Death of a Duchess, Nellie Steele [non fiction books to read .txt] 📗

what would otherwise pass for a fairytale castle. Some of the more levelheaded townsfolk attributed the blackening to some internal quality of the stones used or the growth of local flora. Still others insisted it represented the veins of the castle. As though, somehow, the castle had become alive and its very soul was blackening as a result of the strange goings-on here. Or perhaps because it defiled some ancient sacred ground.

I paid little attention to the histrionics of most of the locals, many of whom warned me to flee before I should meet a gruesome end. I had grown accustomed to people like this in my life and had learned to ignore them at a very young age. They based most of their opinion on lack of knowledge, understanding, superstition and a general sense of foolishness.

When I arrived three months ago, the castle, lit by moonlight, its network of blackened veins crawling through the stones, conjured no apprehensive reactions but only contentment. The serenity and peace I felt that night had never waned, it had only grown. Each time I returned here, I experienced the same emotion, as though I had found my place in the world.

Three months later, the only change in my emotion was the lack of curiosity in my heart over my new life. I now possessed a firm understanding of what my life would become and what my role was here.

The gravel crunched under my feet as I stepped toward my home, ready to continue my odyssey within the castle walls.

At this moment, it occurs to me that I haven’t properly introduced myself to you, dear reader. Now seems an opportune moment to make a proper introduction before we continue together.

My name is Lenora Fletcher. I am the Duchess of Blackmoore. And I can communicate with the dead. Within these pages, dear reader, I have recorded one of my stories.

Chapter 2

“Welcome home, Your Grace,” Mr. Buchanan, our butler, greeted me as I entered the castle’s foyer. I handed my cape to him and began removing my gloves. “Was your trip successful, Your Grace?”

“It was,” I informed him. “The dress is as lovely as promised and with a few minor adjustments should be perfect.”

“Wonderful, Your Grace.”

“Have I much time before the dressing gong for dinner?” I inquired. Despite the general lack of guests and other family, my husband maintained the custom of dressing for dinner.

“Two hours, Your Grace.”

I finished removing my gloves and nodded. “I shall be in my tower room reading if I am needed.”

“Very good, Your Grace. May I fetch you anything?”

“No, thank you, Buchanan.”

I spun on my heel, ascending the massive stone staircase flanking the right wall. I navigated to my bedroom, setting my gloves on my dressing table before climbing the steep stairs to the tower room where I spent a good deal of my time.

When I first arrived at the castle, I found the room while exploring. Its high turret overlooked the countryside with enormous windows giving a panoramic view. Glancing to the ground may provide one with a disorienting effect as the tower resides on the side of the castle where the cliffs drop sharply away. The height of the tower coupled with the sheer drop below gives one the impression of flying, soaring above the earth like large birds of prey.

I stepped inside the room and the familiar sense of peace washed over me as I entered. The room’s furnishings had been sparse when I found it, but the views so inviting and incredible, I immediately took to the space. I’d taken it upon myself to add furnishings and other details, to add comfort to the space. After our marriage, my husband offered me the freedom to do with the castle as I saw fit. I’d taken the most license in this room, choosing to leave the other rooms untouched and in the tradition in which they were furnished upon my arrival.

This particular turret, devoid of any human touch, had been the one exception. I’d added cushions and pillows to the window seats, a writing desk, a chaise and side table and a small bookcase. The library in the castle was well-fitted with book storage and books to fill it, however, I wanted a small space for those books I chose to keep close as I did a large amount of reading in this room, often late into the night.

I nestled under a fur blanket near one of the windows. The winter chill frosted the glass outside, creating icy patterns that crept from the corners inward. My beloved book, Frankenstein, lay across my lap, though it could not capture my interest today.

Instead, I gazed out the window, lost in my own thoughts. My mind wandered to the events of the day. The dress for which I had my fitting earlier would be delivered tomorrow morning, and I would wear it tomorrow evening to a New Year’s Eve ball. The occasion, a popular holiday in Scotland, was being marked by Lord and Lady Cunningham in an ostentatious event. My husband and I accepted the invitation, much to Lady Cunningham’s delight.

I reflected on my turn of fortune as the year approached its close. At the start of the year, I was an orphan, a creature spurned by her own parents and left alone in the world. I would finish the year a duchess. Despite ours being a marriage of convenience, I experienced more acceptance and tenderness from my new husband than I’d experienced from most others for the entirety of my life.

My thoughts turned to my marriage, specifically, to the manner in which it was announced. Mr. Langford’s revelation of my impending nuptials as we climbed the moors to the castle astounded me. I had assumed I had been engaged for a governess position. My training at the orphanage had prepared me well for such a venture. I had excelled in my classes there. Miss Pepperidge, one of my favorite teachers, who had taken a shine to me despite