The Dark Viscount

Uncertain whether she was being pursued, Sydony raced through the rooms towards the front of the house, flung open the door and, without even blinking, launched herself at the man who was standing there.

‘Barto!’

Halted by his tall form, Sydony breathed his name against the soft lapel where she buried her face. A vague memory of security blossomed into a reassuring sense of safety. It was no wonder, for the hard body she clung to was as strong and solid as an oak. It smelled good, too, like horses and leather and something else. She had never noticed Barto’s scent before…but then she hadn’t been this close to him in years.

The Dark Viscount

Deborah Simmons

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A former journalist, DEBORAH SIMMONS turned to fiction after a love of historical romances spurred her to write her own, HEART’S MASQUERADE, which was published in 1989. She has since written more than twenty-five novels and novellas, among them a USA TODAY bestselling anthology and two finalists in the Romance Writers of America’s annual RITA® competition. Her books have been published in 26 countries, including illustrated editions in Japan, and she’s grateful for the support of her readers throughout the world.

With thanks to my fellow author Terri Valentine for her support, encouragement, and friendship.

Chapter One

Sydony watched dark clouds skitter across the sky with a wary eye, aware that the approaching storm made for an ominous arrival at their new home. The heavens seemed bigger out here, the elements of nature more powerful, or perhaps it was just the strangeness of the countryside that gripped her as she gazed out the carriage window. Her brother Kit would say she read too many Gothic novels, yet there was no denying that their destination was a far cry from the neat brick house they had called home for so long.

The sad truth was that she and Kit were orphans—not the wretched sort forced into the workhouses, but orphans none the less. Their mother had passed away when they were still young children, and she was remembered fondly, if not well. But their father had died less than a year ago, and the wound was still fresh.

An especially deep rut in the road flung Sydony against her brother, and she was grateful for Kit’s solid presence. They had come to lean on each other more since the accident, by both choice and necessity. Their father had been a scholar—a man of books, not business—and, since his death, they had been forced to tighten their purses.

Although only two years Sydony’s senior, at nineteen Kit had kept a clear head. He had never succumbed to the lure of gambling or drinking to excess that made so many of his peers fools and paupers or worse. He might sometimes tease Sydony that she was their only real asset, a beauty who would fare well on the marriage mart, but they had neither the heart nor the funds for a Season in London.

So they had remained together, continuing to lease the house where they had lived with their father. But not long after his death, the owner pressed them for more money. Apparently, he was leery of two young people running a household, and, truth to tell, their various stipends and resources were stretched thin. But where were they to go?

It was then, when things looked rather dismal, that their sagging fortunes finally took a turn for the better. The news that they had inherited property from a distant relative seemed like a windfall. They sold off their furniture, packed up their belongings, and set out immediately for their new home. But now, as Sydony watched leaves chasing across the bleak landscape, denuded oaks stark against the sky, she wondered whether their circumstances had sunk even lower.

She caught sight of a sprawling stone structure rising in the distance just as the heavens burst. The storm was upon them, and so, now, was their future. Sydony drew a deep breath as she clung to her seat. The rough road that had seemed nearly impassable before was not improved by the downpour.

‘That must be Oakfield! Do you see it?’ Kit said, leaning forward and pointing eagerly.

‘Yes,’ Sydony murmured, squinting into the sheets of rain. ‘Though this hardly seems a promising welcome.’

Ever the optimist, Kit ignored her dismay. ‘Well, at least we’ve found the place before the road washes away.’

‘Now, that’s a lovely thought,’ Sydony said. Their lifelong neighbour Lady Elizabeth Hawthorne had warned them that the site sounded remote, but Sydony had not thought it beyond the reach of modern highways.

Kit laughed, and Sydony set aside her misgivings as the coach halted in a thunder of splashing hooves. Without waiting for the coachman, Kit pushed at the door, but the wind and rain were so fierce that he had to use some force to thrust it open. Heedless of the elements, he leapt down and turned towards her, his hand extended. But when Sydony stuck her head out, she faltered, blinking against the wetness and gaping at the scene before her.

The world outside was thick with the unnatural twilight of the storm, blinding rain making it hard to see beyond the feeble glow of the carriage lantern. But there was no mistaking the hulking darkness of a building that rose behind the figure of her brother, eerily forbidding, and yet somehow familiar, as if Sydony had seen it in dreams…

‘Syd!’ Kit yelled, and she turned her attention back to her brother. By the time her slippers touched the gravelled drive, her cloak was whipping around her andthehoodhad been thrown back from her face. Ducking, she held on to Kit’s hand as they dashed towards an arched entrance.

‘Look! It’s medieval,’ Kit shouted, pointing upwards, and Sydony lifted her face to see a vague outline of battlements. She paused, once again, to stare at the forbidding façade of old stone laced with even blacker shadows. Either it was crumbling to pieces or it was covered in some sort of growth that made for an altogether unpleasant aspect.

‘Hurry, before we’re both soaked,’ Kit urged, dragging Sydony inside.

It was too late for that. Sydony’s gown was already plastered to her legs, the cold and wet seeping into her bones. For once, she found it difficult to share her brother’s enthusiasm. Being male and of an age that sought excitement and new experiences, he viewed the move as a big adventure, while Sydony longed for the familiar and a routine that might have chafed before, but now would be welcomed.

As they stood under the archway, Kit banged upon the door, but there was no answer to their summons. When their coachman Henry deposited a trunk upon the doorstep, Kit waved him away. ‘See if you can find a stable around the back,’ he shouted over the storm.

Henry nodded and hurried back to the coach, obviously eager to locate a dry berth, while the Marchants were left standing before the massive doors, rattling the knocker.

‘Maybe they can’t hear us,’ Kit said.

The thought was no comfort to Sydony, who shivered under the onslaught of rain and glanced around her dismal surroundings. ‘It looks deserted,’ she said.

Indeed, it did, for no lights glowed warmly at the mullioned windows. The walkway was overgrown, as was the grass and shrubbery. The solicitor had written a warning that the house had not been kept up over the past few years and that additional staff would be needed. Now, as Sydony stood in the pouring rain, she pondered the exact meaning of ‘additional’.

Finally, Kit tried the door, which swung open after a brief struggle. Inside, all was dark and quiet, with little light filtering in from outside.

‘Hello?’ Kit called out. His voice echoed in the old-fashioned hall with its stone flags. Although open, the space smelled musty, and Sydony was struck by a vision of their cosy cottage with its wood floors, brightly painted walls and cheerful, airy windows. Despite her father’s dusty piles of books, it had always been filled with the scents of beeswax and flowers, fresh or dried.

‘Well, even if there’s no one to greet us, here we are at our own place, Syd. What do you think of our good fortune?’ Kit said, spreading his arms to encompass the dreary area.

‘Astounding,’ she said, tongue firmly in cheek.

As she had anticipated, Kit chuckled at her tone before hurrying to drag in the trunks.

Unfastening her cloak, Sydony went in search of the kitchen, but she found no comfort there. Although no servants were about, the place looked as if they had but recently left in the midst of their labours. Several bowls and utensils cluttered the work table, yet when Sydony reached out to touch them, her gloved finger became marked with dust.

It was almost as though the inhabitants had exited suddenly, but when? Sydony shook her head. If so, they had left no food about to spoil or draw vermin, Sydony noted with a quick glance into the shadowy corners. Even the kitchen was gloomy, and as she glanced about Sydony saw that a window high in one wall had been boarded over. No wonder it was dim.

Thankfully, a window in the other wall remained intact. Stepping towards it, Sydony wiped it with a gloved hand and leaned forwards to peek out. At first she could see only blackness, but then a face swam behind the pane. She let out an involuntary shriek before she recognised their own coachman.

Her heart pounding, Sydony drew a deep breath and straightened as she moved to open the nearby door. Although hardly missish, it seemed she was not immune to the odd mood set by the deserted residence.

‘Sorry, miss,’ Henry said, stepping inside. He slipped off his hat and shook the rain from his shoulders. ‘Didn’t mean to give you a fright.’

‘Certainly not,’ Sydony said, knowing how Kit would roar with laughter. She had thought a childhood of boy’s pranks had inured her to everything, but the new surroundings were enough to unnerve anyone.

As if on cue, Kit appeared in the doorway, a sturdy implement in hand that he must have snatched up from a fireplace. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘I thought I heard something.’

‘I’m afraid I gave Miss Marchant a turn,’ Henry said.

‘It was nothing,’ Sydony muttered, and, for once, Kit did not pursue it. They had more important things to do.

‘I didn’t see any of the crates we shipped ahead,’ Kit said. ‘Did you see anything in the stables?’

Henry shook his head. ‘My boy Clarence is settling in the horses, but I didn’t see hide nor hair of anyone. The place looks like it hasn’t been used in many a year.’

‘Well, we shall just have to set up our own stables,’ Kit said.

‘I hope you’ll be able to find some decent groomsmen way out here,’ Henry said, looking down at the hat in his hand.

‘You’re welcome to stay on, of course. You and Clarence both,’ Kit said, though Sydony knew they had discussed this before.

‘Thank you, sir, but it just isn’t my home here. I’ll miss the team and all, though.’

‘Of course, we shall take care of them, personally, until we can hire some trustworthy,’ Kit assured him. ‘And you must let us know how you get on at the Fieldings’.’

‘I will, sir.’

Before things turned really maudlin, Sydony cleared her throat. ‘Well, since there seem to be no servants about, I’ll see what I can muster up for our dinner. You and Clarence come on back to the kitchen once the horses are bedded down.’

‘Shall we look for a room for you?’ Kit asked.

‘No, sir. We’ll be just fine out in the stables. There’s a separate area with cots.’

‘Very well. Thank you, Henry,’ Kit said. He looked like he wanted to say more, but it had all been said. Sadly, their groomsmen, their cook and their maids had elected not to move to parts unknown. And right now, Sydony could not blame them. Lest she be tempted to take the mail coach back with Henry and Clarence, she set to work. Throwing her cloak over a chair, she stripped off her gloves and went searching for edibles, while Kit started a fire in the open hearth.

Before long there was a nice blaze going, which put forth both warmth and cheer, though the room itself was not exactly homely. Sydony told herself that a good scrubbing and some bright paint would help, though there was no altering the fact that the house was old, with its own style and quirks. A more pessimistic sort might deem it a medieval horror right out of the most popular novels, but Sydony refused to acknowledge the possibility.

For Kit’s sake, if not her own, she needed to keep such thoughts at bay. Besides, everything would look better in the morning, she told herself as she shook out a cloth and laid it upon a corner of the work table. They would eat here, for, despite her good intentions, she hadn’t the heart to tackle any other room at the moment.

Kit found some lanterns that added more light, which improved the atmosphere, and Sydony was grateful. Not knowing what lay ahead today, she had asked for a packed basket when they stopped for luncheon, so there was cold chicken, salted ham, wedges of cheese, a fat loaf of bread and apples for their supper. Thankfully, at some point water had been piped into the house, and Kit produced a bottle of wine that was most welcome.

But when all four of them were seated, it was a sad little group, everyone well aware of their parting on the morrow. Henry made obvious his disapproval of the whole situation, muttering about a godforsaken place without a soul to even greet them properly.

‘Now, Henry, you are talking about my country estate,’ Kit said, while slicing himself more cheese. ‘Don’t you think I’m suited to be a gentleman farmer?’

‘More suited to be that than a gentleman scholar,’ Sydony said, and they all laughed. But even Sydony’s wit and Kit’s good humour could not entirely relieve the sense of a gallows bird’s last meal that hung over the company.

That mood only grew stronger after the coachman and his boy left for the stables and Kit and Sydony went in search of some beds. It was full dark outside, though the storm had abated, as they made their way back to the hall, its musty smell more pronounced after the relatively odour-free kitchen.

‘Look at this wonderful staircase,’ Kit said, as they approached the steps that led from the ground floor up to the first. It squared off, leading up to an open landing, before turning upwards again, its dark wood carved into intricate patterns that seemed a bit busy to Sydony. However, she was loathe to discourage her brother. Someone had to see the bright side of this experience, and Kit was obviously bursting with some sort of male pride of ownership that failed to move his sister.

When they reached the landing, Sydony lifted her lantern towards the looming darkness. ‘What is this?’ she asked. The glow illuminated heavy wooden planks that appeared to be been nailed across the wall.

‘Maybe they’re covering a broken window,’ Kit said. ‘In a place like this, there might have been a stained glass one that would cost a lot to replace.’

‘But a window in the kitchen is boarded up, as well.’

‘Could be more than one has broken over the years,’ Kit said.

Sydony lifted a finger to touch the raw wood, so out of place among the trappings of a medieval manor house. It seemed that someone had gone to an awful lot of trouble to cover up every inch of what lay beneath, but perhaps that was to keep any air from entering. The house was draughty enough without a gaping hole in the wall.

Upstairs, as they wandered from room to room, Sydony noticed more unusual window coverings, this time heavy wooden interior shutters. ‘The place is closed up tighter than a drum,’ she muttered.

‘Maybe Great-aunt Elspeth had an aversion to light,’ Kit joked.

‘Or perhaps a cyclone came through, blowing out one entire side of the house,’ Sydony said drily.

Oddly enough, it did seem that one side of the house, especially, was battened down, and all the windows facing that direction tightly shuttered. Curious, Sydony tried to open one, only to find it nailed securely. ‘Why, you can’t even loose them.’

‘Maybe the place was shut up after Great-aunt Elspeth died,’ Kit answered, obviously not too concerned.

Sydony turned round, trying to get her bearings. ‘But it’s mostly the rooms facing the rear of the house, as did the landing on the stair, that are completely covered.’

‘Maybe the winds are fierce from that direction,’ Kit said.

‘But there must be closed windows behind them,’ Sydony said. Lifting a hand in front of the shutters, she felt no draught. ‘Why nail them shut?’

‘She probably thought they rattled. You know how old ladies are,’ Kit said, over his shoulder. ‘It doesn’t look like these rooms have been used in some time, so she might well have had them shut up.’ Obviously uninterested, he was already moving on, but Sydony couldn’t rid herself of the notion that something wasn’t right.

Why would anyone nail shutters closed, and only those in certain rooms? She shook her head, turning to follow her brother, but the sensation lingered, fuelling her growing uneasiness about the turn of their fortunes.

When they had finally found suitable rooms, Sydony unpacked some clean linens and made up the beds. Kit was surprisingly helpful, although he jested about pursuing a life in service as an upstairs maid. Though her brother remained cheerful, Sydony knew he must be dismayed at the general condition of the house, which should have been prepared for their arrival by a staff set to greet them.

‘No doubt the solicitor misunderstood our arrival date,’ Sydony said to cheer him, though she wasn’t so sure.

Surrounded by a few of her own possessions, Sydony settled in to sleep with the knowledge that Kit was right in the next room. And yet, the fact that they were the only two residents made the strange house seem preter-naturally quiet, as did their location, far from any neighbours, known or unknown. Only the wind howled its welcome, keeping her awake long into the night and moving into her dreams, where unnatural Gothic settings shifted and transformed into her new home.

The silence woke her. At least that’s how it seemed. Perhaps the foul wind had finally abated. More likely, it was the lack of the usual morning bustle, servants lighting fires and fixing breakfasts, that made Sydony blink confusedly. Here in her new surroundings, all was quiet, except for a faint whistling through the window frames.

For a long moment Sydony lay there as awareness seeped through her. In days past, Rose would be opening the curtains and chiding her to get up and join her father, who would be breakfasting over a book, and everything was as familiar to her as her own reflection. But those days were gone, and as pressure formed behind her eyes at that acknowledgement, Sydony blinked and sat up.

She had Kit and a home and was grateful for both. She even had windows without shutters in this new room of hers, Sydony thought with a smile, and she saw that the morning had dawned bright and clear. The events of the night seemed dreamlike now, a product of weariness and darkness and isolation. She was determined that today would be better, and she hurried through her toilet to go downstairs, only to find Kit already at the work table in the kitchen, eating what was left in the hamper.

‘We need to find some chickens and steal their eggs,’ he said, with his mouth full of cheese, and Sydony felt her heart swell. When he pushed a steaming bowl towards her, she leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek.

‘What’s that for?’ he asked, between forkfuls.

‘Can’t a sister give her brother a nice greeting?’ Sydony asked.

‘You’re just glad that I found some tea,’ Kit said.

‘You know me too well,’ Sydony said, reaching for the bowl. She could do without some things, but not her morning tea.

‘How did you sleep?’ Kit asked, and Sydony hesitated. No doubt her brother had snoozed like the proverbial log and would take personally any complaints that she had not.

‘It is a bit peculiar, being so quiet,’ Sydony said, as tactfully as possible.

‘We’ll get a new staff soon. Then it will sound more like home. And you won’t have to cook for us,’ Kit teased.

‘I can cook quite well, thank you,’ Sydony said, making a face. And it was true. Growing up without a mother, she had often shadowed the servants at their tasks and had learned enough to make do, if necessary. The sudden loss of her mother also had made Sydony aware of how quickly circumstances could change, and she became determined to fend for herself, whether in the kitchen or on horseback or behind the barrel of a pistol.

‘Will we be able to afford enough servants to keep this up?’ Sydony asked, taking in their new home with a wave of her hand.

‘It is larger than I anticipated,’ Kit said. Rising to his feet, he walked to the window as though concentrating on the grounds, not the house. Typical male. ‘Well, we are to inherit some money, too, so I hope we can manage to run the place, as well as tidy it up a bit. We shall know more when the solicitor arrives.’

‘If he arrives,’ Sydony said.

‘I’ve got to take Henry and Clarence to catch the mail coach in Oak’s Hollow, which is where our man has his office, so I’ll stop in and make sure he’s planning on attending to business,’ Kit said.

‘And find out if he has the household goods we shipped ahead,’ Sydony said. ‘I’d hate to have Father’s books go missing.’

Kit nodded, then grabbed up the coat he had slung over a chair and shrugged into it. ‘Maybe you had better come along. I don’t like leaving you here all alone.’

‘Rubbish,’ Sydony said. The answer was automatic, a response she had made countless times before to her brother, and yet she realized that the circumstances were different now. She was alone in a strange, empty house, with nothing but bleak moorland surrounding her.

‘Fine, then,’ Kit said, without glancing her way. ‘I doubt that you’ll have any trouble, but Grandfather’s duelling pistols are up in the room I slept in.’

The offhand comment was not comforting, and Sydony opened her mouth to tell him that she might join him, after all. But he was already slamming the door behind him, leaving her to the dusty stillness. The companionable moment they had shared in their kitchen seemed all too brief, and even the room itself fell into shadow, as if a cloud had passed over the sun.

She could still reach Kit before he left, Sydony knew, and he would not mock her for joining him. However, a lifetime of keeping up with her brother and demanding her own independence made her loathe to give in to feminine fears, even if it meant defiantly staying in a house with enough peculiarities to make a Gothic heroine swoon.

Although Sydony wasn’t the swooning type, she wondered whether she ought not try to catch up with her brother. Pushing back her chair, she slipped on her cloak and stepped outside, intending to call after Kit. She saw him striding toward the stables, but paused at her first real glimpse of her new surroundings.

Instead of neatly clipped lawns and tilled rolling hills, Sydony saw tall grass sadly in need of a trimming and barren moors rising into the distance. With a shudder, she turned round, in search of some pleasant aspect. There had to be a garden somewhere, she told herself, as she stepped along a weedy gravel path that led towards the rear of the house.

She had only taken a few steps when she saw something, a huge mass of dark green that made her pause. ‘What is that?’ she called at Kit, pointing.

‘It’s a maze,’ Kit shouted, with a smile and a wave.

He continued on his way, and Sydony did not stop him. She was too busy looking ahead towards the maze. She’d heard of such things, of course, and had even seen a small one at the pleasure gardens near her old home, but the thought of owning one sent a quiver of delight up her spine. She hurried on until the path ended, then hesitated only briefly before lifting her hem and trudging into the damp grass.