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The blood, thrashing about in my body, pounds through me like waves in a thunderstorm. My hand is upon her neck before I can think to stop it. I don’t want to stop it. She turns a shade of violet. Her eyes bulge with horror as her legs leave the floor. My body shakes from the sobs I fail to restrain, that fall from my body as she fights my tensing fingers.
Yet, I can’t bring myself to watch the life drain from her eyes; the fool I am still loves her.
She falls from my grasp, wheezing and coughing, looking at me as if I’m the monster in her nightmares. Gathering her clothes, I throw them at her. She peeks over my shoulder at Alfred, and I burst. “Leave! Now! Don’t let me see you again. If I do, I won’t be so merciful the next time.” My voice is like a hearth stuffed with blackened smoke, puffed and sputtering.
She cries for him, and I press my lips together to keep from blowing up.
“You wicked beast!” she yells. “May karma find you and destroy you!”
“And what of you, you whore?! May it do with you what I couldn’t and snuff the life out of you,” I yell, watching her as she leaves my life without an ounce of regret.
The smoke grows large and all consuming. It needs to be set free, onto something or someone.
Alfred, my disloyal manservant, lies unconscious on the floor. The thief who robbed the only thing I ever cared to lose. The fires go out. There’s nothing but the blood pounding my eardrums. I become a servant to the darkness that blinds me. When my sight returns, I’m puffing next to his lifeless body with his blood on my hands.
Chapter One
Olivia | Ten Years Later
Horseshoesclobberthesolidground as they pull carriages large enough to fit an entire family. The wheels are painted black, and they glisten as if they’ve been polished, unlike the rusted wheels I’m used to. Colourful umbrellas twirl above the heads of colourful ladies as they walk through the paved street.
It’s clear that I don’t belong here. One look at my dull, printed blue cotton dress, dirtied at the hem, is enough to give away that secret. Even the coachmen dress better than I in their white curly wigs and fancy red vests. My father’s sudden fortune has allowed us to move to Colderidge, where women parade about in fancy dresses to show off their wealth and are only recognized for their ability to bear children, please their husbands if they can manage, with their dowries, to convince someone to marry them, and run the household. Here, homes are as wide as an entire street and as tall as the sky itself.
Our home isn’t as grand, although it’s larger than any home I’ve ever lived in. Hats off to my father. He has had a stroke of good luck. We haven’t always been as fortunate.
I’m heading to the shops to familiarize myself with the town and, find myself some entertainment. Even a friend or two. As nice as it is to live in a larger home, it gets so lonely without company. The servants are polite enough, but they treat me like I’m above them, which is crazy. And they refuse to engage further than is necessary of them. Papa is good company, but he disappears for days at times without a word.
If I’m left to bear silence any longer, I’m going to lose my head. Ineedto exchange more than a few words with someonenormal.We’ve been here for more than a month, and I still don’t know anyone. They look at us as if we’re the odd ones out. Whenever I pass people in the streets, or even when I look out my stained-glass windows, I see the neighbours tipping their hats in greeting and chatting with each other. They all appear friendly enough around their own. Yet, as I step inside the coffeehouse, no one seems the least bit interested in treating me like I matter at all.
Usually, wherever one goes in this country, the coffeehouses are the best places to catch up on the latest gossip, meet new people, and socialize. But not the one in Colderidge. Because I’m not one of them. When the whispers begin, I know I’ve made a terrible mistake in coming out today, thinking I’ll find one decent person in this town.
“Look at her hair. It’s frightful,” says one woman with a silly feathered hat, perched on the side of her blond hair, which is pulled back so tightly in a bun, I’m afraid she might not have any hair left on her head by the end of the day. She’s speaking to another woman with her hair done similarly. And they think my hair is frightful? At least my scalp doesn’t burn, even if my long, curly, brown hair swings across my face and back when I walk, whipping up in the wind.
Around me, silk dresses like flora abound. Polished hair, jewelled with pins, pearls, barrettes, large hats, and flowers decorate the heads of women who now have their umbrellas folded at their feet. They all look at me, turning up their noses.
“I hear she comes from Glenindelle,” a voice whispers over the tinkling of spoons against teacups.
“Oh, how horrible. That fishing town? Do you think she smells like fish?” A snicker erupts.
“I was wondering what that smell was when she stepped through the door.” I catch the eye of the young maiden who made that remark. Her skin is as white as snow, except for the false redness on her cheeks and lips. She’s beautiful. She knows it too by the way she sticks her neck upward to reveal a strong collarbone and jewels. When she sees me looking at her, she displays no shame, and only snickers some more. If only the inner parts of her were as beautiful as her outward countenance.
“Hello, Miss. Would you like me to buy you a coffee? I don’t mind.”
I jump from the voice that creeps up behind me.
“Sir,” I stutter, before looking up into the most handsome face I’ve ever seen. Dark hair, perfectly coiffed and a smile that would send any maiden’s heart dashing. His night blue coat is soft to the touch, made of the finest material, though sturdy. It sits on his waist, over a dark grey vest, buttoned up to conceal his white long-sleeved undershirt. His trousers fit his arse nicely, and his boots glisten. There isn’t one spot of dirt on them.
He shouldn’t be speaking to me. I look as if I’ve been put through the washing several times too many. He appears to have been freshly tailored. Yet, he’s speaking to me. He looks at me as if I’m the only one who matters. And a part of me delights in the attention. I’ve been starved of much of any attention lately.
My cheeks burn at his striking countenance, and I’m instantly reminded of my father’s encouragement for me to take a husband before his sudden fortune runs out. At twenty-two, I’m an old mare, and my father just wants to make sure I’m taken care of.
For his sake, there isn’t much I wouldn’t do. Even if that means getting married, though I, myself, am not in a rush. But my mind can be changed. Marriage to a man as pleasing to look at as this one, should be nice enough.
“Please. Call me Heath,” he says, extending his hand.
Gasps echo from behind me, and when I turn to look around, the women have impressively upped their snobbery. Their noses flare, and they fan themselves vigorously. I almost want to flirt with him just to see if they would go up in flames.
“You know, they’re all jealous because you’re talking to me. I am quite the catch.” Heath smiles. It is dashing.
