Page 8 of Bride of the Fae Duke

Of course.

He had to know, didn’t he, that she might not have all that much time in the end?

‘That … that is really very kind of you,’ Nellie managed to say, once again mortifyingly close to tears. Since when did she cry over such small kindnesses? ‘We’ll let you know if there’s anything else we need.’

‘Please do, Lady Locke. Anything you may think of.’ His rueful smile faltered as he met her eyes – oh yes, he knew very, very well that he may be standing at her grave within months. ‘You can usually find me in my office on the next floor, second door to the right. You too, of course, Miss Anne.’

‘Thank you,’ Anne murmured, audible only because of the stifling quiet of the townhouse.

With a last nod, the steward strode out and left them alone, his footsteps on the stairs a little less energetic now. Nellie forced abrave smile, pointed at her sister’s open door, and said, ‘Shall we take a look?’

The room wasn’t large, and it gave the impression it had been out of use for a while. But someone had spread a plush pink quilt over the bed, and a vase of fresh wildflowers stood on the bedside table; on the small desk, a pile of history and fairytale books lay waiting to be explored. It wasn’t enough to make one overlook the pale squares of removed paintings on the moss green walls entirely … but at the very least, it didn’t evoke visions of funeral ceremonies either, and with a few prints on the wall and a cosy chair or two, it could turn into something quite passable.

‘There you go,’ Nellie said as Anne remained quiet, aiming for upbeat and falling just short. ‘That will do for now, won’t it?’

Her little sister stepped into the room, plopped down on the bed, and glared at her – a look that tore straight through all pretences of light-heartedness. ‘I’m not an idiot, Nell.’

Not a good start. ‘Of course you aren’t, but—’

‘You don’t like this place either,’ Anne interrupted brusquely – nothing like her, to be so blunt about her likes and dislikes. Her left hand balled into a fist in the pink quilt; the stump of her right wrist looked like it would have followed suit if it had been able to. ‘Can’t we go back to Eyestone Manor? At least Lord Eyestone never killed anyone.’

‘I married Locke,’ Nellie said, fighting the urge to close her eyes and crumple onto the floorboards.Marriedhim – why hadn’t she run from the Temple screaming, to hell with his money and promises and his bloody cheekbones? ‘And either way, I thought you believed the curse killed his other wives?’

Anne gave a little huff. ‘That was before I’d seen his house.’

‘I’m sure a curse is perfectly capable of ruining one’s atmosphere, if it’s capable of killing people,’ Nellie said firmly. ‘And either way, I told you it doesn’t make sense for him to havekilled them. So I’ll be perfectly fine, and this will all be just for a few months, and then …’

Then we’ll be free.

It felt dangerous to even speak the words out loud. She’d seen the numbers in her wedding contract: more money per year than she’d ever dreamed of possessing in all her life.

‘Yes,’ Anne admitted, and her round face was truly darkening now, ‘but in the meantime you’ll have to … to …’

Bed him.

That sentence, too, felt too dangerous to finish. As if Nellie wasn’t excruciatingly aware of it herself, the night rushing closer with every breath she took: those large hands the priest had bound with hers, moving on her body, on—

‘I’ll be just fine,’ she made herself say, squeezing a smile onto her face. ‘I wasn’t holding out for love anyway, and this man is no worse than any of the others walking around in this city. So consider it from the bright side – whenyouinevitably fall for some penniless poet, at least we’ll have the means to feed the both of you now.’

Anne didn’t laugh. ‘Nell …’

‘Not another word of it,’ Nellie sternly interrupted. ‘You should have a look at those books. I’ll go inspect my room and unpack my bags, and then we’ll have dinner together. I’m sure the food will make up for most of Locke’s behaviour.’

Her sister seemed sceptical, but Nellie didn’t wait for objections: one or two more of them and her desperate shield of optimism might fold like wet paper. With a last smile, she hurried out, shut the door behind her, and made for the other room Walford had pointed out. Just a few minutes in solitude to gather her wits. Just a single space, no matter how small, that she could callhersin this strange new world in which she’d trapped herself – surely that wouldn’t be too much to ask?

She swung open the door, then froze on the doorstep.

There was nothing ominous about the room. Nothing that suggested its last six inhabitants had one by one died an untimely death – nothing that suggested the same fate might await her.

Really, the room didn’t look likeanything.

Not cosy. Not dark. Not sumptuous or austere … There was a bed, a desk, a dresser. A little seat by the windows and a narrow door that would presumably lead to a dressing room. But nothing,nothingbetween these four blue walls carried even the faintest personality: no art, no flowers, not a splash of colour. Only her own bags lay small and abandoned at the foot of the bed, waiting for her to unpack them.

Although she should probably ring for someone else to unpack them, being Lady Locke and all – she couldn’t help a cheerless little laugh at that thought.

The floor felt unsteady beneath her feet as she wandered inside, feeling like a ghost already, an intruder in a place she did not belong. The room felt like it could swallow her whole. Just like it seemed to have swallowed the six previous Ladies Locke, wiped every trace of their existence off the walls, and left only the haunting, incomplete stories of their deaths … Curse or murder, it suddenly no longer seemed to matter.

Either way, they were gone.

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