The Devil Wears Ascots: A Regency & Victorian Romance Collection by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B086839D3G
Goodreads: 52927967
Publisher: Gnarly Wool Publishing
Published: 2020-04-04T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 3

THREE: BLACKMOOR HALL

The coachman had been right.

Blackmoor Hall was something odd and imposing, out in the middle of the moors as if it simply didn’t belong.

Dark…

Emma could see it as the sky began to darken. Night was approaching and she was determined to make it to Blackmoor Hall before the darkness fell. She knew that when it did, she would be stuck in the middle of a black moor, with darkness all around, and probably unable to move until daylight. The moon, when it had come out from behind the clouds as of late, was only a sliver.

It would provide no light for travel.

The coaches had carried their own lights, lanterns that hung from the cab that provided some illumination against the darkness, but Emma hadn’t thought to take a lantern with her when she forged off on her own. It had been foolish in hindsight but, fortunately, Blackmoor Hall was within her sight.

Picking up the pace, she practically ran the rest of the way.

As she sloshed up the main drive, coming to the front of the house, she noticed that everything was terraced. There was the level that the main drive was on and then there were steps leading up to another level, some kind of patio or walkway with unkempt balustrades, and then more steps leading to the entry to the house itself. In the dying light of the day, Emma found herself looking at a door that seemed to be as run down as the house around it.

Great stone images hung from the eaves, gargoyles that had once been imposing and even beautiful, but time and weather had worn away the faces so that now they were barely recognizable as having once had features. As she gazed up at them, feeling some trepidation, the rain began to pelt her and she took the steps up to the door, lifting the heavy iron knocker and listening to the boom reverberate.

She found herself hoping she was at the right place.

A minute or two passed and there was no response, so she knocked again. Time passed again with no response. Out of curiosity, and perhaps desperation, she put her hand on the latch to see if the door was open. She was surprised when it slowly swung open.

A large reception hall greeted her, dark and smelling dank. With the weak light from the setting sun, she could see two big Doric pillars in the room and a darkened hearth. The floor beneath her feet was wooden, with a herringbone pattern, which would have been lovely under any other circumstances. But in the darkness, in the musty dankness, it was simply dull and unappealing as it blended into the rest of the neglected chamber.

Emma’s trepidation had turned into full-blown apprehension at this point, but the rain was starting to come down harder and she needed shelter for the night. No one had answered the door and, by all appearances, the place seemed to be deserted. She didn’t hear, or see, a soul.

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