Page 12 of Ashwood (Wallflowers and Demons #1)

DEVASTATING THINGS

DORIAN

W ith a mad roar, I step back. “You know nothing! Nothing of this work, what it could change, nor the lives that could be saved!”

My fists slam into the table and I knock over plates. They sail into their air, before shattering onto the floor. The sound is deadened by the grey rug beneath. I freeze, shocked by myself.

“I…I am sorry…”

Those hands that turned red, become flesh-coloured once more. I throw them by my side. “I am ashamed to have lost my temper in front of a lady.”

Katherine.

There is nothing but despair in her eyes.

“You are not forgiven, your Grace. You may dress and talk like a gentleman, but you will never be free.” Tears roll down her cheeks. “There is no cure, for your madness is deep within. ‘Tis imprinted upon your soul.”

She flees the room. I know where she runs to, she runs to Nora. When the hour strikes morning, I cannot delay any further. I have not slept all evening. Instead, I remained in my chair, replaying our fight and her words of condemnation, over and over.

I visit Nora’s chambers. Inside that cramped and shadowed room, Katherine lies beside her maid, asleep. Before servants wake and rumours spread, I forget she hates me, and lift her into my arms. Her head drops against my shoulder. She pushes herself against me to warm herself.

The thing inside me is pleased.

When she awakens, I am sitting on that damned chair again. She doesn’t question how she arrived.

“Of course, I have returned to my tomb.”

I offer no response. A knock comes at the door and I stand abruptly from the round table where the cold remnants of last night’s brandy sit half-consumed.

“Enter.”

Nora slips inside, with a tray in her hands. “Breakfast, Your Graces,” she lowers her voice, “ and word from the captain. We are docking.”

At last.

I am home.

Katherine stirs. She sits at the edge of the bed and rubs a hand over her face. Then, she rises, gathers her skirts, and disappears behind the curtain of her dressing room. Afterwards, Nora delivers a wary glare at us both.

“Thank you, Nora,” Katherine says. “That will be all.”

The maid departs and Katherine sits for breakfast. The whole while, she avoids direct eye contact. We move around each other in choked silence until it is time for us to depart, but I watch her anyway. She is a Duchess and must behave like one. There is no time for pouting.

“Do not forget your cloak,” I remind her with my hand gripping the closet doorknob. “It’s colder than it looks.”

Katherine hesitates. Then, without a word, she pulls the coat off its hook and fastens it around her throat. I shrug into mine and check the purse tucked in the inner pocket.

Heavy enough. Good.

I glance at Katherine. She steps to my side as I put out an arm.

No one must see the cracks.

She affixes her cream embroidered veil and accepts the gesture. “Your Grace.”

The thing inside me is pleased.

Outside, the ship shudders against the dock. The gangplank moves with a thud and men scurry to pull the lines. Their shouts reach my ears at the same time the frosty air strikes my cheeks.

It is a cold day in Ashwood.

As we cross the deck, Katherine slows. Reginald, the old hound, waits by the railing with his mistress. He lets out a whine when he sees her. Lady Carrington stands nearby, holding tightly on his lead. Her husband stands behind her. She curtsies as Katherine approaches. “Your Graces.”

“Good boy!” Katherine stops to bury her fingers inside his fur. “I am so glad you are feeling better, now. You’ll be happy here, during your visit, won’t you?”

The canine licks her hand once, and Katherine rises suddenly. I say nothing as she pets his head in a final goodbye. Some griefs are not meant to be shared.

Katherine smiles at his owners as she waves him goodbye. “We hope you enjoy Ashwood, Lord and Lady Carrington.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. We are excited to attend the ball.”

“It will be most memorable,” she lies.

Gabriel is waiting at the bottom of the gangplank. He offers Katherine a bow. “Your Graces.”

“My Lord,” she smiles, “take care.”

He steps aside. “And you. ”

The formalities do not last long before the commotion begins.

Lord Gabriel exits first. Murmurs ripple through the gathered crowd as boots strike the wood with drumming thuds, with coats buttoned to their throats, truncheons and pistols obvious beneath their cloaks.

An old woman gasps. A merchant drops a crate as sixty Bow Street Runners descend the gangplank in formation.

“God above. What’s happened?”

“Who is that woman?”

“Haven’t you heard? His Grace has returned with our new Duchess…”

Behind the officers come the captain and his steward, bound in irons, heads lowered under the weight of curious stares.

“Is that the master of the ship?”

“God’s teeth, is that murder they’re fetching him for?”

“Was it pirates?”

“—Or something worse?”

Katherine’s hand tightens over my arm.

I lift my head and my voice carries over the noise. “There is no cause for alarm.“ The crowd falls into hushed whispers, but they listen on. “The matter is under review by the Crown’s men. No charge has yet been brought forward.”

A sailor, the one who dropped his crate, speaks up. “I heard rumours of a missing Earl? Is it true that members of the ton are vanishing?“

With my voice even, I answer him. “The investigation is ongoing. The Runners are here to ensure the truth is uncovered with haste and discretion.” I turn so that more of the crowd might hear. “Until then, I expect Ashwood’s businesses to remain undisturbed.”

There is silence. One older man clears his throat as though he might say more, but thinks better of it. I conclude the announcement with finality. “You have my word. Nothing will be hidden. All important information will be printed in the Ashwood Chronicles.”

As I turn away, I deliver a missive to Lord Gabriel.

“The Duchess and I depart for Ashwood Castle after lunch, tomorrow. For now, we’ve legal business to tend to.

See to it that your men are fed. Ashwood will cover the cost. My townhouse is open to you this evening, for supper.

We will discuss important matters, then. “

Lord Gabriel nods. “Very well, Your Grace. My men and I will convene with you, this evening.”

A black carriage arrives on matching wheels.

People stop and stare. It carries the ornate golden Ashwood signet on both doors — three diamonds wrapped in thorns.

Whispers come faster now as people stop and chat.

But soon, the town rises and the hour moves forward.

As more people fill the docks, even a Duke is forgotten.

Williams opens the door, and I being the gentleman I am, help Katherine inside.

We settle on embroidered gold-threaded cushions, with the ambient air warmed by a hot brick.

It seems Katherine has forgiven me enough to speak.

“Is there anything other business I need to be informed about before my arrival?”

“Only paperwork.”

“You are certain?”

I raise a sceptical brow. “Don’t you trust me?”

Katherine pulls the curtains closed and presses a hand to her veil. It remains fastened tightly. “Not even a little.”

At her words, I smile. “Good.”

KATHERINE

The Ashwood townhouse, made of dark stone and red bricks, and fortified with a high iron-wrought gate, stands on its own block.

The structure glows with arched windows framed by wrought-iron railings, and a slate roof, multiple chimneys that stretch across its peak, and gardens are manicured with hardy blooms of pure white clusters.

Scents float, carrying sweet nectar inside the air that brushes my cheeks.

My breath comes out in light bursts of white, and I shiver.

“‘Tis frigid,” I complain and squeeze my gloved fingers together.

The carriage draws slowly as it reaches the cul-de-sac, where jasmine vines stretch along the stone pathways. It will soon bloom with yellow flowers. Sculpted hedges stalk us until the carriage reaches an of iron gates and pearl-white columns.

“Eight bedrooms plus four rooms for the servants downstairs,” Dorian explains. “There are three permanent staff on site, and the rest will return with us to Ashwood Castle on the morrow.“

The carriage rolls to a stop outside a line of people. My nerves fray as William opens the door and helps Dorian out. Then, with an outstretched hand, Dorian assists me down from the carriage.

The cold bites, drawn through the gates like a draught through stone, though, I do not shiver.

Not today.

The servants bow in unison as we approach the house.

Three in number, just as he promised: an elderly butler with stooped shoulders and sunken eyes, a prim maid with a linen apron neatly starched, and a young footman whose scar across the jaw renders him older than he appears.

Their silence is respectful, but their eyes stray, not to Dorian, but to me.

They are indeed, shocked .

“Allow me to present Her Grace, the Duchess of Ashwood.”

There is a pause, then murmurs of acknowledgement. They bow, they curtsy, but they do not smile.

“You shall accord her every courtesy due her rank,” Dorian says, with his teeth slightly gritted. There is a warning inside his tone. “She is not to be questioned.”

Dorian steps in front of me and continues with an even voice and an open palm as he presents each servant. “This is Mrs. Grange, the housekeeper. Mr. Everly, the steward. And young Thomas, our second footman.”

Mrs. Grange’s hands clasp before her apron. Mr. Everly’s nod is stiff. Thomas avoids me entirely.

I incline my head. “It is a pleasure.”

Mrs. Grange’s curtsy deepens by a fraction. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Mr. Everly lowers his gaze.

Thomas stands too still, but cannot hide his dismay. Not a single one looks me in the eye.

I should be at the very least, offended.