Page 9 of Bride of the Fae Duke

Like she might soon vanish, too, if she had misjudged this game even the slightest bit.

With a sharp shake of her head, she paced to the windows, hoping a glimpse of the city basking in its golden summer light would dispel some of this morbid brooding. Hell, wasn’t she supposed to be the sensible, practical one here? But even the garden below seemed to be conspiring to add to her creeping unease … Weeks away from midsummer, the grounds should have been in full bloom. Instead, most of the plants looked as dead and dreary as the rest of the house; the few flowers thathad blossomed from the tangled, muddled green did so almost apologetically. Bad soil, perhaps? But on either side of the townhouse, the neighbours’ gardens were bursting with colour as far as the eye could see.

Which suggested this was just neglect again, wilful or otherwise. Or would a curse be capable of killing flowers, too, if it could kill human beings so easily?

She had no idea. She hadn't believed in the damn thing until yesterday, and she still wasn't entirely sure whether she did believe in it now – divines help her, why had she agreed to come here at all before she understood what forces the duke of Locke was playing with?

Her breath was quickening. Hell take her, there had to be something more innocent to think about. Something that didn’t remind her of death. The dressing room – how bad could a dressing room be?

She paced away from the windows, drawing deep breaths. The narrow door opposite the bed was locked, but the key protruded invitingly from the hole – a heavy, cast-iron thing the size of her forearm, the type of key one would expect in a Karwaldian castle rather than an Elidian townhouse. It turned easily despite its weight, and when she yanked at the door, it opened without a creak, revealing …

She gasped.

Herethey were.

Locke’s wives may have been scrubbed meticulously from the bedroom itself … but there was no erasing the six dead women from the racks and shelves of dresses they’d worn, the shoes, the gloves, the ribbons. The clothes seemed to buzz with untold stories, the personalities of their owners woven into every thread and stitch, every inch of lace and silk and satin. There, to the left, the belongings of a practical, businesslike wife, who’d worn simple dresses and good, sturdy boots. Next to her, a wife whomust have loved travelling, or at least the notion of the faraway: exotic Issian motifs decorated her hems and collars, and were those snake-leather gloves there on the shelf above her gowns?

Oh, sweet divines, this was far, far worse than the garden.

Nellie stood paralysed, unable to look away, unable to stop seeing. An extravagant coat with mink sleeves, belonging to a lady who kept up with the latest fashions … A wide range of playful, flowery dresses, hinting at a lady who did not care about the dominant trend of stately and elegant styles …

Dead.

They were alldead.

She staggered back, air tattering in her throat. The dresses did not move, and yet it seemed as though they were following, whispers seeping into the bedroom. Warning her. Reminding her.We stood where you once stood, girl, as alive as you are, and look what’s left of us now …

Out.Out.

Her thoughts were a pounding drum. Damn the cheerful pretences and the calming down – there was no more sense in attempting to reassuring herself, in trying to close her eyes to the bitter truth. She had to understand the rules of this game and understand themnow. If she gambled wrong, if she played even one bad hand, it would be her humble pile of dresses added to those shelves in two months.

But she couldn’t let Anne see her in this state …

Anything, Walford had said.

She barged out of the room and up the stairs, almost flinging herself through the second door on the right as she knocked.

Chapter 4

‘Ah,LadyLocke,’Walfordwarmly greeted her from behind his desk, then narrowed his eyes and shoved his paperwork aside as she stumbled in. ‘Are you well?’

She was not well.

Lady Locke.How odd was it for him to address yet another woman by that same title, after all the others he must have known?

‘Thank you,’ she managed, clinging to her good manners with every last ounce of composure she could marshal. For once, she was grateful for Mrs. Radcliffe’s strict training; her shoulders straightened themselves at the thought of the old housekeeper’s reprimands, and her voice came out steadier than she felt. ‘I … I just had a small shock, that’s all. Could I ask you a few questions?’

‘But of course.’ He hurriedly stood up and removed a pile of cash books from the chair on her side of the desk, long legs tangling in his haste. ‘Please take a seat. Could I get you a glass of water, perhaps? You ought to drink a good deal in this heat.’

Nellie shook her head, clutching the doorframe, attempting to catch her breath. How ghastly did she look, for him to make such a fuss about her? Although she was a duchess now – perhaps people just fussed over duchesses all the time, regardless of the state they were in? ‘None of that, thank you. I’ll be fine in a moment.’

‘I’m glad to hear,’ he said, sounding unconvinced. ‘May I ask what caused your distress, or …’

‘Oh yes. Yes.’ She sat down, wrestling with the words on her lips. Away from the dresses, in this small room full of leather and parchment, her reckless flight was starting to seem increasingly foolish as her heart slowed down. ‘I … I mostly did not expect to find the dresses of Lord Locke’s previous wives in my dressing room.’

Walford froze.

‘Just a small oversight, I presume,’ Nellie hastily added, her voice climbing. ‘But if they could be stored elsewhere, I—’

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