Page 15 of Lord of the Darkness

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When they returned home that night, her husband laid out his new rules.

“First of all,” he said as he paced their private parlour in front of the fire, “there won’t be any more sleeping in during the day. Your father tells me that you’ve been known to lie in bed reading, without even bothering to get dressed, sometimes until noon. There won’t be any of that in my house. You will be out of bed and fully dressed every morning by ten o’clock. You will find a way to keep yourself busy during the mornings. I don’t care what it is — whether you’re doing needlework, playing the pianoforte, drawing — as long as you’re doing something.”

“What about reading?” asked Ariana.

“No reading.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“There will be no reading,” he said again, having evidently anticipated her scandalised response. “And the reason I say that is because I can easily see you lying down on the sofa or divan and picking up a book and just lying there for the next three to four hours. You might as well have just stayed in bed. Now, you’re welcome to read in the evenings for an hour or two before bed. But I’ll be in the room with you and you won’t be shutting yourself away by yourself. Have I made myself clear?”

“I suppose you have,” said Ariana, though she didn’t feel at all happy about it.

Her father, for all that he talked about ruling his house with a sceptre of iron, had allowed her to go wherever she wanted within the house, and to read without interruption. She couldn’t imagine how she was going to get through a whole day without her beloved books, and she hated that her husband was trying to take them away from her.

“You will spend time with me in the evenings. When I ask you a question you will answer me courteously and promptly. When I tell you to come to bed, you’ll follow me to bed without argument. You will lie there and sleep next to me. You won’t get out of bed until I get out of bed the next morning, at which point you will get up for the rest of the day. Is that understood?”

“No, I don’t understand at all. Why are you forcing me to spend time with you?”

“Because we’re a family,” he leant aggressively forward, his hands in his waistcoat pockets. “We’re a married couple and we’re going to do what married couples do, which is spend time together. I’m not going to force you to be intimate with me in the expected manner, although I hope that we can come to that in time, but you will sit with me in the evenings as I answer my correspondence and you will come to bed with me. I don’t care what you do when we get there — you can read as much as you want — but we’re at least going to behave like a facsimile of a married couple. Understood?”

“If that’s what you want, I suppose so.”

“No, I need a better answer than that. Do you understand why we’re doing this?”

Ariana grunted in annoyance.

“I understand your reasons, at least as you’ve stated them, even if I don’t agree.”

“I don’t ask that you agree, all I ask is that you understand and obey.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

She could hear the strong undercurrent of sarcasm in her own voice, and he flinched slightly at her formality. It was odd, the way that he seemed so harsh and controlling one moment, and then almost uncertain about it the next – as if being harsh was not entirely natural to him. But that was whimsy on her part – there was no reason to suspect that he might feel hesitant in any way.

“When we’re in private, you will call me Benedict – I’ve no desire to be treated with rigid formality by my wife!”

She nodded, curious, considering the name. She rather liked it. It suited him, in some way she did not truly understand.

He went on listing rules, and Ariana continued to give her reluctant consent, all the while wondering how she would ever remember all of it. Was he intentionally making it difficult, so that she would fail, and he could then punish her?

That was an unpleasant thought.

On the wall above the fireplace, a portrait hung, which he had told her was his parents, and himself as a child. She stared at it now, wondering what those people had been like, truly – did anyone ever really know what another person was like? If they were here, haunting this place, what did they think of her?

No doubt they would disapprove, and think her not worthy of their son – just like it was abundantly clear that the Housekeeper thought her unworthy.

Perhaps she was unworthy – she knew nothing of the true history of his family, all she had was rumours.

She looked up, and agreed to the latest rule he had laid out, about always having a footman or maid with her when she went out of the house, even into the gardens.

He stopped, and she waited, unwilling to speak, lest that trigger more rules. Eventually, he gave her an odd half smile.

“I believe that’s everything. For now. I will take a glass of brandy, and then we’ll go to bed. I suggest that you go and prepare yourself.”

“Yes Benedict, as you wish.”

She turned and left the room, glad to escape his presence, even if only for a short time – a short time in which she intended to pen a letter to Helena, telling her all of what had happened in the last few days.