Rising Dark (The Darkling Trilogy, Book 2) (2 page)

I rose to my feet and turned around. A
petite young woman in a blue gown and matching coat sat in the
first pew, her waist drawn to an excruciatingly narrow point above
the full skirts of the gown, as the fashions of that time
demanded.

When the world looked at this woman,
my wife, they saw a plain woman with harsh features that were
emphasised by the way her long, brown hair was pulled back into a
severe-looking bun. But whenever I looked at Julia, I saw her inner
beauty, especially when she smiled her gentle, sweet smile, as she
did now.

She got to her feet as I crossed over
to her. My own smile was somewhat apologetic. We had been married
for less than a year, but I frequently forgot that I had someone
other than myself to consider and care for.

“
I am sorry, Julia. I
completely forgot the time. You should have let me know you were
here.” I took her hands in mine and, feeling how cold they were,
tried to massage some warmth back into them.

“
I did not wish to disturb
you.” She gazed at me with pure adoration in her eyes. At first,
seeing this clear love and devotion made me uncomfortable, but now
I found that it reassured me.

I picked up her hat and put it on for
her, promising myself to be much more attentive from now
on.

“
I need to pay a visit to
my father,” I said. “Why not come with me? I do not intend to stay
for long, and then we can go home and spend our last few hours with
the dogs.”

We left the church hand in hand and
stepped out into the cool spring evening. The moon was sickle-thin,
casting weak light over the grounds, and the cemetery on the other
side of the church had been all but devoured by
darkness.

A slash of red to my right caught my
eye and I glanced toward the cemetery to see a woman standing at
its gates. She was a tall woman who possessed the dark beauty of
the Spaniard, a shock of thick raven hair hanging down to her
waist. She was dressed in an elaborate red gown and large red hat
that was more suited to formal occasions. Lavish jewels adorned her
neck and wrists. There was something wanton about her, a dark
lasciviousness in the way her ruby lips spread in a smile that was
more of a sneer.

I turned to help Julia into the
carriage, and when I glanced at the cemetery once more, the woman
was gone. I quickly put her out of my mind and entered the waiting
carriage. We made our way along dark streets doused in flickering
shadow from the weak candlelight sputtering from neglected
streetlights. The streetlights did little to illuminate the cramped
roads littered with manure from the heavy traffic it saw every
day.

In what I would call a rather
unremarkable life, that was the period when I was at my happiest.
Marriage had opened up my world and was bringing a level of joy and
contentment to life I hadn’t known was there. The only thing
missing in our marriage was a child. It had been nearly a year
since our vows, and every month that passed without the longed-for
pregnancy seemed to bring a quiet air of desperation to Julia’s
countenance that nothing could dispel. But I remained hopeful and
believed that God would bless our union with what we both desired
most: a son.

The only thing that marred my thoughts
that evening was the impending visit to see my father. Our
relationship was fractured at best, volatile at worst. My
interactions with him were always clouded by the childhood memories
of my mother lost in her sorrow as she waited night after night for
her husband to come home, pretending not to be aware of the gossip
that frequently blazed through her social circles of his
whereabouts and the many married and unmarried women he seduced.
But there was one thing I was grateful to him for: He was the one
who brought about my union with Julia.

Over a year ago I had been summoned to
the house of my childhood. It was a stately detached house set back
from the road, offering a haven from London’s crowded, noisy
streets.

I entered the warm, cosy drawing room
to a pang of longing, its familiar, solid furnishings taking me
back to the many evenings I spent on my mother’s lap in front of
the fire. Unfortunately, my father’s imposing presence intruded
upon that happy memory. He was standing by the fireplace with a
glass of brandy in his hand, staring up at two swords hanging above
it. The swords were his most prized possessions, an extremely
extravagant gift from a wealthy female admirer. They had staghorn
grips and intricate silver markings along the blade and lining its
edges.

My father was an extremely handsome
man. He was now in his fifties, the streaks of grey in his dark
hair giving him a distinguished air, and although he was running to
fat, he was tall enough to wear it well and merely looked robust. I
was a younger, leaner version of him and had inherited his dark
hair, vivid blue eyes, and aristocratic features.

Considering our relationship, it
always surprised me to see the simple joy that infused him whenever
he saw me. He gave me a warm smile when I entered and did not
appear to notice that I did not return that smile. He bounded over
to me and I braced myself for one of his characteristic—and
painful—slaps across the back.

“
Avery, my boy!” In
addition to the slap, he grabbed me by the back of the neck and
roughly pulled me over to the drinks cabinet. “It is good to see
you. I see too little of you. I may have to start attending that
church of yours just so I can get a glimpse of my
firstborn.”

That booming laugh of his, which had a
habit of grating on my nerves, rang out in the small
room.

“
So what will it be?
Brandy?” he asked.

I pasted a thin smile on my lips and
moved away to the chair by the window, where weak, frosty light
shone into the room.

“
No thank you,
Father.”

He poured it anyway and placed it
before me, generously topping up his own glass before he sat down
opposite me.

“
Don’t be wet, Avery. One
drink will not hurt.”

My smile became colder. “‘Wine is a
mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is deceived thereby
is not wise.’ Proverbs Chapter twenty, Verse one.”

His eyes narrowed for a fraction of a
second and the grip on the glass of brandy tightened. But then he
smiled and leaned back in his chair.

“
I hear the congregation
of St Anne’s has increased dramatically since you took over.
Apparently it is difficult to get a seat due to all the young
ladies who descend in droves so they can fawn over the dashing—and
single—Reverend Wentworth. You know, all these years I believed
that little act of yours. But you are a Wentworth. You must be
going through those girls like a wild stallion.”

I bristled. I had never
noticed before, but the majority of my parishioners
were
women. But to imply
they merely came to look at me was ludicrous—and insulting. And to
even suggest I was acting in a way that would dishonour those
sacred vows I had taken left me in a silent rage.

I rose to my feet.

“
I can see there is no
purpose to this visit other than to sit here and listen to you make
slurs against my character.”

“
Sit down, Avery. It was a
joke.”

When I stepped away from the chair,
his temper was quick to rise to the surface.

“
Damn you, I said sit
down! I rarely see you, and when I do, you are here for barely a
few minutes before you take your leave.”

The sound of him raising his voice
elicited an echo of the dread I used to feel around him as a child,
and almost without realising it, I responded as I would have then
and quickly sat down before he became angrier. I glared at him for
a few moments before I spoke again.

“
Why did you summon me,
Father?”

“
It is time you found
yourself a wife.”

“
Father, if this is the
reason why you called me here, then you are wasting your time. My
work keeps me far too busy to go about the business of finding a
wife.”

“
Then it is a good thing I
have already found one for you. And do stop pouting. Your mother
used to do that and I find it most annoying.”

It was necessary for me to inhale
deeply before responding.

“
It is most kind of you to
have taken it upon yourself to find me a wife, Father, but if some
of the unfortunate females I have seen you consort with over the
years, including the very night you laid your first wife to rest,
are an example of what I am to expect, then I will have to refuse
your kind offer.”

“
Actually, she is nothing
like them. For one, she is not much to look at and is docile, meek,
and suitably pious for you. I am sure the two of you would greatly
amuse yourselves by quoting the Bible to each other day and
night.”

“
I do not need a
wife.”

“
Whether you do or not, I
have found one for you. She is extremely wealthy. Look around you,
Avery. We are broke. Her wealth can help restore this house and
make you a man of some means.”

I got to my feet again as he
continued.

“
Her name is Julia
Spencer. She will be coming to dine here tonight, Avery. I expect
you to be here.”

I moved to the door, stopping to glare
at him. My voice shook with emotion when I spoke.

“
I will not marry anyone
of your choosing, and definitely not at your command, or merely for
their wealth.”

I opened the door.

“
I am not finished,
Avery.
Avery
!”

The door closed behind me and I was
already halfway down the corridor. He did not follow.

I remained angry for the remainder of
that week and ignored my father’s letters. But a few weeks later, I
came across Julia at a social function I was required to attend.
She was a small, plain woman who might otherwise have gone
unnoticed among the other women, who were like dazzling flowers in
comparison. What struck me about her was the weariness of her
countenance as she sat, sometimes alone or with one or two other
women, throughout the dancing that took place that evening. It
spoke of years of dejection as she stared either at her hands or at
a spot above the heads of the dancing couples, as if she were
imagining she was not in the room with them. After watching many
men wander past, completely overlooking her, I rose from my seat
and moved toward her.

She saw me approaching, her eyes
growing wider with uncertainty and confusion when she saw I did not
deviate from my path toward her. When I reached her, she lowered
her gaze abruptly and merely nodded her assent when I asked her to
dance. Her gaze remained lowered as I made polite conversation, but
as the dance progressed, she eventually looked at me and even
smiled. I had found her to be a thoughtful young woman with a
subtle sense of humour.

I was sorry to leave the function that
evening, knowing it was likely Julia would spend the rest of the
night back in her seat avoiding staring at the men and women
dancing before her. She remained in my thoughts and a week later, I
decided I would see her again.

We were married a month later. It was
a quiet affair followed by a small gathering at my childhood home.
I had avoided my father for most of that day, but he found me as we
were leaving. He stood at the window of the carriage, glass of
brandy in one hand, and took Julia’s hand with his
other.

“
Julia,” he said, slurring
his words. “I want you to know that we are all very happy to have
you as part of our family. I do not think we would have found a
more gracious wife for Avery if I had chosen her myself. Oh, hold
on, I did choose you, and I must say, I chose exceedingly
well.”

I noticed he was stroking her hand a
little too fondly for my liking.

“
And, of course,” he
continued, “my door is always open to you, my dear. You can call on
me at any time, day or night. You will find me most welcoming and
eager, extremely eager, to be of service to you.”

At that, I pulled Julia’s hand out of
his, not entirely pleased about the fact that she was smiling as
she thanked him for his kind offer.

He smiled and winked at me and then at
Julia. He gulped down the rest of the brandy and waved, his drunken
grin irritating me as the carriage pulled away.

So on my last evening in England, I
left Julia in the carriage when we reached my father’s home,
intending to make it a short visit. I entered the drawing room to
discover he was not alone. My brother Albert, who was two years
younger than me and had been conceived with one of my father’s
countless mistresses, was in conversation with two women. He gave a
cordial nod in my direction when I entered, appearing relieved when
he saw me. He was a tall, lithe, handsome man with piercing dark
eyes and an arrogant curve to his lips. He also had a natural
reserve that made him appear aloof. The two women he was in
conversation with paused to glance my way, keen interest in their
eyes. I was acquainted with them only by their reputations and the
salacious gossip my parishioners sometimes divulged to
me.