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  House of Shadows

  The Victorian Gothic Collection, Book One

  Chasity Bowlin

  Copyright © 2018 by Chasity Bowlin

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  To my wonderful husband who has listened to me prattle on about Victorian train schedules, telegraphs and when the Metropolitan Police Act was passed and a constabulary official rather than a magistrate would be summoned. In short, thank you for being willing to tolerate living with an often insane and frequently disorganized writer.

  Contents

  Also by Chasity Bowlin

  Prologue

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Thank you…

  Also by Chasity Bowlin

  Also by Chasity Bowlin

  THE VICTORIAN GOTHIC COLLECTION

  House of Shadows

  Veil of Shadows

  Passage of Shadows

  THE LOST LORDS SERIES

  The Lost Lord of Castle Black

  The Vanishing of Lord Vale

  The Missing Marquess of Althorn

  The Resurrection of Lady Ramsleigh

  The Mystery of Miss Mason (coming soon)

  The Awakening of Lord Ambrose (coming soon)

  The Lost Lords Series Boxed Set, Volumes 1-3

  THE DARK REGENCY SERIES

  The Haunting of a Duke

  The Redemption of a Rogue

  The Enticement of an Earl

  A Love So Dark

  A Passion So Strong

  A Heart So Wicked

  STANDALONE

  The Beast of Bath

  The Last Offer

  Worth the Wait

  THE FIRE CREEK SAGA

  Bennett

  Ciaran (novella)

  Clayton

  Carter

  Quentin

  Emmitt (Preorder)

  Matt (Coming Soon)

  Savannah (Coming Soon)

  THE DUCHAMPS’ DYNASTY SERIES

  Been Loving You Too Long

  Have A Little Faith In Me

  I’ll Take Care Of You

  Prologue

  October 17th, 1898

  Passmore Edwards Cottage Hospital, Falmouth

  “A hospital is no place for the sick!” Muriel Hampton Parke declared as Adelaide observed her stepmother sitting gingerly on the edge of the narrow, cane chair that was next to her bed. Muriel had never been one to tolerate sickness, infirmity, or anything that inconvenienced her in any way. That included the sinking of the ship they’d only recently booked passage on to return to New York, the SS Mohegan.

  Even thinking the name made her shudder. Adelaide’s heart skipped and her breath caught as she recalled the screams and the icy black water that had submerged their ship.

  “You just shivered! Please tell me you are not catching a chill! I will not have it, Adelaide! I will not. I have booked passage for us two days hence. We will be on that next ship and back in New York to enjoy the remnants of the social season! Do you hear me, girl?”

  “How can you think of getting on another ship?” Adelaide asked. It seemed that every time Muriel came to the small cottage hospital, she would become overset and begin shouting. “Just the thought of it strikes terror in my heart!”

  Muriel rolled her eyes. “We are not all given to your fits of dramatics, Adelaide. Your poor father! How he tolerated you and your hysterical tendencies for so long I will never know. He feared we’d need to put you away somewhere, you know?”

  Adelaide’s eyes widened at that. “I’m not hysterical. I’ve never been hysterical in my life!”

  “Except when you rant and rave about my lies and how I plot against you?” Muriel asked with a cold smile. “Every lunatic denies their insanity, my dear. It’s a symptom of the disease, after all.”

  Adelaide didn’t doubt that her stepmother was telling the truth in one regard. She would likely have been working on her father for months, undermining her and making her appear to be a madwoman so that when Muriel finally did provoke her into a temper, she’d be able to sway him to her way of thinking. They would have locked her up in Bellevue and left her to rot there, all thanks to the scheming of the woman beside her.

  Rather than address those concerns, Adelaide focused on something else instead. “I cannot board a ship now, Muriel. Are you truly so heartless, so without feeling, that you are not consumed with dread at the thought of it?”

  “Well, of course I am a bit anxious at the prospect. But I will not be ruled by fear and neither will you! I simply will not allow it… There are other concerns, you know? Not just the social whirl we might miss! There is the matter of your father’s will, Adelaide. And while I do hate to be the bearer of bad news, I must inform you that he changed that will some time ago. The bulk of the estate is now mine entirely, at least until Stephan comes of age,” Murial said, referencing her son who looked suspiciously like the dance instructor she’d employed for Adelaide in preparation of her debut. “I will proceed with the debut your father had planned for you as it is largely paid for already. You do have a rather substantial marriage settlement that was set aside for you and is overseen by a group of trustees. But you cannot access it without marrying and you’re penniless otherwise!”

  The last bit had been sneered, as if Muriel found it distasteful that there was any part of Winston Hampton Parke’s fortune she could not lay her grasping fingers upon. “I’m not entirely certain what point you are getting to with all of this.”

  Muriel smiled, a simple tightening of her lips. “I will return to New York. You may return with me and find a husband for yourself by the end of the year. Assuming you can find a suitable man who will tolerate your general lack of charm and the obvious physical imperfections.”

  “And what constitutes a suitable man, then?” Adelaide demanded. “Shall I just marry the first one who would have me?”

  “If he’s of sufficient rank. He must be a successful businessman or at least someone who can move comfortably in society. It’s not as if you’d be permitted to just go to the docks and latch onto some stevedore!”

  Adelaide’s head was pounding. “And if I do not?”

  Muriel’s glee was evident in the brilliant smile that spread over her lovely, full lips. “If you do not, you will need to leave the Park Avenue House.”

  “It’s my home!” Adelaide protested. “I’ve lived there my entire life.”

  Her stepmother shrugged, as callous and cold as any one could be, “Your father is gone, my dear. If there is one thing certain in life, it’s that change breeds change. Nothing will ever be the same for you again. Look at this as an opportunity for a completely fresh start… Of course, there are other possibilities. You do not have to return to New York. If you could find a man here who would be willing to take you on—your settlement could very well buy you an earl, so long as he isn’t too terribly poor.” />
  “I’m in mourning,” Adelaide protested. “How can you be so cruel?”

  Muriel patted her hand, the picture of a caring relative. Only Adelaide felt the threat of Muriel’s claws against her skin. “I understand this is difficult for you, dear. It’s difficult for me, as well. But we all must move on with our lives. I’ve wired to that man in Wales your father just partnered with to inform him of the sinking, though I daresay it was hardly necessary. The news of it has spread like wildfire. I’ll be talking to the attorneys to see if we cannot break that contract, but I imagine it is airtight on both sides. Your father was always such a stickler for the details.”

  “When did you wire him?” Adelaide asked.

  “The day after the accident,” Muriel said.

  “Yesterday morning, just after the accident. Why ever does that matter?”

  “Because they didn’t find father’s body until this afternoon. You were already trying to squeeze every last cent from his estate before you even had a husband to bury,” Adelaide accused. “You’d given up all hope for him when he might very well have been clinging to a bit of wreckage still or stranded on the rocks somewhere!”

  Muriel’s lips firmed into a line of disapproval. “I’ll not be judged by you, Adelaide. It’s not your place, girl. And mark my words, if you cling to this idea that you must mourn your father publicly for a year, you’ll find yourself doing so on the streets! Get a husband or get out. Those are your only choices. It’s bad enough I’m saddled with my own child, why anyone would expect me to be saddled with the hysterical and grown girl from my husband’s first marriage is simply beyond me!”

  Adelaide watched her stepmother sail from the simple hospital ward and out to a waiting carriage. She had no notion of what she would do, but she could not go back to New York with Muriel. The very idea of it left her shaking, both in fear and in fury.

  Touching her head, she felt the bandage at her forehead. She would be well enough in a day or so to leave. But where on earth would she go?

  The first order of business would be to wire Mr. Eldren Llewellyn, her father’s partner in the expansion of the Welsh railroad and apprise him of Muriel’s schemes.

  CHAPTER ONE

  November 1st, 1898

  The incessant whine and chug of the train’s wheels against the track had made Adelaide’s head ache, or perhaps it was that she’d strained her eyes attempting to peer out from behind the dark veil she wore. It was a nuisance at best and a hazard at worst.

  Either way, the pain was maddening. The physician at the cottage hospital had said to rest and recover from her ordeal. That eventually the headaches would go away and would only take time. But what time did she have? From the moment the SS Mohegan had struck the Manacles off the coast of Cornwall and begun to take on water, everything in her life had taken on a sense of unparalleled urgency.

  Of course, it was all well and good for them to issue platitudes and offer her placating promises of it would get better. When, she had pressed them. In time, in time, they would all reply. Their words had been empty and hollow, as empty as her life now was. Her father was lost after all, taken by the sea. She prayed still that his body might be recovered, but so many were lost that night only a few short weeks ago that hope for such a thing was dwindling.

  Pushing those thoughts aside, Adelaide determined that she would not dwell on them further. It was her future that she must see to, as Muriel had put it. That was the very reason she was on the infernal train, after all. Dressed in her newly purchased mourning clothes, though her father’s body had never been recovered, she was on her way to meet her intended.

  It might have been more scandalous had she not been half the world away from her home and that, aside from a stepmother who now wanted nothing to do with her, she had no family at all. And he had been her father’s business partner in one particular endeavor, after all, even if that relationship was not a longstanding one. Very few people would raise an eyebrow at the notion that a young woman alone in the world should marry quickly, regardless of her state of mourning.

  She was presently in such an untenable situation that marriage was her only choice. She had no money of her own and no way to make her way in the world. She had wired her father’s attorneys herself, not entirely trusting her stepmother. They had replied and confirmed precisely what Muriel had said, however. All of her father’s estate had been left entirely to her stepmother, save for a marriage settlement that had been put aside for her. Hearing that had broken her. Muriel had taken everything, it seemed. She’d connived and cheated her way into their home, then she’d systematically destroyed the relationship that had once existed between Adelaide and her father by telling copious lies.

  Lies, machinations, schemes. Adelaide had been undermined at every turn until even servants that had been in their home since long before her mothers’ death had begun to look at her with a mixture of distrust and pity. Had her father not perished and Muriel could finally be rid of her, Adelaide had little doubt that she would have found herself in the asylum Muriel had spoken of, being treated for the hysteria she did not suffer. But her father was gone now, and Muriel had everything she wanted. There was nothing left for her to take.

  The train began to slow and the porter approached her. “This is your stop, miss. We’re to arrive in Machynlleth within moments. There is transportation awaiting you?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said. She certainly hoped there would be. The telegram had been sent ahead and she’d received one in reply that all was in order for her arrival.

  Their entire engagement had been arranged by telegraph. The series of them must have set the telegraph operators tongues wagging for certain.

  October 19, 1898

  My stepmother is attempting to break the partnership agreement. Stop. She is my father’s sole heir. Stop. There is nothing I can do. Stop. A. Hampton Parke.

  October 19, 1898

  She will not succeed. Stop. Agreement is airtight. Stop. Will you return to New York with her? Stop. E. Llewellyn

  October 20, 1898

  I cannot bring myself to board a ship. Stop. I have nowhere to go. Stop. A.

  October 20, 1898

  Come to Cysgod Lys near Machynlleth. Stop. You will be welcome here. Stop.

  October 21,1898

  It isn’t proper. Stop. I cannot reside with a bachelor. Stop. A.

  October 21, 1898

  You will arrive as my betrothed. Stop. We will wed immediately. Stop. I shall send word to your father’s attorney to make arrangements if you agree. Stop. E.

  October 22, 1898

  You have my agreement. Stop. A.

  Those brief exchanges via telegraph were the only communication she’d had with him, but she had seen him once. He’d come to New York and met with her father. She had been much younger then, barely fifteen. Her only recollection of Mr. Eldren Llewellyn was that he was impossibly dark. His hair had been as black as the coal dug from the mines he owned. She’d been struck by how handsome he was and when she’d been caught staring, she’d ducked her head and rushed away with a blush staining her cheeks.

  In truth, she knew very little of him other than that her father had thought highly of him and he was too handsome for words. But he’d offered a place for her that would not see her crossing the ocean on another ship, terrified and alone. If she spent another week at sea, staring down at the water, she’d surely go mad and need the asylum that Muriel had planned for her all along.

  The rain began to slow, the screeching of the brakes replacing the endless hum of the wheels. On legs grown unsteady for sitting so very long, Adelaide rose and moved toward the end of the car where the porter awaited her. He’d opened the door for her and put the steps down. Another porter awaited her on the platform. She could see them already unloading her bags from the baggage car. A single cart was nearby, the driver wearing disheveled clothes and a surly expression.

  Cautiously, Adelaide approached him. “Are you the driver Mr. Llewellyn sent
for me?”

  The man’s face took on an expression of shock, his bushy eyebrows climbing almost to the bill of his tipped back flat cap. “Aye,” he said finally. “Mr. Llewellyn sent me.” He cackled at that as if it were some great joke.

  “I hardly see why that is amusing, sir,” Adelaide admonished, startled by his rudeness and his rough manner.

  The man shrugged. “I don’t suppose an upstart American would. All them yours?” he asked, gesturing toward the bags.

  “Yes, they are,” Adelaide answered. Seeing little point in antagonizing him further, she elected to simply ignore his odd and gruff behavior. Instead she looked back at the stack of baggage. It represented the very last of happy times she’d had with her father. He’d been especially doting. Had it been guilt because he was half convinced to lock her away at Muriel’s urging? She desperately didn’t want to believe that. Instead she thought of the various silks, satins and velvets in those trunks and how treasured they would always be.

  Those gowns her father had purchased for her in Paris had arrived at her home in New York, only to be promptly shipped back to her in England. It would be ages before she could wear them, but she had another trunk filled with the mourning attire that was called for.

  “I’ll have to stow some here and come back for ‘em in the morning. Only enough daylight left for one trip to Cysgod Lys,” the man said and glared at her, as if daring her to challenge him. He seemed offended by her very presence.