Accursed Abbey: A Steamy Regency Gothic Romance (Nobles & Necromancy Book 1) Page 2

  “I suppose they shall have to find us.” Elizabeth sat down on one of her trunks, and patted the other one to invite Lenore to sit with her.

  Lenore fingered a little rosary while they waited, and Elizabeth did not speak while the girl silently went through her recitation.

  She hoped this ritual would calm Lenore, for the girl sat so tensely that Elizabeth could hear her muscles creak, and the pretty little face that was faintly illuminated whenever the inn door opened and the lamplight poured out looked drawn and pale.

  When the girl was done her rosary, she sighed, and Elizabeth patted her arm. “All will be well. He will come. And if he is not yet here when my aunt and uncle arrive, I shall ask them to wait with us until he does.”

  Lenore's smile was a little thin, but she nodded gratefully. “Oh thank you. That is very kind.”

  Sensing the girl's anxiety, Silverloo crawled into her lap and licked her arm.

  “I am famished.” Elizabeth rose. “If you will watch our things and Silverloo, I shall go fetch us some bread and cheese from inside.”

  She did not have so very much money, but she sensed that Lenore had none, and she must also be hungry. The girl did not argue but looked a little sad.

  “I mean to treat you. True, you look so worn. I think a little sustenance will restore you.”

  When they sat, sharing a loaf of crusty bread and fresh goat cheese, the world did not seem quite so dark. Elizabeth amused Lenore by getting Silverloo to do little dances and tricks in exchange for his share of supper.

  In this way he made off with a good quarter of the food, though he was the tiniest member of the party. But he earned his bread, for Lenore finally smiled.

  “I do not have a direction for my new home. I wish I could give you one.” Lenore looked earnest.

  “I shall give you mine.” Elizabeth wrote it down in pencil on a page from her travel diary, as best she could in the sparse light. “There you are. Now you may find me, or at least write me a letter, when you are settled.”

  “I hope so. I shall not be half so afraid now that I know you are nearby.”

  Elizabeth left her things in Lenore's care as she went to take Silverloo for another quick walk. She did not like ambling about in the dark, but she did not want him to do anything untoward on the inn wall, so she took him to the rough grounds behind the inn.

  When he had peed, and she sensed that he was about to start chasing unspecified denizens of the shadows, she called him and turned back.

  They rounded the inn just in time to see Lenore walking with a man toward an inky black vehicle, so dark it seemed to be made of shadow. He must be Lenore’s guardian. Elizabeth could not make out much detail in the gloom, but he took Lenore's arm and appeared to propel her almost against her inclination toward the carriage.

  Elizabeth quickened her pace, for she wished at least to say goodbye to her new friend. But the man seemed in a hurry.

  When he loaded Lenore into the carriage, Elizabeth called out, “Wait!” Silverloo ran ahead of her.

  Surely he could not make them out in the shadows, but he turned to stare directly at her, as though he saw her.

  A chill penetrated Elizabeth's bones. She could feel the man's gaze upon her. Silverloo froze and emitted a low growl.

  The man turned away again and got into his carriage, which sped off into the night.

  Elizabeth's heart sank as she sat down once more upon her trunk. She wondered when her aunt and uncle might come for her. Silverloo crawled into her lap as the noise from the inn grew louder.

  She pulled her shawl about her. If only she had some light, she might read her novel while she waited. She had but one book with her, and she had been saving it, only reading in the most dull moments, in order to make it last. There was light inside the inn, but it did not seem an entirely respectable place.

  Just then another carriage pulled up. Elizabeth looked up hopefully, but it was not her aunt and uncle, only a young man, who stepped out and stretched wearily. He must be some nobleman, for there was a coat of arms upon his rig.

  Why did they never come for her? The inn door opened, and a pool of light and a cloud of drunken fumes streamed out into the courtyard. Three young men frisked and swaggered, looking utterly foxed and unjustifiably pleased with themselves.

  Then the door closed, and darkness reigned again. Elizabeth was not much accustomed to being around drunk men, but even those few encounters had always made her uncomfortable. And here, sitting alone in this dark, strange place, with only Silverloo for protection, she felt greatly uneasy.

  She sat still in the shadows, hoping that they would depart without taking notice of her.

  In fact, they did almost that. But in his drunken state, one of the men struck her trunk with his foot, and nearly tripped over her. He stank of days old sweat and liquor. Silverloo barked as the man swore in some foreign tongue—probably Italian or Friulian, so she supposed it was not really foreign in this place.

  He said something incomprehensible to her.

  “I am sorry, I do not speak Italian.” She looked straight ahead and tried to keep her voice from quavering.

  The other three men were now intrigued and swaggered over. They also spoke some incomprehensible words, and seemed to be joking amongst themselves. The first man, emboldened by this camaraderie, leaned in and said something leeringly to Elizabeth.

  His breath reeked and she turned her face away. Silverloo was now growling.

  “Please go away and leave me be. I should warn you, my dog bites.”

  The man reached to touch the curls sticking out of her straw bonnet, and missed, roughly stroking her cheek instead.

  Elizabeth yanked her head away. “Do not touch me!”

  Silverloo snarled menacingly.

  The man laughed and looked at the dog, then foolishly reached out again—only just retrieving his hand before Silverloo's little teeth snapped in the air where it had been.

  “For pity's sake, leave me!” Elizabeth cried out.

  The other men seemed to be interested in the sport, and they began to move in on her.

  Elizabeth grasped Silverloo and stood, making ready to run away.

  But suddenly the young man who had just arrived in the carriage pushed through the group of men, then turned to them, his broad, muscular back to Elizabeth.

  “You lot can clear off now.” His voice was commanding and strong, and he spoke English.

  The other men looked at him, then at Elizabeth. All but the one who had pawed at her face made to shuffle away.

  The remaining man said something, again in his native tongue, but in a sufficiently angry tone that the Englishman could infer a challenge from it. Her rescuer replied by drawing a sword.

  “It is usually a coward who conjures up the courage to accost a defenceless lady only when she is alone, and he has two men at his back. Prove me right and walk away now, or taste my sword.”

  Elizabeth's heart fluttered. He spoke so well, like a gentleman. Could he possibly have been sent by her aunt and uncle to fetch her?

  The drunken miscreant laughed and held up his hands in surrender, backing away. The three men made their way down the road, grumbling amongst themselves as they went. Not a minute later their merriment rang out again in raucous laughs and yells in the distant shadows.

  Elizabeth trembled and petted Silverloo, as much to calm herself as to coddle the dog.

  The young man turned to her. “Are you well? They did not hurt you?”

  She could not see much detail of his face, but she thought it pleasing, and his voice was kind.

  “No. They only frightened me. I am quite well. I must thank you, sir, for intervening.”

  “It was the least I could do for any defenceless woman being accosted by such worthless louts. But when I heard you spoke English, I knew I had to come to the aid of my fellow country-woman. To shirk such a duty would be a crime against the crown.”

  The smile in his voice warmed her. She stopped trembling.
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  “And what of this little knight?” he continued, gesturing at Silverloo. “He was very brave.”

  Silverloo's grin was wolfish as he cocked his head sideways to look inquiringly at the man.

  “This is Silverloo. He is my keeper in all things.”

  “Good to make your acquaintance, Mr. Silverloo. I am Mr.—” Her rescuer shook his head. “I mean to say, I am the Viscount Canterbourne. Do I ask too much, or will you be so kind as to introduce me to your mistress?”

  Elizabeth could not help beaming foolishly as she curtsied. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord. I am Miss Elizabeth Whitely.”

  “And may I ask how an English young lady and her four-footed champion should come to be standing out in this desolate inn courtyard in a remote part of Venetia—in a sparsely populated little spot in Friuli, of all places?”

  “Your lordship may ask it, and I should very much like to answer, but I can scarcely account for it myself. Only it was,” she looked down in some confusion, “the testamentary wish of my father that I should be entrusted to the care of my aunt and uncle until my twenty-first year, or until I marry. And they live near this place.”

  He looked around. “And where are they, then?”

  “I do not know. I must have arrived well over an hour ago. I had hoped they might be waiting for me.”

  “That seems a reasonable hope, if they are to be your guardians.”

  “But I do not even know what they look like.”

  “They are strangers to you?” He sounded surprised. “Have you no relatives in England?”

  “Yes, my lord, many. My mother's brother and his wife are my godparents, and live in the village where I lived all my life, until now.” She trailed off sadly.

  “Why send you away then? I cannot believe it.”

  “If I may say so, your lordship's consternation about these strange arrangements can be nothing to my own. I have had a long journey to contemplate what my father's reasoning might have been, and I cannot find any logic to it.”

  “And you made this trip alone? Did your aunt and uncle not even arrange a servant to attend you?” His voice held restrained indignation.

  She felt a pang of shame at his tone. “No, my lord. There was only Silverloo to attend me.” She scratched the little cluster of silver curls above the dog’s eyes. “Although there were a series of kindly older matrons travelling along the way. They took pity on me, and watched over me for the duration of their journeys. And I made a new friend, a young maiden who calmed me during the more frightening parts of the descent down the mountain.”

  “I am glad you inspired such kindness, at least in the hearts of strangers. I cannot believe anyone would leave you to make such a trip alone.”

  Elizabeth was surprised to hear so much concern in his voice. In her limited experience, most young noblemen were at least a little disinterested in the difficulties of strangers, and in many instances, so selfish and vain that they paid more heed to their attire than to even their nearest relatives.

  She had never before been overly religious, but she now felt convinced that someone must truly be watching out for her, to send such an angel as this to intervene on her behalf.

  “I hope I will not seem forward, Miss Whitely, but I propose to wait with you until such a time as your aunt and uncle arrive. My servants will be with us.”

  “Thank you, my lord. That is most kind. I shall feel much safer now.”

  “Only I am ravenous.” He looked doubtfully at the inn. The sounds emanating through the walls had grown even louder and more raucous. “Let me send a servant to fetch some food. For I think you will be safer out here.”

  When he walked away to address his man, his face was illuminated in the beams from the little inn window. The yellow glow crossed the angles of his face showing his strong features and lighting his tawny hair. He was very handsome.

  Elizabeth sat down on her trunk to wait, the feeling of abandonment that had gripped her when Lenore left now dissipating. At least she was not alone in this strange, dark world.

  Chapter 3

  Lord Canterbourne returned from his carriage with a blanket, a carriage candle, some wine and two mugs. For the first time on this accursed journey, he was enjoying himself. He hummed a little tune as he set up the rustic courtyard picnic, draping the blanket over one trunk to be their table.

  “Will it be acceptable if we share your trunk as our seat, if I promise to sit on the far side? Else I can happily fetch chairs from the inn.”

  “I think there will be plenty of space, my lord.” Elizabeth smiled playfully. “And I shall try not to elbow your lordship very much.”

  He laughed. She was sweet and charming, but he so wished to see her face out of this frightful gloom.

  The servants arrived with the food, serving each of them a mug of the wine he had retrieved from the carriage.

  “You brought wine with you to Venetia, my lord?” She inquired. “Is there not some local wine god who would be angered by the affront?”

  “No doubt, but this wine was procured in Treviso. How local can these gods be?” He grinned. “Besides, I am a Christian. My salvation goes out ahead of me and rousts out evil, evicting every bad spirit from my path.”

  He bit his tongue. He was accustomed to making over-blown speeches and thought they were amusing. But she was a stranger, unfamiliar with his humour, and he did not want to frighten her off or make her think him entirely irreligious.

  He relaxed a little when he heard her laughter in the darkness, like the tinkling of a fine silver bell that dispelled bad faeries.

  Then the servant lit the candle, at last, and he caught his breath at the vision of her incandescent smile, manifesting suddenly before him. The impression so made was permanently emblazoned on his mind's eye. His heart quickened.

  The other sweet features of the lady's face were equally entrancing. Her dark curls were wearied from travelling, but framed her pale skin and fine oval face beautifully. The candlelight added a special glimmer to her sparkling eyes and showed her long, inky lashes to best advantage.

  However, he could not make out whether her eyes were blue or green in the limited light. Before he thought the better of it, he asked dreamily, “What colour are your eyes?”

  “My eyes?” She looked a bit confused.

  He cursed himself as a beef-wit. “Forgive me, that was a crudely forward question.”

  “They are blue.” She said plainly, with a little shy smile that made him wish to kiss her curving lips. “But not heavenly ice blue—rather a pedestrian dark blue.”

  It was an odd thing for her to say. “And why should they be other than they are?”

  She shook her head. “No reason at all. Only the girl I met while travelling, Lenore has lovely blond curls and comely ice-blue eyes. A true beauty, though I think it is her sweet disposition that is fairest of all.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, meeting her eye, “a sweet disposition is more attractive than any point of physical beauty.”

  He thought she blushed then and looked down. He feared he would make her afraid with his forwardness. Only she was so lovely.

  He decided to change the subject. “Shall we not eat?”

  “Thank you, my lord. I find I am quite hungry again.”

  Silverloo made a little half-bark of agreement.

  Chapter 4

  It was, perhaps, the strangest repast of Elizabeth's life thus far, but also the most enchanting. Dining with a lord, alone by candlelight was such a novel and exciting experience. Even the shadowy perils of the unknown land around them lent to the romance of the tête-à-tête.

  So juxtaposed against danger, Lord Canterbourne’s strength, goodness and valour warmed her heart. And the vague sense that he was a little bit dangerous—being able to call forth a sudden streak of violence, all in the flash of a sword blade—warmed her everywhere else.

  She had only met with noblemen infrequently back home in England, just once or twice on the few occasi
ons when she visited London, and those lords were not nearly as amiable as this one. Nor were they half as exciting.

  She had never had a proper London season as a débutante, for her father was highly apprehensive about her falling into dissipated company. He was highly apprehensive about almost everything toward the end.

  She remembered him saying, in one of the extremely agitated spells that plagued him, “You know not of it, my child, for you have grown up as a simple country flower. But the London roses have thorns soaked in poison, concealed behind their fluttering foliage. Oh, and the London bees speak through mouths full of honey, but are well-tailored wasps! And that is just the polite company. There are devils there, real devils, I say!”

  “Have I said something wrong, Miss Whitely?” Lord Canterbourne's face was suddenly serious.

  In the candlelight he was a dream of masculine beauty, and his concern made her heart quiver with a pleasant scintillation. Or perhaps it was the wine, which was sweet and strong and insolent on the palate, so unlike the reserved French claret they drank back home.

  “No indeed, my lord. I was just enjoying the savour of the wine. It is so different from claret. You will think me an utterly provincial weed, but I have never had other red wine than claret.”

  His smile was all understanding. “You must not tell anyone, but until I made this trip, neither had I. I am not well-travelled, for all that I am a viscount. Outside of my education, I lived a comparatively retired life in the countryside, with occasional sojourns in Bath, until I succeeded my late father.” His face turned grim. “Then I went to live in his house in London.”

  Elizabeth looked puzzled, but forbore to inquire further, for it seemed an impertinent intrusion. But was he saying that he had not lived with his father? Why ever should that be? Surely she must have misunderstood.

  “You look puzzled. I quite understand. Like you, I have had a father with unusual reasoning, and perhaps undisclosed motives. And, like you, I am at a loss to account for his decisions. But it was his wish—nay, I must say his order, that after I was born, he would live apart from my mother and me.”