Page 1 of A Lady's Wicked Revenge
Chapter 1
Bound by Blood
The night was rent asunder with a cacophony of splintering wood, crunching metal, and terrified screams. Glass rained through the air like a thousand glittering daggers and the wail of dying horses mingled with all too human shrieks.
“William!”
That was the only word she could detect among the noise from her helpless position. She saw every detail as clear as day, as though from every angle at once.
“William! Help me!”
She twisted and struggled but felt herself held back from the scene of the ruined carriage by shadowy, unseen hands. Blood filled the air, filled her mouth to stifle her screams as she wrenched herself in place in an effort to run to the aid of the poor souls who were dying before her eyes.
Another sound from over her shoulder. She twisted herself to peer in that direction and saw, as she shook her head in mute agony, another carriage flying end over end before exploding into a twisted wreck of blood and black iron. It caught fire as a lamp met dry wood, and like a matchstick, the wreckage turned into a vibrant orange inferno.
“William!”
Another collision, this time from the other direction. Then another she could not see, and another. The screams grew louder and bled into an inhuman chorus of pain. She could not shut her ears, could not cover her eyes, or run away. When she opened her mouth to scream, she felt the insubstantial penumbral bonds leap into her throat and choke her.
“No!”
With a pained cry that issued from the deepest part of herself, Diana threw herself forward. As ever, the vigour of her awakening was overmatched by the serenity of her surroundings. She fought to draw in one shuddering breath after another, and her nightly visitation receded once more into nothing more or less than the usual pall of dread that never lifted from her.
Diana blinked, looking around and trying to put together a coherent picture of where she was.The painting of Grandfather,she thought with a chill, her eyes roving over unfamiliar furnishings.It’s gone! And where’s my lamp, the one Father brought me from …?
All at once, her faculties returned to her. Diana sighed deeply, more despondent than relieved.Uncle James’ house. Of course. The same as yesterday, and the day before.
“Stupid girl,” she muttered, unclenching her fingers from the bedclothes. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and gingerly set her bare white feet on the elegant if threadbare rug. She rubbed her eyes, breathing in the stale air of the small bedroom that had been her home for these last three weeks.
Diana’s eyes fluttered back open. They flitted from one hateful detail of the room to the next—from drab, dusty curtains to an insultingly childish music box to the shabby armoire where the few clothes she was allowed were kept. Her eyes narrowed, infuriated at how … normal it was all becoming to her. She knew there was nothing really wrong with any of it. Not really, anyway. It would have been a perfectly nice room for a perfectly nice young woman.
But it wasn’t supposed to be Diana’s. She was supposed to be at her home, and her parents were supposed to be alive.
Sometimes I wonder if it would not be better to remain in a dream for the rest of my days rather than wake and face the terrors of this wretched world of ours,thought Diana with what was quickly becoming a familiar sense of misery. She shook at the thought; her mind shot through with vivid memories of the carriage wreck that came upon her each night.Come to think of it, perhaps waking is a kindness, compared to having to seethatevery time I close my eyes …
A sudden, jarring sound echoed through the chamber, once again setting Diana’s heart racing. She shrank from the sound, the primitive part of her brain sending electric fear through her limbs. It took her an eternity that lasted all of a second to realise there was someone gently knocking on the door.
“W–what do you …that is, ah, yes, come in!” Diana called, words slipping from her as though she were trying to take hold of the very air.
For God’s sake, Diana, pull yourself together!she thought, putting a hand to her chest as though willing her heart to slow its flight.
The door slid open quietly, revealing a ruby-red nose and a kindly smile. “Good morning, Missus Fessler,” said Diana in as calm a voice as she could muster.
The matronly old woman answered this greeting with a curt nod and a mutteredtut-tut-tut. As ever, Missus Fessler hardly slowed her awkward shuffling stride from the moment she walked into the room, throwing open the curtains and picking linens from the floor even as she sang her melancholy song.
“More nightmares, I expect, Miss Diana, what a pity. I told Sir James that he must have a word with Mister Davenport about a sleeping draught or the like, you know, but he must not have had the time. And I know for a fact that George downstairs, in the kitchen—you know George, you must, with the port-wine stain on his neck? He has a bottle of something that he always shares with me whenever I catch a sniffle, and I’m sure it would do wonders for helping you sleep. But then, I suppose you don’t have much call to talk to young George, do you? Ah, more’s the pity.”
Despite the rock-hard lump of sorrow that stayed in its cold nest in Diana’s breast, she could not help smiling at the old housekeeper’s prattle. The woman’s capacity to talk truly seemed to be endless, but Diana still felt grateful for the crumbs of sympathy Missus Fessler never failed to scatter in her presence.
With a start, Missus Fessler stopped before Diana and looked at her as though for the first time, consternation on her face. “Well, just look at us, chatting the whole morning away like a couple of empty-headed hens! And with you having slept half the morning away! Don’t mistake me; it’s good to see you sleeping soundly, or at least late. But not today of all days, when you’re expected in Sir James’ study in a quarter of an hour!”
Diana grimaced. Ever since he had been named as her guardian, Uncle James always seemed to have some expectations or other for where she was to go and what she needed to do. “I thought I would break my fast here in my room for a change. Surely Uncle James can survive a meal without me,” she said glumly. A twinge of pain shot through her shoulder, and Diana reached back to rub it—her nightmares tended to leave her sore from hours of thrashing about and clenching her muscles, she found.
Missus Fessler gave her a wry expression. “I can’t say as I blame you, Miss Diana. Not sure I could stomach my own breakfast in Sir James’ company, not that you heard me tell you any such thing.” Diana giggled at this quip. “Only you and your digestion will have to wait until tomorrow for that. Your uncle has someone for you to meet.”
“What’s that?” Diana asked, trying to keep the dread out of her voice. “Uncle James didn’t mention any such meeting to me.”
There was a flash of pity in Missus Fessler’s eyes. She sighed, her stout body deflating. “Of course he didn’t,” she grumbled, turning to withdraw clothing from Diana’s armoire. “No need to say anything to Miss Diana, sir, of course not. It’s not as though she might have any opinion on how or when she might want to be introduced to Mister Dunn … or whether at all she even—”
