Rain was supposed to be bad luck on a wedding day.
I thought about this as I paced in my room, clad in a white and gold dress that cost more than most people made in a single year. It had elbow-length sleeves and a high collar in back, a collar that plunged into a low neckline in front—daring for a morning wedding, but Mr. Markham had wanted the design and I frankly didn’t care. And a secret part of me had to admit it was delightful to wear such a beautiful dress. It sparkled and glinted and rustled, the thick drapes and folds of the skirt making me feel like a princess out of a long-ago tale.
Of course, no princess had an attendant quite as annoying as I’d managed to acquire. Mrs. Harold, the rector’s wife, had shown up this morning, fluttering her eyelashes and telling me how she just knew I wouldn’t have anyone to help me get ready and how that was such a crime.
And what could I do? I didn’t have anybody to help me dress, and as tiresome as I found her, I did need the help with the elaborate gown and with my hair.
“You look like a vision,” she told me, handing me a lacy gold shawl to drape from my elbows. “Mr. Markham will be so taken.”
“Mm.” It was hard to focus, hard to concentrate. Today was so permanent, so final, and it felt strange to make such a move when I still felt uncertain about so much. I watched Mrs. Harold’s cerulean dress swirl around her feet as she went back to the chair she’d been sitting on. She had very large feet for such a slender woman.
“He’s a difficult man to please,” Mrs. Harold said. “Aren’t you worried about what your marriage will be like?”
I was still staring at the hem of her dress, swaying and lifting as she sat, her long pointed shoes exposed. “No,” I said distractedly. “I’m not worried.” Something was fitting itself together in my mind, something she had told me weeks ago. And I was an idiot for not seeing it before.
“Mrs. Harold?” I asked. “Didn’t you tell me that you had heard about Mr. Markham laughing when he found Violet’s body?”
She blinked at the abruptness of the question, and I watched with interest as her eyes slid away from my face to the corner of the room. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, the servants saw it. But, my dear, isn’t it a little late to be worrying about all this? You’re due at the church in an hour.”
“But the servants didn’t see it.” I stepped closer to her, her position on the chair creating a height difference that obviously made her uncomfortable. I stared down at her, at her pretty if shrewish features. “You saw it, didn’t you? It was you at the edge of the field. Your footprints in the frost.”
She opened her mouth and then closed it. Mrs. Harold, at a loss for words. But I didn’t have time to marvel. “I saw the sketches of the footprints at the police station,” I told her. “The feet so large they suspected they belonged to a man. But they belonged to you, didn’t they? The question is, why were you there? And why did you lie?”
She stood suddenly, her face white and pinched. “You listen to me,” she hissed. “You are about to marry a dangerous man. You have no idea the things he’s done, the things he’s willing to do—he is beyond vicious. He is evil.”
She took a breath. “Yes, I was there,” she finally admitted. “I was leaving the house early, and I saw him walking out from the stables. At first, I thought he was looking for Violet—he was calling her name and running, but then I knew that he must have known what happened, because he ran straight for where Raven was standing. Straight for where Violet’s body was. And there was no way I would tell him I saw—I knew how violent he was. Who knows what he would have done to me?” Her voice was high-pitched and strange, and there was more than fear in it, there was experience, somehow.
I had to know. “Did he really laugh?”
“No.” Her eyes met mine. “He howled. Like a beast.”
“So you lied.” I don’t know why I was angry that the town gossip had lied—it was like being angry that a hawk had eaten a rabbit. But still, on Julian’s behalf, I felt furious.
Her chin tipped upward defiantly. “The essence of it is true—he didn’t care that Violet had died. He wanted to hurt her. You have no idea how much he wanted her to suffer. He loved it when she cried. When she begged. His howl could have been a howl of victory, not of grief.”
“You don’t know these things,” I said. “How could you?”
“Oh, I know.” And for some reason, she was crying now. “And you do too. Let me ask you, Miss Leavold, has he ever treated you in a way that society would consider unacceptable? Has he ever made you afraid? Has he ever shown desire at the sight of your fear?”
“I—” Yes. The answer was yes. But I couldn’t answer.
“Congratulations on your nuptials, Miss Leavold. You are marrying a monster, and what’s worse, you’re doing it knowing full well that you’ve been warned. Don’t expect me to come to your funeral too.”
I was the one who sat now, unable to speak, as Mrs. H
arold left without saying a goodbye.
Thirty minutes later, and I was waiting for Gareth to pull the carriage around for me, so I could join my future husband at the church. My hands were shaking. Shaking hard.
Was I ready for this? Could I be ready for this? Mrs. Harold had shaken me deeply. Has he ever shown desire at the sight of your fear?
Yes.
But I had also felt desire in conjunction with my fear, so what did that make me? Was I a monster like he was? He was no gentleman, but I was no lady. Ladies didn’t crave the things I craved.
No. I had made my choice three weeks ago in the lane to Stokeleigh. I’d decided to stay, decided to trust that I was safe. Decided to trust that whatever happened the night Violet died, Mr. Markham at least hadn’t been the one to directly take her life. And that had to count for something, a small weight to bear against my ever-present doubts.
Besides, I thought as I turned and made my way downstairs, Mr. Markham had showed me nothing but passion, love, devotion, generosity, and domination. All things I needed. He’d taken me into his home, into his bed, protected me, and was even trying to make an honorable woman out of me by offering me his hand in marriage. There was nothing about him in our time together that indicated he would hurt me, at least in a way I didn’t want. He had even promised to tell me the truth—and let me leave if that truth became too much.
