Page 40 of Her Wily Duke

He didn’t know – sometimes even he felt as if his mother’s ghost haunted Darkmire Abbey – no doubt keeping company with ghosts from centuries past, if all of the old tales held even a grain of truth.

Truth.

That was something which he had come to realise had rarely been connected with Darkmire Abbey, although he did cling to the – possibly foolish – belief that his father had told him the truth of the things which had happened when Benedict was too young to really understand.

He had resolved to change things where he could, to lift the darkness from the place somehow. It was a resolution in which he had, in his three years as Duke so far, singularly failed.

If anything, rumour had painted it darker in that time.

And now, he was going to marry, to bring an innocent young woman into the darkness.

He needed a wife. Had longed for a wife to lighten his days, but had near given up hope of marrying – the long shadow of the reputation of Darkmire Abbey had frightened off all but the most painfully undesirable young women of the ton. Then Hazelworth had written to him, and Benedict had rather precipitately agreed to what the man proposed.

Hazelworth was a neighbour, although a relatively distant one, and had been one of his father’s few friends. Benedict had almost forgotten that the man had a daughter, until last year, when she had been visible in London for precisely a month, before fleeing back to the country in the face of the disdain of the ton.

There had been rumours about her being ill mannered, and directly rebuffing the approaches of any and all gentlemen, but he had considered those with the same degree of dubiousness as he regarded the rumours about himself. Surely, she could not be that bad, he had told himself.

She was certainly visibly attractive enough, and Hazelworth’s promise that Hazelworth Hall would go to her made her appealing in more ways than the physical. Last week, when he had gone to Hazelworth Hall to spend some time with Lady Ariana, he had been a little shocked, for she had looked sullen and puffy-eyed, as if she had just been crying. The air had crackled with tension and Benedict had felt the odd sensation that a fight had just taken place.

But she had been polite, if distant, and simply agreed with everything he said, as if she did not care at all, about anything. He had pushed his uncertainty aside – the marriage contracts were signed, and he would do as he had agreed to do.

Hazelworth, it seemed, was dying – his racking cough and pale complexion had been evidence enough that he was ailing, and although Lady Hazelworth had not said anything, Benedict had been aware of her watching her husband carefully. That imminence of his own mortality had apparently driven the man to arrange a match for his daughter.

Hazelworth had led Benedict away into an adjoining room, out of sight of the woman he would soon be marrying, and spoken quietly.

“I wanted to thank you again for making this arrangement on such short notice. The property will become my daughter’s – and therefore yours - on my death, so within a few months you’ll be the master of Hazelworth Hall. I just ask that you get married soon, so that I can attend the wedding.”

“How soon were you thinking?” Benedict had asked, for the contracts had dealt with conditions, and money, not dates.

“Within the next week or two. If it’s quite convenient, of course – I have already sent to arrange a special license.”

“I don’t see any reason to put it off.” In a lower voice Benedict added, “And you’re sure that Lady Ariana has no objections?”

“No, none at all, Your Grace” Hazelworth had said, a little too quickly, now that Benedict considered it in hindsight. “Ariana likes to think of herself as unique and special, but she’s no different from any other girl in this respect: she dreams of marrying a handsome young Lord such as yourself. She always has.”

Benedict had nodded, accepting the man’s word – but now, as the moment of marriage approached, he asked himself if he should have.

That Benedict had only actually spoken to Lady Ariana for the first time after the marriage contracts had been signed had not seemed out of place – in the ton, arranged marriages were most common. But now, as he made his way downstairs to take the short carriage journey to Hazelworth Hall, he wondered again if he was making a mistake.

What if the marriage made her miserable? What would he do?

***

Ariana was proud of herself. She had managed it without either bursting into tears or erupting in angry denial. But now she was married. The very idea made her shiver with a combination of fear and despair.

His Grace of Darkmire was handsome – that she had to admit – but he seemed brooding, and perhaps as dark of nature as the rumours suggested he might be. The Lord of the Darkness, the locals called him, in whispers – before they went on to whisper about his father having been the same, forbidding, and reclusive, and about his mother’s untimely death and possible madness.

That she was now married to such a man was frightening, especially as her father had so blithely waved off those rumours, and told her that she should be pleased. The only thing about it all which might be even a little pleasing was that she was out of her father’s house, out of his domineering control – but perhaps the man who now held her fate in his hands could be worse?

She had no way to tell, and she was alone – not even the maid who had been with her most of her life was there to reassure her, for Milly had been required to stay on at Hazelworth Hall, to attend to Lady Hazelworth.

Her father had simply told her that there would be a maid for her at Darkmire Abbey.

As the carriage rumbled over the hard-packed earth, carrying her towards her new home, she squeezed herself against the corner of the carriage seat and the door, diagonally opposite His Grace – her husband! – and stared out of the window at the familiar fields passing by.

Perhaps, if she ignored him, he would leave her alone – at least until they arrived at Darkmire Abbey.

After that, she had no idea how she would go on – beyond being determined to avoid her responsibilities as a wife for as long as possible.