Page 6 of Lord of the Darkness

Ariana only nodded again, eyeing the heavy fourposter bed, as her rather lurid imagination painted images for her of what she might have to suffer there. She swallowed again, and turned away, back to the parlour.

“Perhaps I should see what gowns Peggy has put out, and change for dinner, if we are to be ready at the time you specified.”

There was a pause, and she wondered if she had overstepped what he would allow, but after a moment, his voice came softly.

“As you wish, I will wait for you in our parlour once I have also changed, so that we can go down together, and I can show you where the dining room is.”

***

Benedict felt remarkably lost. Ariana seemed almost like another ghost haunting these halls. She was quiet, looked pale and rather miserable, and barely spoke. He had no idea what to do to change things, and dinner had not helped at all.

She had been seated where he indicated, had barely eaten, had spoken only when spoken to, and then in minimal words, and had appeared completely uninterested in her surroundings.

He was beginning to suspect that, when they went up to bed, things would not proceed in a manner which would bring either of them any true pleasure. Which thought had made him irritable as they ate. She was beautiful – Peggy had done well, and she had appeared the perfect Lady, in a gown of a darkish gold shade which brought out the gold tones in her brown hair, which was piled on her head in a clever confection of coils, with artfully trailing tendrils.

She was his wife.

Those words sounded so strange in his thoughts, but the more he looked at her, the more desire for her rose within him. He had never been one for excessive debauchery, in fact he had precious little experience, compared to most men, but he did appreciate the pleasures of the flesh – and was not that part of any marriage?

When she set down her utensils at the end of the meal, and asked that she might go up and prepare for bed, pleading tiredness, he found himself caught between worry that she meant exactly what she said, and hope that perhaps she meant something more appealing…

“Of course, my dear. I will be up to join you shortly.”

She stiffened at those words, her eyes meeting his for a moment, then rapidly looked away, and hurried from the room.

Benedict sighed, and called for the table to be cleared, and a decanter of brandy to be brought to him. He must be patient.

***

Ariana hurried into the small parlour, and then into her room. Perhaps, if she changed into her least attractive nightrail, and climbed into this bed, she might achieve sleep before her husband came upstairs?

Peggy was waiting for her.

“Your Grace… I… I have put out your prettiest nightrail…” the manner in which Peggy said ‘prettiest’ made it abundantly clear to Ariana that the girl thought all of them ugly, “…but… I couldn’t find anything … errr… special, as I might expect for a bride.”

“Our wedding was arranged rather hastily, I’m afraid. I have no clothing or other items specifically designed for this circumstance. And please, I would prefer the heavier flannel nightrail – I do feel the cold at night, even in the warmer parts of the year.”

The girl almost gaped at her, then, shaking her head a little, simply bobbed a curtsey and went to fetch the requested garment. Soon, Peggy was carrying the gold gown away into the dressing room, as Ariana tied a ribbon on the end of her braided hair before slipping into the bed.

The sheets were cold, and Ariana suspected that, had she been slipping into the other bed, she would have found them warmed. The maid had regarded her with great consternation, but she would not explain anything.

She closed her eyes, pulling the covers up around her, and told herself to sleep. Which, of course, immediately meant that she felt utterly awake, and her mind filled with a tumble of thoughts. The clock on the mantle ticked away, counting the minutes until she would face her fate.

A faint whisper of chill breeze came to her from the closed curtains over the window, and her imagination dredged up every rumour she had ever heard about Darkmire Abbey. Which made the brush of that breeze on her forehead feel like the touch of ghostly fingertips. The more time she spent here, the more she could countenance the idea that the tales of her husband’s mother going mad might be true.

She had asked Peggy to leave her the candlestick on the small bedside table – and now she was glad of the light, although its flickering cast strange shadows on the walls. She tossed and turned for a while, then gave up, and pushed herself to sit, picking up her book from the table near the candlestick.

Perhaps that would distract her from thoughts of ghosts and madness – and of her husband’s carnal desires.