The Nightshade’s Bride

Chapter 1

Deliverance

Indeed, it really seemed like my beloved Papa should have left me with more money.

We had always been overflowing with money at The Gables, our elegant, stately home in the country, where Papa studied ancient languages in his library and I managed the house and servants.

I’d been the mistress at The Gables ever since my mama left.

She had been bored with our quiet life in the country and run off with a dissolute French nobleman.

But Papa and I had been very happy. . . until a short, shattering bout of influenza a few weeks ago had taken him away. That was when our family lawyer Mr. Finch informed me that, contrary to my expectations, there was no money left.

Unbeknownst to me, my dear father had been making risky investments, spending heavily on the house, and now there was simply nothing left except a mountain of bills. To pay them, The Gables would have to be sold and the lands parceled off to the highest bidder.

“And what’s to become of me?” I cried. “I have no other family. Papa and I lived very quietly here, going out very little into society.”

Mr. Finch was a dry, fussy little man, and he shuffled through some papers as I looked around in horror at the bright morning-room with its floral wallpaper.

Would there soon be creditors crawling through this room, their fingers outstretched for all my beautiful things like nasty dirty scavengers?

“If you were married, it would be a simple matter,” Mr. Finch said firmly, and my cheeks pinked a bit in embarrassment.

Marriage had never seemed like an urgent matter, and it wasn’t like I had ever had a suitor.

And, well, I had never been tempted away from my position at The Gables.

Due to my Papa’s training, I believed in modesty about one’s looks and I was quite ordinary, small and inelegant, with a face that was still pink with sunburn and a nose with too many freckles.

My one beauty was perhaps my long, thick wheat-colored hair, but even I kept it neatly tucked away in an updo.

“You will be getting a guardian.”

I was still dressed soberly in my mourning black, a net across my face with its swollen eyes, and at this I twitched in surprise, dropping my embroidery and pricking my finger with a sharp needle in the process.

Bright, scarlet drops of blood instantly appeared, and I hastily covered the bloody finger behind my skirts.

“But I don’t need a guardian,” I protested. “I am 23 years old and have been running this household for the last ten years.”

Mr. Finch gave me a quelling glare.

“You are lucky that a distant relative has stepped up to take charge of you, as I don’t know what would become of you otherwise. Gone to the poorhouse, I expect, as all women do who have no friends or money.”

The front door banged open, and I saw rough, hard-looking men come in and begin to measure the furniture, handling my delicate teapot with dirty, foul hands.

“Please,” I begged. “It’s only been two weeks since he died. Can I not have a few more days to go through my things and say goodbye?”

“This is the way of the world, Miss Deliverance,” Mr. Finch said. “Now come outside and meet your new guardian.”

I pulled the net down further over my face as tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, but there seemed no other option but to follow him. My stomach heaved with nausea.

What was to become of me?

Beautiful autumn colors were beginning to seep across the neat and trim landscape as we exited, a sudden breeze stirring my long mourning-scarves around my face.

"Here is your cousin, Mr. Gideon Nightshade," Mr. Finch said.

I stared in astonishment, for I had never heard of the man. Or anyone of that name connected to our family.

Mr. Nightshade was very tall and looked about 40 years of age, with thick coal-black hair and beard.

He stood with one hand resting on his carriage, his dark eyes so heavy-lidded that I could not read their expression.

He was dressed very correctly in a sober dark jacket and boots, but how powerful his shoulders looked and how broad his chest was made me wonder wildly if he was a boxer and not a proper gentleman.

"I did not know I had a cousin named Mr. Nightshade," I said in some confusion, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

My Papa and I had lived such a quiet life in our little country village. He was a gentle scholar who had rarely gone out into society, and I did not meet very many other men.

"It is a very distant relationship,” Mr. Nightshade said, in a low, gravelly voice.

"Pray, tell me, sir, how exactly are we related?"

"I'm afraid you'll have to ask Mr. Finch for the particular degree," he said. "Third cousin, once removed, I believe? All I know is I received a letter from your solicitor informing me that you were in need of a guardian.”

"Thank you, sir," I said, much frightened and my heart pounding quickly, "but I must decline. As you can see, I am already 23 years old! I have no need of a guardian, and surely nothing can be done while I'm in the mourning period."

"I am sure this is what your father would have wanted," Mr. Finch put in sharply. "He would have wanted you to be protected.”

“But where would you take me?” I protested, my voice coming out as a squeak.

“To my home of Grayspires,” Mr. Nightshade said.

Grayspires.

The very first mention of the name gave me the most curious sensations. Maybe it was the way it sounded in his low voice, the way the words sat reverently on his tongue. Like there was something a bit mysterious and special about this place. Somewhere I’d never seen before in my quiet life.

“Where is that?”

He listed a county I had not heard of.

“What would I do there? I am used to being the mistress here at The Gables. I don’t want to travel there to be the governess to your child.”

Too late, I remembered other men might not like my frank, blunt way of speaking, but Mr. Nightingale said nothing about it.

“I have no wife or child. It is a very beautiful place out on the moors, but I have often thought it was too cold and harsh. Perhaps it will amuse you to add things like a woman’s touch.

You can do as you please with it and be the mistress of Grayspires.

I am a rough man, but not cruel, simply here to do my Christian duty. ”

And I could have been resistant to any other persuasions.

If he had given me compliments I wouldn’t have believed them, if he had promised me luxury, I wouldn’t have cared.

But to be the mistress of a place like Grayspires, a name that sounded so.

. . undeniably important. And it was out on the moors.

I had never been to the moors, only read about their wild beauty in my books.

Well, that was the one sliver of light in this whole horrible situation.

Besides, if he had come all this way to take the charge of a young kinswoman in need, he must be a good man.

So for a moment my distant cousin and I looked at each other.

“Unlike the aristocrats, I work,” Mr. Nightshade said, putting his massive black boot, muddy and travel-stained from the long ride, on the first step of the carriage. “So you must make a choice, Deliverance Rosemond. Is it this or the poorhouse?”

“What about my things?” I asked, taking one tentative step toward the carriage.

It was a very sturdy affair, well-made, with chestnut wood and comfortable scarlet seats. The carriage of a prosperous merchant, perhaps. Someone in trade.

“I will have them delivered,” Mr. Nightshade said, holding out his hand for me. “Come now, be a good girl.”

"May I bring someone? My abigail perhaps?"

"I will provide all you require," he returned, and his hand closed over mine. It was a very big hand, strong and rough, the callouses brushing over my soft skin.

My throat seemed to close from fear. Or from something even worse. . . excitement. And for a moment I tried to pull away, but he had already lifted me into the carriage.

“You may send her things on to Grayspires,” he said, and then the door to the carriage closed and I was alone with my new guardian.

The September leaves swirled around our wheels as we took off at a quite alarming rate of speed, and I had one last, sad little look at The Gables—it’s beautiful, cream-colored stone covered with the lovely green ivy, all framed by soft, drooping trees and pretty, manicured gardens.

What did I know of men? None I had ever met had affected me like this before.

"I appreciate," I said through trembling lips, "your kindness in coming all this way for a penniless relative.”

He nodded at me, and his eyes were sharp.

“And you verify that you are Deliverance Rosemond.”

“Why, yes,” I said, almost laughing because he must be nervous too, and as a man of business he would not know what to do or how to amuse a much younger woman.

“Are you worried I will say you kidnapped me? No need, I am–sensible, I think. And it is better to be mistress of a new home than to stay here when my old home is going to be sold.”

“No,” he said. “No, I am not worried you will say that you’ve been kidnapped. You came with me quite willingly.”

I snuck a glance at him under my lashes.

The one thing I could not understand was how full of masculine vitality he was.

Even in repose he managed to convey a sense of intensity and purpose.

That must have been how he managed to afford such a fine carriage.

I had never met anyone like him or felt so nervous in a man’s presence.

Of course, it was ridiculous to even be noticing such a thing. I had hoped my perusal would go unnoticed, but to my discomfort he was looking back at me.

“Take off that netting,” he ordered abruptly. “I want to see the face of my new ward.”

I was not used to being ordered about, but I obeyed, raising the black veil with hands that were not quite steady.

Mr. Nightshade said nothing as he looked at me, only tapped with a strange, rhythmic pattern on his knee, his long legs stretched so wide in the carriage that I had to tighten mine together to avoid our knees brushing.

"Is it a long journey?" I asked, to break the silence.

"If we make good time, we shall get to the Ploughman’s Lunch by nightfall. And then tomorrow–Grayspires."

Leaning back in my seat, I tried to calm my breathing.

"Is your home on a very pretty piece of land?" I ventured to ask.

“It is the most striking land in the world,” he said.

There were so many more questions I wanted to ask about Grayspires, like how close it was to a village, how many servants I would be managing, how many rooms it had, but Mr. Nightshade leaned back and closed his eyes to take a nap and I did not want to anger my guardian on our first day together.

I leaned back and tried to go to sleep as well, but I was too filled with excitement. After several minutes of trying to get comfortable, I ventured another glance over at the harsh face of my companion, surprised to see him observing me under those heavy-lidded eyes.

My breath caught in my throat.

What did he see when he looked at me?

The answer was too confusing and uncertain, so I only turned over and refused to open my eyes until I too had fallen into an anxious, shallow sleep.

When I woke up again it was twilight and we were pulling into a small, rough-looking tavern, the Ploughman’s Lunch sign so worn it was barely legible.

“This is where we are going to stay the night?” I asked in astonishment. “It is so small! Will it even have enough rooms?”

“There is no need to worry,” Mr. Nightshade said. “I will sleep on the chair and you may have the bed.”