Page 34

Briar

A thick haze of confusion enveloped my mind, a chill settling in my stomach as I opened my eyes to the dull beige walls shrouded in shadows.

The heavy chemical scent of cheap hotel cleaning products hung in the air as I rolled over on the stiff sheets.

I was no longer in the comfort of my room at Dún Na Farraige Estates Incorporated.

My eyes stung as the memories of yesterday came rushing back—my afternoon with Lorcan, followed by the way he so callously discussed returning to Byron Bay so he would no longer have to be around me.

His name echoed in my mind, my breasts tingling and my sides clenching as I remembered the brush of his fingers along my ribs before he grabbed my hips.

I swallowed against the lump in my throat, pressing my nails into my palm, relishing the bite.

When he said he would come with me to London, I let myself believe it meant something, that I meant something to him.

He had never lied or promised me anything.

So why had I let myself believe? Why did it hurt so much?

I clenched my jaw and shivered as I threw the covers back. No amount of ruminating would change how things had turned out. I threw my legs out of the bed and walked to the shower, wanting to feel the warm water washing over me, washing away the echoes of Lorcan’s caress.

They still consumed me hours later as I stared out the train window, watching the English countryside blur past, gray clouds swallowing the sky.

Often, trees stood between the rails and the rest of the world, forcing me to travel inside my mind instead—the last place I wanted to be.

I opened the portfolio again, leafing through all the papers Cormac had given me, copies of information I never would have found without him.

Lady Isobel had been so much more than my mother and I ever dreamed, her full title being Her Grace, The Duchess of Harrowmont, Baroness of Blackcairn—before she was sentenced to forfeit her titles, before the history my mother already learned about her.

How many lives had she led? I intended to find them all, just as my mother would have. It was the only thing I had left.

I closed the portfolio as the brakes shrieked out our arrival into Derby.

As I stepped onto the platform, my suitcase in hand and bag slung over my shoulder, the cool air rushed into my lungs.

Something about being on my own again felt freeing, but I couldn’t help but notice an emptiness beside me where Lorcan should have been.

Had he ever been to the church I was headed to now?

My heart thudded as I found a cab and made my way toward the cathedral that had once hosted the grand wedding of the Duke of Harrowmont to the Lady Isobel of Blackcairn.

After a quick cab ride, the cathedral loomed above me, its towering spires piercing the storm-heavy sky.

As I walked in the door, the scent of damp stone and old candle wax filled the air, washing over me and drawing me back in time.

I could imagine the sanctuary decorated with flowers, the air heavy with their perfume.

It was before Queen Victoria wore her famous white gown, so what did Lady Isobel wear?

Was it a marriage of convenience, or had she been allowed to marry for love?

“May I help you?” A woman standing at a desk at the entrance to the sanctuary pulled me back to the present.

I closed my eyes, quickly centering myself, then opened them. “Maybe. I was wondering if you had any information on the wedding of the Duke and Duchess of Harrowmont?”

She chuckled. “I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific.”

I pressed my lips together. Of course more than one Duke and Duchess of Harrowmont would have married here. “I’m sorry, Lord Aldric and Lady Isobel.”

She clenched her jaw. “Oh, you mean Isobel Blackcairn. Those records aren’t kept here. You might find something at Harrowmont Hall.”

I cleared my throat. Hopefully, the entire trip trying to learn about her didn’t turn out this way. “Thank you. That was my next stop. Do you mind if I look around?”

“Be my guest.” The woman smiled as she indicated the door to the sanctuary.

I slid into a pew as I took in the Gothic architecture.

Had Lord Lorcan been a guest at their wedding?

Would I find any information in his journal?

What if I asked Cormac about it? I traced my fingers over the polished wood of the pew, the cool surface sending chills down my arm.

The vaulted ceiling arched above me, its vastness a reminder of how small we all were—that life was a mere flash in time.

An emptiness seized my chest as I realized I wouldn’t be asking Cormac about the wedding.

I wouldn’t be speaking to him again because of current-day Lorcan.

I needed to cut ties with all of them, even though I didn’t want to.

He and Rory made me feel like I belonged there, but that was a preposterous thought, especially when Lorcan didn’t want or love me.

I fought against the tears filling my eyes. How many people had stood at the front of these pews, hands clasped, hearts full, believing in forever? How many had walked out, shattered, realizing forever was a lie? Which group did Lady Isobel belong to?

I pulled in a deep breath as I walked out the front door, trying to steady my thundering heart.

The gray skies above me mirrored my emotions.

I pulled my jacket a little bit tighter and tugged my hood over my head.

The sky looked like it was going to open at any minute.

Part of me wished I were back in the spring sunshine in Australia.

The wind curled around me, damp and biting, an icy whisper against my skin.

I clenched my hands in my pockets, trying to chase away the chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

I found another cab that whisked me through the countryside to Harrowmont Hall.

The grand house rose four stories into the sky, the old stone a testament to everything it had seen.

I entered through the immense wooden doors, purchasing a ticket and finding a map.

It only took me a few minutes to make my way to the Duchesses Gallery.

I passed through the Long Hall, the portraits of the Dukes of Harrowmont glaring down on me as though I were not meant to be here, my presence an intrusion.

I walked into the Duchesses Gallery and skimmed the information on the map, learning the room was inspired by the Queens Gallery in Buckingham Palace.

I read through the brief biography of each woman on the map before locating their portrait on the wall.

My breath caught as I reread the list, my fingers tightening on the pamphlet.

It was as if she had been erased—as if she had never existed.

The years 1810-1812 were skipped with no portrait at all.

I went to the guide stationed near the doors.

“I’m curious,” I said. “Why is there no portrait of Lady Isobel Harrowmont?”

The woman blinked. “I’m surprised you’ve even heard of her.”

My pulse quickened. How much should I say? I studied her face as she looked back at me. Would she dismiss me, or would she help me? I took a deep breath, realizing this was possibly the only chance I would have to get this information.

“Lady Isobel was my direct ancestor. She was the Duchess of Harrowmont before she was transported to Australia, wasn’t she?”

The woman’s eyes grew wide. “She was the Dowager Duchess of Harrowmont as her husband had died. No one here knew that she went on to have children. We actually know very little about her. Her nephew disowned her after… everything. He removed all mention of her from the Harrowmont records as directed by her sentence. We don’t even have records of her trial.

All we have are his writings about what happened. ”

I tilted my head. “What do they say?”

“Her nephew was very distraught with the events—obviously. His mother pushed him to distance himself from the entire business, but he envied Aldric and Isobel because they had one of the few love marriages of the times.”

A warmth spread through my chest, and a smile tugged at my lips. They had been in love. “Really?”

She nodded. “When they married, King George the Third had already granted the special remainder so she would inherit the Barony of Blackcairn in her own right. Neither needed a political alliance, but that wasn’t so of the nephew.

He needed to be free of her and her delusions of vampires to make a good marriage. ”

“Is that why the Marquess of Dún Na Farraige was the only person to help her?”

“Again, we only have the journals of Lord Roger Harrowmont to go off, but the Marquess’s help was one issue. Lord Aldric died in quite a similar way to how Lord Cormac O’Cillian died as well.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Cormac?”

“Yes, he was the Marquess of Dún Na Farraige before Lorcan. He had also been a close ally of the Harrowmont family.”

My mind felt like it was bursting. Had the O’Cillian family kept the same names for a reason? “Did people think Lord Cormac died because of a vampire?”

“No, Lord Ashdowne and the new Marquess of Dún Na Farraige explained what had happened. As with Lord Aldric, there had been a stag hunt. But the stag fought back. Both of the fallen had their throats torn out by the beast’s antlers.”

I twisted my face into a grimace. “That’s awful.” I dropped my chin. “But Lord Ashdowne was there when Cormac O’Cillian died? The man whom Lady Isobel murdered?”

“Yes, the very same. The one she accused of being a vampire.”

I forced a smile. “There’s so much I wish I could learn, but it seems like most of it is buried in private papers.

” The thought gnawed at me. How many hands had worked to silence her?

What truth had they been so desperate to bury?

And less than forty years later, the O’Cillians themselves had disappeared.

The woman looked at the ceiling. “In 1810, there were rumors of vampires in Greece. They circulated furiously through the aristocracy first.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“They were the most well-traveled. From there, the rumors caught on with the commoners, resulting in the first modern vampire tales by 1816. A young woman like Isobel Blackcairn would have been right in the middle of it all.”

I dropped my eyes to the paper in my hands, which removed my ancestor’s existence from the hall. “Is there anything else in the journals?”

The woman pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I’m sorry, that’s all I know.”

I smiled at her. She had given me more information than I hoped to find. “Thank you for your help.”

“Absolutely,” the woman said.

I walked toward the front door under the watchful eyes of the Dukes, still accusing me of being where I didn’t belong. Where would I have been had Isobel never fallen under the delusion that a vampire killed her husband?