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CHAPTER NINE

H appy wedding day to me, Teresa mused silently, as the hours and the landscape rolled by outside the carriage windows. The sun tried to make an appearance once or twice, piercing through the gray skies, but the gloom was as overwhelming beyond the carriage as it was inside it.

She had tried a couple of times to begin a conversation with Cyrus, but he had offered nothing but brief replies, dousing her desire to speak entirely. As such, she had been left to find some entertainment in the silence, but even her imagination was unwilling to breach the interminable quiet.

As such, she had spent the journey staring at the opposite wall or out of the window or at the floor, wishing it was over.

“We are here,” Cyrus said suddenly, the unexpected sound of his voice making her jump.

Puzzled, for the carriage was still moving, she peered out of the window… and was met by a distant, haunting mirage that seemed to have been plucked straight from her most beloved novels.

Emerging from the fog, flanked by dense forest, sitting on the rise of a low hill, was a castle.

A majestic feat of gray stone, bordered by a curtain wall of ancient fortifications, connecting slightly crumbling guard towers.

The castle itself, behind that defensive wall, had twin round towers, crenellated at the top, joined together by battlements.

Judging by the glint of windows, it had at least four floors of rooms, Teresa’s excitement rising as the carriage rattled on up a winding country road toward it.

This was just a glimpse—the front facade of the castle, but there was certainly more to be explored and admired, once within those protective walls.

How I have longed to see such a place… She had exhausted all of the castles and palaces in London, and now she was to actually live in one. Indeed, it was almost enough to chase off the disappointment and irritation of the morning’s rushed wedding and hastier departure.

It took all of the decorum she possessed not to shriek with glee as the carriage passed through an old, disused portcullis.

Then, it rumbled along freshly laid gravel to a second portcullis, raised just high enough to let the carriage pass…

and into the bailey of the castle: the central courtyard where, in days gone by, a duke in armor might have made a rousing speech before riding out with his vanguard to lead the attack.

“You did not say you lived in a castle,” Teresa managed to say, hoping Cyrus could not hear the giddiness in her voice; she did not want to give him that satisfaction.

“Wander only where you are told you are permitted,” he replied gruffly, as the carriage came to a standstill. “Parts of it are unsafe. If a door is locked, it is locked for a reason.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “If it is in need of repair, why have you not repaired it?”

“There are some things that are beyond repair,” he said, opening the door, “and best left to crumble.”

He got down and turned to face her, holding out his hand in an unexpected gesture of chivalry. Annoyed as she was by his behavior that morning, and his less than welcoming demeanor now, she found herself shuffling up the squabs and taking his hand. Anything to see the rest of the castle sooner.

But she forgot her eagerness for the architecture as she felt his hand tighten around hers, her gaze flitting down in surprise.

She had taken off her gloves during the journey and forgotten to put them back on, leaving nothing between his rough, callused palm and the softness of hers.

His skin was warm to the touch, his grip…

oddly and infuriatingly reassuring as he helped her out into the large courtyard.

A square of pristine lawn took up most of the bailey, with a border of gravel around the outside for carriages to follow back to the portcullis.

It would have been a remarkable place for a ball, Teresa thought, with plenty of rooms for guests and space for carriages to line up to deposit their passengers.

Far too much effort for me, though. She shuddered at the very thought of having to organize such an event. Even Beatrice, who relished a party, would have refused such a tremendous feat.

“That tower and that tower are not fit for purpose,” Cyrus explained, pointing to the counterparts of the towers she had already seen, at the other end of the bailey.

The one on the right appeared blackened, the part that should have risen above the connecting battlements missing entirely.

The one on the left was in slightly better condition, but every window seemed to be shattered to the frame, gaping open like unseeing eyes.

As for the structure that joined the two towers together, it was half collapsed, carrying the desolate air of ruins.

Suddenly, Cyrus let go of her hand and pressed on toward a set of arched double doors, leaving one side open for her to follow him through.

“Your Grace!” a cheery voice greeted the newlyweds, belonging to a plump woman of perhaps fifty, with fiery coils of red hair that no lace-edged cap could restrain.

The curls sprang loose in every direction, streaked here and there with a lovely, golden white.

“We saw you coming from the tower, though we didn’t expect you back so soon. ”

She was one of a neat array of servants who had positioned themselves in a uniform ‘V’ to welcome their Duke, her lively tone bringing immediate warmth to the cavernous entrance hall, and to Teresa’s somewhat homesick heart.

Although Teresa could not help but blush as she noticed the staff looking at her, whispering out of the corners of their mouths, smiling in her direction.

“And this must be Her Grace, the Duchess?” the red-haired woman prompted, moving toward Teresa, keys jingling from a chatelaine that hung down from her belt.

Cyrus looked back at his bride, frowning as if he had forgotten she was there. “Yes, this is the new Duchess. Show her to her chambers, make sure she does not get lost in the castle, and furnish her with whatever she needs.”

Swallowing thickly, Teresa waited for her husband to introduce the servants in return, but he was already walking off through the yawning arch of a hallway, vanishing a moment later into the dark.

Am I meant to follow?

She hesitated, her anxious gaze flitting between the hallway and the whispering servants.

“He will undoubtedly see you at dinner, Your Grace,” the red-haired woman said quickly, offering a friendly smile. “I’m Belinda, housekeeper of this drafty old place, though I can’t deny this castle does as it pleases, refusing my attempts to make an honorable manor of it.”

Still confused by her husband’s curt dismissal, it took Teresa a moment to realize that Belinda was making a joke. And when she managed to laugh, it echoed hollow.

“I’m not much of a jester,” Belinda admitted with a grin, “but I hope to have you laughing properly soon enough. We’ve been so excited to meet you. When we received word that His Grace was bringing home a bride—oh, we were beside ourselves! Weren’t we, eh?”

The group of servants chuckled and nodded, lavishing Teresa with nothing but the friendliest, most welcoming smiles and shy greetings.

“But I understand that this castle can be overwhelming,” Belinda continued, hesitating for a second before she went ahead and took Teresa’s hand, patting it gently.

“ All of it must be overwhelming. I can see you’re a little unsteady, a little bewildered, so why don’t I take you up to your chambers while one of these fine folks fetches you a nice tea tray, eh?

The cook baked some cake this morning, so buttery and sweet you won’t be able to do anything but smile and sigh at the perfection of it. ”

Teresa nodded slowly. “I… would like that, thank you.”

“Come on, then,” Belinda said, weaving Teresa’s hand through her arm. “I hope you don’t mind me being bold, Your Grace, but I wouldn’t want you to lose your footing, so I’ll keep tight hold of you until we’re on steadier territory.”

“Thank you,” Teresa repeated, meaning it.

If she was going to be so far from home, bound to a husband who had already abandoned her, then the least she could do for her sanity was stay close to those who were kind and warm and inviting… and eat as much cake as her heart desired.

As she began to make her way up a sweeping staircase, treading carefully on the stones that had been polished to a slippery smoothness by decades—perhaps centuries—of feet, her curiosity caught up to her.

“Belinda, may I ask a question?”

The housekeeper laughed. “Mercy, you don’t have to ask me if you can ask a question. You’re the Duchess of Darnley. Mistress of this castle.”

“Right, of course.” Heat rushed into Teresa’s face, for the new title was something of an ill-fitting gown, not yet acquainted with her measurements.

“It is just that I… Well, I was wondering if you could tell me what happened to the farthest section of the castle? The part with the blackened tower. The… ruined part, if that is not an impolite description.”

The housekeeper’s merry smile tightened. “Oh, just time. It happens in places like this, but I hope you’ll find the intact part of this castle as nice as the rest of us do.” Her throat bobbed. “Indeed, Your Grace, it’s best to think of that other part as nothing more than a relic.”

Nodding cordially, Teresa wondered if the housekeeper was aware of the subtle change in her expression, like a child looking away while telling a lie, or if it had been entirely involuntary. Either way, Teresa’s curiosity was not at all satisfied.

There is something amiss, and as I am going nowhere and am unlikely to have my husband to keep me occupied, I intend to find out what it is.