Page 43 of Ashwood (Wallflowers and Demons #1)

SECRET THINGS

Dorian

T he world returns to me slowly.

The first thing I am privy to is the strum of her delicate fingers stroking my hair.

I lie with my head in Katherine’s lap, the soft fabric of her skirts warm against my cheek, rainwater and lilies wafting off her skin and into my senses.

My eyes flutter open and I’m met by the gentle sway of the carriage lantern, the low creak of wheels over wet stone and her face staring down at me.

It takes me a moment to realise I’m alive .

And instead of the fevered nightmare of half-death that followed the transformation, nor the raw agony that came after swallowing the final formula, or the burning.

Just… this.

Her touch.

The cold morning breath rolls through the carriage window and I shift slightly. Her fingers pause, then resume stroking my hair.

“You’re awake,” she whispers.

My throat is dry.

My body aches. My pulse thuds heavily in my ears, but it’s steady. Controlled. No red film across my vision. No feral hunger in my gut.

I turn my head just enough to look up at her. Her face is calm, composed, a little pale from lack of sleep. Her steady, storm-wrapped eyes roam downward, and she offers a wiry smile. “You’ve been out for hours.”

“I dreamt of nothing,” I murmur.

She brushes a strand of hair from my brow. “You needed the rest.”

I try to sit up. She helps me gently, hand beneath my shoulder, and I groan under my breath.

Gods, everything hurts.

“We’re almost there,” she says. “Ashwood town centre. It’s just past the ridge.”

Outside, mist clings to the hills. The trees are still black with the night’s rain.

Four survivors travel in the carriage behind ours: Eliza, Caleb, Benjamin, and Gregory.

Once children. Now orphans, barely breathing, barely human anymore in the wake of what they’ve seen.

Five Runners did not return. Their bodies — what could be retrieved — were burned and buried at the forest’s edge.

A small plot marked only with stones. There could be no graves.

Not real ones. Not when the truth must be buried deeper than bones.

“What you did back there…”

I turn my head to look at her. The words hang between us, unspoken. What I became. What I almost couldn’t return from. What she saw — and what she chose to believe in anyway.

“I’m still here,” I say quietly.

“Yes,” she says. “You are.”

The town rises slowly before us. A wash of chimneys and steeples blurred by mist. The closer we draw, the more the sound of distant voices reaches us.

I lean forward to peer through the window. The street that leads to the courthouse is already filled. Dozens of townsfolk line the way — some with cloaks drawn tight, others bareheaded in the cold. Bow Street uniforms stand at intervals. Gabriel’s men. Holding order. Holding secrets.

The crowd parts as our carriage arrives.

The door opens and Katherine steps out first. A hush falls. She wears no bonnet, no cloak, only a simple riding dress marked with dried blood along the hem. She helps me down, and I place one hand atop hers as I descend.

Gabriel stands near the steps of the courthouse, arms crossed, coat damp with dew. His face is unreadable. I nod to him. He nods back.

“They think it was a fever,” Katherine says softly.

“Let them.”

“A fever that took five hundred lives?”

“A fever caused by a gas leak from the mines,” I repeat. “And a miracle. That’s what they’ll remember.”

She says nothing more. Only watches as a runner helps the survivors out of the second carriage. The smallest boy— stumbles, and Katherine is there instantly, crouching to catch him.

“It’s alright,” she whispers, cupping his face. “You’re safe now.”

After a moment, he lets her lead him toward the steps.

I follow behind. Every movement makes my muscles scream. My body has been rebuilt, but not without cost. And still — it is not the pain that breaks me. It is the sight of her. The ease with which she gives comfort. The terrible grace of her endurance.

The people only watch uneasily. Their gazes flick between the carriages, the ash-covered Runners, and the survivors wrapped in cloaks.

At the top of the steps, I pause.

Katherine turns to me. “What is it?”

I look down at the ground before us. A long puddle of rainwater stretches across the landing, dark and slick.

I don’t know why it catches my eye. Perhaps because I remember that dress — the one she wore to the ball, when she first entered this strange, cursed world.

I remember how easy it was for me to stain the hem.

Without a word, I bend down and scoop her into my arms.

She lets out a soft gasp of surprise, then a breathless laugh. “Dorian—”

“Can’t have you tracking filth into the townhouse, Your Grace.”

She places a hand over the crook of my arm. “You are most impossible.”

“And you are… divine .”

We cross the landing, and I set her down gently before the doors.

Behind us, the townsfolk still watch. They believe what they’ve been told.

Or at least, they’ll pretend to.

Gabriel steps forward. “We’ll begin the return to Ashwood Castle this afternoon,” he says quietly. “The last ship sails at sundown.”

Katherine nods. “Then I must speak to you before you go.”

He arches a brow. “Of course.”

“I’ll just be a moment,” she says, turning to me.

I nod, though something inside me stirs uneasily. I know Gabriel. I know the way he looks at her. I know what he’s tried so hard not to say. But I trust her. And I begrudgingly trust him.

We’ve all bled enough for it.

Still…

“Two minutes,” I say softly.

She smiles, then disappears around the side of the building. I watch her go. Then, I exhale a slow, controlled breath and wait for whatever comes next.

KATHERINE

I find him in his office at the courthouse, packing his bags. He and the Bow Street runners return to Ashwood Castle in the last ship setting out this afternoon.

“Will you seek my husband?” I ask from the doorway. “Is he safe from the gallows?”

Gabriel falters at my words. He turns, his hands overflowing with paper. “I have important matters to tend to. There is a killer on the loose. Do not forget, you’ve yet to be interviewed, Duchess.”

Without flinching, I ask the question.

“You will never love another, will you?”

Gabriel pauses, then, his face falls. “No, Your Grace,” he replies honestly. “You have my heart. Always. Even if it breaks, I will never seek another.”

I reach out and gently touch his arm. “You deserve to be loved, My Lord….You mustn’t do this to yourself.”

“Some things are not yours to fix, Your Grace. It would not be fair to her .”

Our eyes meet, but his eyes are filled with sorrow for a truth that can never change. The smile he delivers is a hollow one and I know he will never conduct his inquisition on me.

I peer down at the many files accumulated on his desk. There is honour written upon every page.

“Don’t ever doubt your worth,” I remind him. “For you are worth even more than I.”

“Now that is blasphemous.” Gabriel bows, addressing me by my original title, and not the one I was married into. “Your Highness.”

I smile deeply.

It’s time for me to go home.

DORIAN

Morning light slants through the high windows of the Ashwood Inn, catching dust motes. The common room is quiet at this time of morning, but it is filling fast.

They’re all here. Eliza, Caleb, Benjamin, and the boy—Gregory. The four who survived.

They huddle close to the hearth, their plates nearly clean. Porridge. Bread. Scraps of bacon. They eat heartily talking to each other like they haven’t endured an apocalypse.

Eliza waves a crust of toast. “I swear on my mother’s grave, Caleb, if you keep sulking like that, I’ll marry you just to put you out of your misery.”

“Then I’ll throw myself into the river immediately after,” he replies dryly.

Benjamin laughs.

“You two bicker like an old couple already. Just kiss and be done with it.”

Gregory, being the innocent lad he is, recoils in disgust. “Eww.”

Eliza throws a napkin at Benjamin. He ducks. Gregory shrieks with laughter and knocks over his tea.

“God’s teeth,” Caleb yells. “Gregory, that’s the third cup!”

More laughter.

I pause just beyond the threshold, letting the warmth reach me.

No one notices me at first—until Caleb glances up and goes still. Eliza’s eyes follow his, and the moment she sees me, she freezes with a crust of bread halfway to her mouth.

“How are you finding the Inn?” I ask.

They freeze. Even Gregory straightens. They all move to stand but I raise a hand. “Please. Don’t get up. Enjoy your meal.”

Eliza rises anyway and curtsies.

“Your Grace.”

“Truly. Sit. You’ve earned the comfort.”

Eliza grins and does as she’s told.

They’re in the best room the inn has to offer, but nothing about this feels like comfort. Just pause .

My coat still drips from the rain outside as I approach the hearth and stop short of the firelight.

Then I lower myself to one knee, slowly, deliberately, in front of Eliza.

“Miss Tremaine,” I say. “I cannot undo the calamity that has befallen this town, nor restore what has been lost. But I will see to it that none of you are left without shelter or means. I will provide a dowry sufficient to secure a marriage to a gentleman of standing. It’s not a gift.

It’s a safeguard. I intend to sponsor you in society—properly.

I will act as your patron, Miss Tremaine, and ensure your name is received with honour.

Her eyes glisten with tears. “Your Grace… your kindness is beyond what I deserve.”

“No,” I tell her. “It’s the barest beginning.”

I turn to Caleb next. The boy’s spine straightens, almost instinctively. He tries not to look nervous.

“You’ve shown yourself capable. Loyal. Brave. I’ll see you employed in the mines at Wexmoore, with room, board, and a regular wage. It’s honest work. There is also a small farm estate in East Ashwood. It is yours if you want it.”

He swallows hard, then nods. “Thank you, my lord. I won’t waste it.”

“You’d better not,” Eliza says.

Benjamin, still gripping that old, worn cleaver like the world might ask him to fight again, clears his throat. “And me, my lord?”

“You’ll be given land on the Wexmoore estate. Enough to live on with dignity. And a proper outbuilding to resume your trade. I’ll see it arranged.”

The man bows his head—just once—and says, “That’s more than enough.”

Gregory clutches Eliza’s hand, shrinking against her side. I meet his eyes and nod, just slightly. He doesn’t nod back. But he doesn’t hide, either.

I stand.

Then I pause, glance at Caleb and gesture my head toward the door. He follows without a word. We step out into the corridor where the light is paler, weaker. I shut the door behind us.

He shifts awkwardly on his feet, still damp from the ride in.

I cross my arms and tilt my head slightly.

“If you don’t marry that girl soon,” I say, voice low, “someone else will.”

He stiffens. Then, slowly, his shoulders fall and he exhales through his nose. “I hear you, Your Grace m.”

“Good.” I give him a once-over. “I expect nothing less than honour from you.”

He nods again. “You’ll have it.”

I nod once in return, then leave him there in the corridor.

Next, Katherine.

Exiting the inn, Katherine rounds the corner and we meet out front. She smiles at me, breathless, but looking aching bright.

“Did you return what you meant to?”

Katherine nods. “I believe I did.”

“And how was he, Gabriel?”

Her eyes widen briefly. Then, she hesitates.

“Lord Gabriel…you knew?”

“Of course I knew.” It is then that I catch a hint of scent of something in the air. It is familiar but I cannot place it.

I frown. “What’s that strange smell?”

Katherine brushes me away with that perfect little shrug I’ve become annoyingly familiar with. “What smell? You’re imagining things, Dorian. I’m famished, do you think Mrs. Grange feels like baking an entire chocolate cake?”

I hesitate… then dismiss it.

The transformation was too much. I just want to get home, and sleep. I must be tired.

Katherine climbs into the carriage and I follow.

The door shuts behind us with a click.

The carriage rocks as we sit side by side with her head resting against my shoulder.

“Tis cold this evening,” she says and slides her hands into mine. The other remains delicately folded in her lap.

From the corner of my eye, I watch her gaze out into town.

We made it. We won.

Nostalgia comes, the memory of our first carriage ride. I softly chuckle. “Do you remember that time you tried to kill me?”

She lets out a meek chuckle and watches the trees as they drift past. “How could I forget? Is it possible I loved you even then?”

I grin at the thought. “What possessed you to use a letter opener?”

She turns and grins, batting her eyelashes as she flirts back, but avoids the question. “You deserved it.”

‘Tis new, this attitude. One I’ve yet to witness.

Katherine has never batted her eyelashes. Neither would she avoid a question, load it perhaps, weaponise it. But never has she run from verbal sparring. I watch her and the way her lips move.

The way she breathes.

She seems…different…

Perhaps, I am imagining things…

We arrive at Ashwood Townhouse and I open the door for her. She brushes past me, smiling and I follow.

The door shuts behind us.

We return to our chambers and Katherine glides across the room, unfastening her coat, moving with an easy sensuality. She undresses, slipping off gloves, and loosening buttons. Her bare back glows in the firelight.

Suspicious, I watch her skin gleam against the morning sunlight, but soon notice that even the scars and marks on her body are the same .

I must be more tired than I thought.

Still, I do not move.

My breathing changes.

Slow. Heavy. Alert.

She turns to face me, still grinning.

“Are you going to just stare at me all night?” She whispers seductively.

My voice is darker now. “…Perhaps…”

She crosses the room, her feet silent as she glides over the floorboards. “You are a fiend, husband.”

She puts both arms around me and places her lips against mine. I stand unmoving, and the beast inside me recoils. I notice it, too.

This feels…different.

“What is the matter, Dorian,” Katherine whispers. “Don’t you want me? I’ve been waiting all this time…waiting…for you. I risked my life for you.”

It is true, she did.

The monster doesn’t like this.

He roars inside me.

He pushed me away from her.

It doesn’t smell like her.

My tongue lashes out, dragging along her throat and Katherine clutches me tight, moaning as my grip tightens over her.

It doesn’t taste like her…

“Dorian,” Katherine pants…

It is then that a knock arrives at the door. It is one of the Bow Street Runners. His voice comes muffled through the door.

“Lord Gabriel asks to speak to both you and the Duchess.”

I expel a sigh.

Will this day never end?

“Very well, send him to the library — and bring the scotch.”