Page 55 of Vampire's Breath

I fought against the tears filling my eyes. How many people had stood at the front of these pews, hands clasped, hearts full, believing in forever? How many had walked out, shattered, realizing forever was a lie? Which group did Lady Isobel belong to?

I pulled in a deep breath as I walked out the front door, trying to steady my thundering heart. The gray skies above me mirrored my emotions. I pulled my jacket a little bit tighter and tugged my hood over my head. The sky looked like it was going to open at any minute. Part of me wished I were back in the spring sunshine in Australia. The wind curled around me, damp and biting, an icy whisper against my skin. I clenched my hands in my pockets, trying to chase away the chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

I found another cab that whisked me through the countryside to Harrowmont Hall. The grand house rose four stories into the sky, the old stone a testament to everything it had seen. I entered through the immense wooden doors, purchasing a ticket and finding a map. It only took me a few minutes to make my way to the Duchesses Gallery.

I passed through the Long Hall, the portraits of the Dukes of Harrowmont glaring down on me as though I were not meant to be here, my presence an intrusion. I walked into the Duchesses Gallery and skimmed the information on the map, learning the room was inspired by the Queens Gallery in Buckingham Palace. I read through the brief biography of each woman on the map before locating their portrait on the wall. My breath caught as I reread the list, my fingers tightening on the pamphlet. It was as if she had been erased—as if she had never existed. The years 1810-1812 were skipped with no portrait at all.

I went to the guide stationed near the doors.

“I’m curious,” I said. “Why is there no portrait of Lady Isobel Harrowmont?”

The woman blinked. “I’m surprised you’ve even heard of her.”

My pulse quickened. How much should I say? I studied her face as she looked back at me. Would she dismiss me, or would she help me? I took a deep breath, realizing this was possibly the only chance I would have to get this information.

“Lady Isobel was my direct ancestor. She was the Duchess of Harrowmont before she was transported to Australia, wasn’t she?”

The woman’s eyes grew wide. “She was the Dowager Duchess of Harrowmont as her husband had died. No one here knew that she went on to have children. We actually know very little about her. Her nephew disowned her after… everything. He removed all mention of her from the Harrowmont records as directed byher sentence. We don’t even have records of her trial. All we have are his writings about what happened.”

I tilted my head. “What do they say?”

“Her nephew was very distraught with the events—obviously. His mother pushed him to distance himself from the entire business, but he envied Aldric and Isobel because they had one of the few love marriages of the times.”

A warmth spread through my chest, and a smile tugged at my lips. They had been in love. “Really?”

She nodded. “When they married, King George the Third had already granted the special remainder so she would inherit the Barony of Blackcairn in her own right. Neither needed a political alliance, but that wasn’t so of the nephew. He needed to be free of her and her delusions of vampires to make a good marriage.”

“Is that why the Marquess of Dún Na Farraige was the only person to help her?”

“Again, we only have the journals of Lord Roger Harrowmont to go off, but the Marquess’s help was one issue. Lord Aldric died in quite a similar way to how Lord Cormac O’Cillian died as well.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Cormac?”

“Yes, he was the Marquess of Dún Na Farraige before Lorcan. He had also been a close ally of the Harrowmont family.”

My mind felt like it was bursting. Had the O’Cillian family kept the same names for a reason? “Did people think Lord Cormac died because of a vampire?”

“No, Lord Ashdowne and the new Marquess of Dún Na Farraige explained what had happened. As with Lord Aldric, there had been a stag hunt. But the stag fought back. Both of the fallen had their throats torn out by the beast’s antlers.”

I twisted my face into a grimace. “That’s awful.” I dropped my chin. “But Lord Ashdowne was there when Cormac O’Cillian died? The man whom Lady Isobel murdered?”

“Yes, the very same. The one she accused of being a vampire.”

I forced a smile. “There’s so much I wish I could learn, but it seems like most of it is buried in private papers.” The thought gnawed at me. How many hands had worked to silence her? What truth had they been so desperate to bury? And less than forty years later, the O’Cillians themselves had disappeared.

The woman looked at the ceiling. “In 1810, there were rumors of vampires in Greece. They circulated furiously through the aristocracy first.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“They were the most well-traveled. From there, the rumors caught on with the commoners, resulting in the first modern vampire tales by 1816. A young woman like Isobel Blackcairn would have been right in the middle of it all.”

I dropped my eyes to the paper in my hands, which removed my ancestor’s existence from the hall. “Is there anything else in the journals?”

The woman pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I’m sorry, that’s all I know.”

I smiled at her. She had given me more information than I hoped to find. “Thank you for your help.”

“Absolutely,” the woman said.

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