The Invisible Husband Read online

  The Invisible Husband

  Copyright 2008 Cari Hislop

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  The Invisible Husband

  Eve jostled against cold leather as the sound of the carriage wheels squelching through cold November mud almost drowned out her parents’ snores. Of course they could sleep, they weren’t the one being married off to an unknown man they wouldn’t meet until after the wedding. Shivering, she clutched her thin pink silk cape tighter around her arms. There was no passing countryside to watch. The occasional tree and cottage beyond the carriage lamps were merely black jagged shapes. Four outriders were delivering her to a country church at three-thirty in the morning where she was to become the property of a stranger. After weeks of being starved into submission, the thought of marrying an unknown man on an empty stomach had inspired obedience. That morning she’d put on the clothes her mother had chosen and prayed she wouldn’t end up in the clutches of a fiend.

  Reins jingled in time with the hooves of the four black horses pulling the carriage and the four heavily armed outriders draped in black hooded cloaks. The whole situation was ridiculous. She was being treated like some sort of beautiful princess, but she was merely pretty without even an illegitimate royal connection to sweeten the deal. All she knew about her prospective husband was that he wasn’t poor. He’d paid her parents ten-thousand pounds for her hand and once she became his wife, in the event of his death, she’d have a two-thousand pound annuity purchased out of his own purse. If he died before she could produce an heir she wouldn’t have to return to live with her parents, but the annuity wouldn’t be of any use if she died in childbed.

  Her every thought seemed to lead back to the subject of beds. The thought of sharing a bed with a stranger made her feel like she was being sent blindfolded to her execution. Her only consolation was that she’d never have to see her parents again. Snuggled into a corner of the seat she turned her head to see one of the black caped outriders outlined by the carriage lamps galloping along side; his large hood pulled forward. She was living a nightmare. Who was this man who wanted her so badly he’d paid her parents ten thousand pounds and why did he want her?

  Twenty minutes later the carriage started to slow. Craning her neck she could see torches lighting up the ancient arch of an old church door. Her impending groom was proving melodramatic. The torchlit scene set her imagination on fire; no doubt he’d chain her to his dungeon wall in her chemise until she swore she’d be an obedient bedfellow. The thought made her scowl. If her infernal husband thought he was acquiring a biddable wife he’d be unpleasantly surprised. As the carriage jerked to a stop the four riders dismounted and took up sentry outside the carriage.

  The carriage steps lowered and the door opened, one of the outriders stretched out a black leather glove to help her down. She took hold of the strong hand and stepped onto the pebbled walkway. Taking a deep breath she straightened her pink bonnet and clutched her thin cape around her shoulders as she hurried up the path towards the church. The old wooden door creaked open like the mouth of hell ready to swallow her whole. Stepping through the stone archway she stiffened with apprehension. Chills tingled up her spine and over her scalp; she’d felt the odd sensation too many times in the last six months to dismiss it as a product of her imagination. She abruptly stopped and turned around to find the four outriders swiftly halting two by two behind her, their hoods bowing. Were they men or bashful demons? Was one of them her husband in disguise? A strange peaceful hush in the churchyard seemed to reach out and caress her. Was she dreaming? The spell was broken by her parents rudely hollering for her to wait. She snubbed them by turning and continuing up the aisle where four more torches lit up the Vicar and another cloaked figure. The flickering light reached dimly into the corners where eerie large rectangular shapes supported what appeared to be ladies and knights resting for the wedding.

  Hoping the dead would be too busy elsewhere, Eve reached the altar to find the hooded man was merely a proxy for her husband. Standing still, her teeth started to chatter. There was only a thin layer of dried calfskin and a fine silk stocking between her feet and icy flagstones. Eve opened her mouth to ask how long the service would take, but she could feel brimming tears waiting for her to try to speak. Tingles caressed her neck as a single outrider took up guard on her right. Did the demons think she’d attack the vicar? Did they think she’d try to escape? How would she flee into freezing darkness dressed like a butterfly? Where would she go? Her parents had conspired with her evil groom; she didn’t even know where she was.

  The cloaked demon on her right looked down at her shivering body and the ceremony was set in motion. When it came time for the ring to be put on her finger, the demon to the left of the proxy groom held out the ring and the proxy demon-husband, who appeared to be drunk or blind, shoved the ring onto her cold middle finger. “Stop! That hurts… It obviously doesn’t go there or it would fit wouldn’t it?” She was too angry to care that her eyes filled with tears. “Are you an imbecile? Even demon-brides wear the ring on the third finger!” The ring bearer’s leather glove reached out and took the Proxy husband’s clumsy fingers in a grip that made him gasp in pain. A black leather glove to her right was extended silently requesting her hand. She reluctantly complied too cold to refuse. The demon gently took possession of her trembling hand and carefully teased the ring free as if he had all night; as if there wasn’t another demon waiting to ravish her. As the hooded man slid the ring onto the correct finger, Eve tried to see what he looked like, but he was wearing a black mask. Perhaps he had no face. She was so cold she was imagining there was something in the man’s touch that went beyond courtesy; as if he cherished the opportunity to hold her hand. Was this cloaked demon her husband? Did he just squeeze her hand to comfort her? She sighed through chattering teeth; it didn’t really matter if he was her husband or the devil. It was all the same to her.

  The ceremony was over before she could memorise her husband’s names; Adam Harold Damian Latham, sixth Earl of Latham was a mouthful, but reassuringly human. The madman would be named Adam. He probably believed she’d been ordained by God to be his perfect mate. She shivered as she imagined a faceless demon named Adam climbing on top of her and forcing her with child every nine months until she died of over breeding. She shivered in fear as her eyes filled with tears; the night promised endless nightmares. Her morbid thoughts were interrupted as the Vicar asked her to step forward to sign her name in the parish register. She found her husband had previously signed his name and was surprised to see that the ink was black. He hasn’t signed the register with blood; was that a good sign? It only remained for the proxy husband to step forward and place an x next to the real signature and it was done; Eve was the new Lady Latham. She could hear her Mother practicing her new name somewhere behind her, “Lady Eve Latham…this is our daughter, Lady Eve…” Eve clenched chattering teeth as she wondered what she was supposed to do next. “Lady Eve…” Her mother’s shrill cheerful command gave the sinister proceedings an air of farce. “…come give your Mamma a kiss!”

  Snubbing her mother, she smiled as her parents loudly objected to their forced removal from the church. The door closed with a loud thud silencing their theatrical outrage. A peaceful silence fell over the empty pews; Eve was at the mercy of two cloak
ed demons. The figure on her right, who’d replaced her ring, held out his arm and led her with a dramatic swish of his cloak out through a small side door and back into the night where moonlight outlined tombstones as tall as Eve. Were they tombstones or doorways into hell? She slipped in the wet grass, but a strong black glove caught her around the waist and effortlessly returned her to her feet. Ensnared in the demon’s clutches she was led through a tunnel of clipped yew trees and into the parsonage. Would the madman deflower her before travelling further? She shivered in relief as the black leather glove on her waist gently led her into the parlour and waved her towards the fire where a chair and table were set with supper for one.

  Ignoring the food she leaned into the flames as she strained to hear the two demons whispering near the door. They appeared to have forgotten her existence. Enraged, she raised her voice, “Excuse me…would you be so good as to explain why my husband couldn’t attend his own wedding? Is he ill? Is he chained up in his attic? Is he unable to stand on consecrated ground or has he read so many Gothic novels he’s incapable of being sensible?” The two faceless hoods turned in her direction with comical surprise. “Well? Where is my invisible husband?” The two hoods turned back to look at each other, one whispered something and the other made a soft choking snort, as if he were biting back laughter. “I’m so glad someone’s amused, because I’m not! Where’s my husband?” The two hoods turned again in her direction as silent as the grave. One whispered something to the other, who emphatically shook his head no.

  Eve abruptly turned towards the fire to hide her distress as the door opened and closed behind retreating footsteps. Failing to restrain her tears, chills ran down her spine like wet ghostly fingers; one of the demons was still in the room and he was watching her. Shaking in fear she waited for hell to swallow her whole.

  Chapter 2

  The cloaked rider standing near the door clenched his hands in indecisive agony. His bride was clearly upset and needed reassurance that he wasn’t the devil, but years of experience with women had taught him that if he told her he was her husband and he wouldn’t hurt her she’d demand to see his face. Exhausted by the long cold ride and unnerved by the fact that her parents had withheld his identity, the last thing he wanted was to hear his wife scream in terror at the sight of him. He’d made up his mind; he’d introduce himself to his Eve in the comfort of his shadowy home. He’d swallow his pride and wear his cursed silly eye patch once she was his. She’d see he wasn’t completely monstrous and forgive him. That’s how he prayed it would happen or his heart would break. His mind made up, he strode over to the chair near the table and pulled it out making her jump around in fright. He silently motioned for her to sit down. Seeing her tears, he was relieved he’d remembered to put a clean handkerchief in his pocket and offered it without a word. To be alone with the woman made him feel as if he’d drunk half his cellar.

  “Thank you.” She blew her nose and watched as he uncovered her dish before escaping her curious gaze by taking a turn in front of the fire. Poking at the large log with the toe of his boot, he watched his unsuspecting bride. She was pretty with sweet curves that made his blood sing, but his heart had succumbed to the sound of her voice and her cheerful amusing outlook on life. He’d first noticed her at his cousin’s ball; he’d been watching from a hidden recess half senseless with dejection at the prospect of rejoining society to find a wife. He knew what to expect; the men would snort with laughter to cover their fear while the ladies recoiled in horror. If he gave into his cousin’s dare to leave his hiding place without wearing his hated eye patch he knew with awful certainty that no one would dance with him.

  He’d nearly made up his mind to leave the ball when Miss Eve Venables had sat down nearby with a female friend and entertained him with her outrageous observations. Her theory of how an innocent boy had become a heartless Mr John Smirke had been particularly entertaining. She appeared to have an amusing opinion on everything and everyone. By the time she’d abandoned her seat to dance with a pleasant looking Lord his heart was panting her name and demanding he arrange an introduction sans delay. He’d watched with envy as the other man led her through an eternal country dance earning her grateful smiles. If he hadn’t left his hateful eye patch on his dressing table he’d have given in to his heart’s demands and asked her to dance. It was another thing to add to the list of uncomfortable consequences of his youthful stupidity. He’d challenged a better swordsman to a duel and paid for his chivalrous impulse with one eye and several large red gruesome scars. The visible scar cut across the right side of his forehead down over the bridge of his nose through his left eye and slashed his left cheek. The deep puckered scar slicing across his throat was hidden under his cravat; his once pleasant voice was no more than a gruff whisper. His family and friends often reminded him he was lucky to be alive, but it was hard to feel lucky watching happiness dance past through a spy hole.

  After secretly trailing his adored Eve around town for months, he decided to gamble everything and offer for her. He had to hope that she’d fill his home with her laughter and dreams. It was completely mad, but once his mind was made up there was nothing anyone could say to dissuade him. As long as Eve assented then he’d marry her and there would be no debating his choice. His mother, who he’d forbidden to communicate with or meet the girl, had lectured him daily for two months. When he refused to consider any other bride, she ordered him to see sense and at least introduce himself to the girl. No, he refused to risk a meeting. If he called, Eve would insist on seeing his face and then she’d refuse to marry him. Meeting his bride before they married was out of the question. When he’d reluctantly revealed his wedding plans to his mother she’d thrown up her hands in exasperation. He brushed aside her protests that he’d frighten the girl out of her wits and insisted it had to take place in the middle of the night. He’d debated various times and places, but he knew his cloak and mask would have been far more ghoulish at midday. He didn’t mind if Eve thought him mad, but he couldn’t bear her to think him hideous. Thankfully, his mother had refused to disturb her sleep to attend what she termed an abomination. Adam was relieved he wouldn’t have to listen to her sighing loudly in disappointment that he wasn’t marrying one of the young ladies from her list of wealthy suitable options.

  Glancing at the woman eating a few yards away, a sweet ache enveloped his insides as he imagined his bride responding to his kisses. His lonely years were almost over; once his wife fell in love with him he’d wake up bathed in sunlight beside his own Eve. He wouldn’t have to pay another bored harlot to pleasure him in the dark. He’d be able to look into smiling eyes and share his feelings, if he won her heart. If he failed to win her heart he’d have to make love to his wife in the dark like a demon lover; she wouldn’t want to hear his husky love sick whispers or return his kisses. The thought turned the sweet ache into a painful knot. If he failed to win Eve’s heart his life would be hell.

  Adam listened to her finish scraping her plate and pulled his watch out of his pocket. It was time to go. He walked back to her side and held out the watch. She looked up at his hood with red tired eyes and nodded that she understood. He held out his arm and waited until she reluctantly gave him her hand before leading her back out into the cold night air to a small carriage waiting a short distance away. The carriage lamps turned his youngest brother and two cloaked friends already saddled into black demonic shadows. He smiled in amusement. His wife was right. His wedding was a gothic melodrama, but once they were home he’d be able to reassure her that he was no heartless devil.

  Chapter 3

  Eve accepted the strong black leather glove and allowed the silent demon to help her into the carriage. She watched in fascinated fear as the cloaked man attentively arranged hot bricks under her feet, tucked a thick wool blanket around her shoulders followed by a rose scented fur rug for her legs. There was no sign of a carriage warmer or even a hand warmer. Her demon-husband was probably paranoid that his new bride might catch fire. He
might be mad, but at least he didn’t want her to die…yet.

  Finishing, the silent demon jumped down and firmly closed the door. She had no idea where she was going. Her trunks were secured on the back and a few of her personal items were sitting next to her on the seat. She might be heading for Russia, India, or the colonies, but she was too tired to care. All she wanted was a warm bed, but what would be warming her bed; hot water bottles or a demon? The thought made her shiver with dread.

  They lurched into motion rushing into the darkness; the two carriage lamps illuminating only enough wet muddy highway for the horses to see their next ten gallops. Horse’s hooves thundered in time with her beating heart as she wondered over and over if the fourth outrider was her husband. Was he so hideous that he didn’t dare show his face? If he was, why hadn’t he tried to speak to her? Could he even speak? Even if he was hideous and mute surely he could have written her letters, introduced himself and explained why he wished to marry her. The thought slipped away into the darkness as she curled into the warmth of her cocoon and fell into dreams of a black cloaked man pinning her to a gigantic bed laughing manically in between disgusting kisses, his rotten teeth emitting the pleasant smell of heated calfskin and rose scented fur.