Page 7 of Bride of the Fae Duke

The last two maids parted before her, revealing the entrance hall beyond.

She faltered.

She ought to keep talking – sheknewshe ought to when she felt Anne stiffen beside her, heard the catch of her little sister’s breath. But the space before her swallowed the words before they’d even left her lips, and for a heartbeat and a half she could only stand and stare – stare and feel the boulder sink and sink and sink into the deepest pits of her stomach.

This was not the grand duke’s home she had envisioned.

This was nothing,nothinglike the warm, inviting space that welcomed visitors into the stately mansion where Lord and Lady Eyestone spent their days.

The hall was long and narrow and strangely dusky. Even the summer light outside did little to penetrate the gloom. There was no dust, no trace of cobwebs on the crystal chandelier, and yet the air felt stale and hollow, as if it had been years since a fresh breeze had last breathed through the front entrance. All the doors along the corridor were drawn shut. The six paintings on the walls had been covered up with black velvet drapes, the heavy fabrics uncannily similar to the robes of funeral mourners.

Sixpaintings.

She shivered.

A bouquet of cornflowers on an oak side table was the only visible attempt to brighten the atmosphere. Somehow, their sharp contrast to the black and white floor tiles only heightened the icy sense of foreboding that suffused the hall.

It was like stepping into the dark grey of a dreary winter morning. Like walking straight into an empty tomb – as if LordLocke had interred himself along with the six wives he’d laid in their graves.

At the front door behind them, the maids and footmen were still rushing back and forth, even their voices strangely muted. Nellie could no longer tell if it was the gloom of the house or the fog sinking over her own panicked thoughts that seemed to swallow every last sprinkle of sound. Sweet Mother Ostara, this was where she was forcing Anne to spend the next few months of her life? This was the duchess’s existence she’d been promised?

And this …

This was where her child would grow up?

She’d hardly dared to spend a single thought on him yet, the boy she’d have to bring into the world – had vaguely, hopefully, assumed Locke had a plan to make sure his heir would be taken care of, even with a mother who would be little more than a hired womb. But the sight of this hall made it suddenly urgent, the vision of a small blue-haired toddler running up those steep, narrow stairs …

She swallowed, tasting gall.

What in the world had she gotten herself into?

‘Nell?’ Anne whispered, voice wobbling on the edge of tears. ‘Nell, do you really think—’

A door slammed above their heads.

And a warm, male voice boomed, ‘Ah, Lady Locke!’

The owner of said voice appeared at the top of the stairs a moment later, hurrying down with a vigour that seemed oddly out of place in this macabre environment – a tall, slender gentleman with ruddy brown hair and the sort of grin that made him look perpetually apologetic. He was all energetic motion as he jumped down the last steps, shook Nellie’s hand, then turned to her sister and added with equal zeal, ‘And you are Miss Anne, I presume? Absolutelywonderful. My name is Walford, Peregrine Walford, steward of the Locke family. Othrys sent meto show you the way to your rooms – if you could just follow me upstairs …’

Othrys.

A fae name. Nellie hadn’t even known it until the ceremony that morning, when the high priest had first addressed her husband-to-be; Lady Eyestone had visibly shivered at the inhuman sound of it.

Nellie gestured for Anne to go up the stairs first, just in case her sister slipped – she’d be unable to break her fall one-handedly. Walford seemed to catch that line of thinking without missing a beat and positioned himself behind the girl as she began to climb, visibly bracing himself to catch her whenever he might need to.

On this dismal morning, that small show of consideration was enough to make the tears sting behind Nellie’s eyes.

Anne did not slip, and they reached the next floor safely, arriving in a shadowy passage that managed to be impossibly gloomier than the hall they’d left behind. Curiously, it seemed that someone had made a start at redecorating the walls, then stopped midway; about two thirds of the corridor were covered in a deep purple that had been fashionable ten years ago, whereas the section opposite the stairs had been replaced with a more modern, flowery motif that strongly resembled the style Lady Eyestone preferred. An initiative of one of the duchesses, presumably. And then when the poor woman had died …

For what had to be the fifteenth time that day, Nellie suppressed a cold shudder.

Walford’s quick glance of understanding as he opened the door to the left suggested he had noticed it, too.

The corridor through the back wing of the houseshouldhave been a cheerful one, lined with shelves clearly intended to display a colourful collection of exotic trinkets and other curiosities; unfortunately, however, the items in question hadbeen unceremoniously packed away in rough wooden crates, which now balanced on the top shelf, allowing little more than glimpses of the treasures inside. The other shelves were empty, pale spots on the wood the only trace of the past.

On the far side of the passage, shutters were half-closed over the only window. To keep out the summer heat, presumably, but the resulting lighting was dim and greyish, casting long shadows over the spotless wooden floor.

Walford interrupted her observations. ‘These will be your rooms, Lady Locke.’ He gestured at the door to his left. It stood ajar. ‘Your bags have already been placed inside. And I thought Miss Anne might prefer to sleep close to you, so we have prepared this room for her to stay in.’ He hurried to the next door with that energetic step, pushed it open, and cast a look inside. ‘I’m afraid it’s a little bare, but we did our best to add some cosy touches. Of course, we’ll have plenty of time to adjust it to your preferences …’

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