days.
