The Blood & The Bridle Read online

  THE BLOOD & THE BRIDLE

  By

  C P Verity

  The Blood & The Bridle

  Copyright: C P Verity

  Published Updated: 12th April 2022

  First Published in a similar form as An Unnatural Daughter, 15th December 2014

  All the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The right of C P Verity to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  CHAPTER 1 | Lost & Found

  CHAPTER 2 | The Beginning, or the Middle | - Before -

  CHAPTER 3 | Vulnerable, Beautiful Tristan

  CHAPTER 4 | Mrs Raynor | - Before -

  CHAPTER 5 | Half Asleep

  CHAPTER 6 | Miss Raynor’s Room | - Before -

  CHAPTER 7 | Regarding Cassandra

  CHAPTER 8 | My Parents | - Before -

  CHAPTER 9 | Alice & Orlando

  CHAPTER 10 | ‘Til Death Us Do Part | - Before -

  CHAPTER 11 | An Unnatural Daughter

  CHAPTER 12 | Least Said | - Before -

  CHAPTER 13 | Alice Who Looked at the Stars

  CHAPTER 14 | Vows are Broken | - Before -

  CHAPTER 15 | The Paths Untraveled

  CHAPTER 16 | The Devil In Me | - Before -

  CHAPTER 17 | The Truth Will Out

  CHAPTER 18 | The Blood & The Bridle | - Before -

  CHAPTER 19 | Ring Around the Rosie

  CHAPTER 20 | Fleur, Again

  CHAPTER 21 | Toast

  CHAPTER 22 | Goodbye, Gabriel

  CHAPTER 23 | Grand Old Grandmamma | - Before -

  CHAPTER 24 | Better Strangers

  CHAPTER 25 | In Sickness & In Health

  CHAPTER 26 | For Richer, For Poorer

  CHAPTER 27 | Nature, Unnaturally

  CHAPTER 28 | Taking Liberties

  CHAPTER 29 | The Future

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  Further Reading: The Death of Lord Lincoln

  Also By C P Verity

  For Adam, for everything.

  Author’s Note

  This book contains scenes of domestic abuse, sexual assault, trauma and suicidal ideation.

  The Blood & The Bridle was first published as An Unnatural Daughter in 2015 under the pen name Katherine Holt. This edition is revised and updated, but the story remains fundamentally the same.

  To stay up to date on new releases, visit subscribepage.com/cpveritybooks to sign up to the newsletter, or follow @cpveritybooks on Twitter.

  CHAPTER 1

  Lost & Found

  ‘Perhaps we should call the doctor.’

  It was the voice of a lady, melodious even when laced with concern. ‘If anything were to happen to her in our care – what would we do?’

  ‘Who is she though?’

  A man’s voice now, also light and lilting, but just too deep to be called feminine.

  ‘Her linen’s fine – or was.’ The lady spoke again. ‘That wrapper was French silk, I’m sure. Such a shame it was so damaged. But really, now she’s here we could hardly turn her away, Tristan. Jane knows, even if my conscience could face it. Poor thing.’

  I kept my eyes tightly shut and tried to keep as still as possible.

  ‘No, no, I don’t mean we ought to do that, Mother. Just – I hoped we could avoid having anyone here. And if she’s quality, she might...’ A sigh. ‘Was there nothing on her? No sort of seal, no papers?’

  ‘There was a necklace, but really, to rifle through one’s person – a last resort, surely.’

  I stiffened when she mentioned my locket.

  ‘Oh, she moved!’ Cool hands grasped mine and began to rub my fingers. ‘Perhaps she’s coming round.’

  ‘I hope so,’ the man said.

  I opened my crusty eyes with difficulty and found myself staring into the face of an older lady. In the bright room I could see the fine lines around her eyes and the slight sagging of her porcelain skin, yet she was still very attractive.

  ‘Now then, how are you feeling?’

  I tried to reply but struggled to do more than croak. Despite still feeling damp throughout, my throat was bone dry. The lady passed me a glass of water, which I swallowed with difficulty.

  ‘Where am I?’ The words were a whisper, and I was unable to hide the tremor of fear that ran through me. I dreaded that they might be people I had heard of, or living close enough to my former home to have heard of me. How long would it take for word of what had happened to get out? I wasn’t sure of the day or time, but I was probably already being hunted.

  ‘There, now.’ The lady leaned forward and gently pushed me back down onto the pillows. ‘Don’t worry yourself child, you’re safe here. I’m Edwina, and this is my son Tristan. You’ve had quite a blow to the head, and I’m sure your ankle’s twisted at the very least. Not to mention how cold and wet you got. You’re lucky we found you, dear.’

  ‘Not so lucky Brutus caught her,’ the young man said, sounding pained. I saw him for the first time then, as he left the window behind me and walked around to the front of my sick bed. I had never seen a man so beautiful. It seems silly to describe a man as such, but calling him handsome, even in my head, did not seem to do justice to his appearance. His mother was a fair, faded prettiness that had aged gracefully, and he had clearly inherited her looks. On a man that prettiness became startling, and I had to force myself to stop staring at his fine features and very pink lips.

  ‘Hush, Tristan. I don’t know that you should be in here, you know. It probably isn’t proper. Do be a dear and run down to Jane and ask her to send up some of that broth she’s been making.’

  With one last lingering look at me, Tristan sighed and left the room.

  ‘Now then,’ Edwina bustled about, placing a cool hand on my forehead, arranging my sheets. I flinched whenever her hands touched me. ‘Such a fright we had when Tristan brought you in. Do you remember what happened?’

  I shook my head and stretched an arm out to reach for the water beside me. I realised then that they must have changed my clothes, for rather than my plain nightgown I now wore cotton embroidered with daisies. The long sleeves were edged with a deep and frivolous lace that fell back from my wrists as I stretched. Edwina looked at my bruises, and her eyes met mine. I shrank back beneath the covers, ashamed, although she must have noticed them all already.

  ‘Well,’ she smoothed the sheet as though nothing had happened, and I loved her a little bit, stranger though she was. ‘Tristan was riding, and he must have been about two miles away from home when all of a sudden, there you were. White as a ghost, he said, and Brutus – that’s his horse – must have thought so too. Tristan managed to control him for the most part, but he clipped you and down you went. There’s a cut on your forehead that will probably bruise up in a few days but should heal up nice and cleanly.’

  Edwina stood and busied herself, fussing with the curtains behind me.

  ‘And you can’t remember anything, you say?’

  She was making it so easy for me. I didn’t even have to lie to her face.

  ‘No.’

  ‘How about your name – do you remember that?’

  ‘Alic
e,’ I said after a momentary hesitation. Not many people knew my middle name, so I should be safe enough. My real name was too unusual to risk.

  ‘That’s a nice name,’ she said almost absently. ‘Oh, here’s Jane with the broth. This is Alice, Jane.’

  Jane, a small lady of indeterminate middle age, with a worn but soft face, bobbed a curtsey and surveyed me covertly through her lashes.

  ‘You’re very kind,’ I burst out, almost unable to bear this unquestioning kindness. ‘So kind to look after me.’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ Edwina soothed. ‘My son’s horse did give you quite a blow. Why, this is the very least we can do.’

  She helped me to sit up and Jane placed the tray over my knees. The broth smelt delicious, and my stomach lurched with hunger. Edwina withdrew to the curtains once more, as Jane cast a last, curious look in my direction before leaving us alone.

  ‘It’s still raining. It hasn’t stopped since last night. Oh, you won’t know what time it is, will you? It’s three now, so, oh, what does that make it? It must be about fourteen hours since Tristan found you. We would have sent for a doctor of course, but the roads, you know. Tristan only just got in before it was too dangerous. He went out this morning, and he says it’s flooded from the crossroads right to the end of our driveway. Terrible business. Have you finished?’

  I had drained the bowl without even thinking.

  ‘Thank you. It was lovely. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ She paused by my shoulder, smoothing the sheets again with agitated hands. ‘I do hope you’ll feel better soon, Alice. Such a bad business. Hopefully, you can sleep now.’

  She left me alone and I sank back onto the pillows, exhausted. I had barely been probed or pressed for information, yet the whole interaction had felt like an ordeal. I looked back on my spell of unconsciousness as a time of bliss. Perhaps I had been meant to die beneath the hooves of Brutus.

  Yet I had been spared. I wondered if I should tell Edwina what had happened. Even thinking of her as Edwina seemed presumptuous. And what could I possibly say? I imagined reaching out to her and Tristan, this beautiful, golden family and saying, why, now you mention it, I have remembered what happened. I had run away because I murdered my husband. Fancy that!

  No, that would never do. My only option was to be as little trouble to them as I could, convince them of my wellness as soon as possible, and go on my way to my father’s house. I would try to find some way to repay their kindness and trust, and that must suffice.

  I wondered where I was. Edwina had mentioned a crossroads, but that could be anywhere. And how much of an imposition would it be for them to look after me? They seemed well to do enough – must be, to keep a horse, and the two had been well-dressed. But my surroundings could only hold my interest and distract me for so long.

  In a flash I saw my husband’s body again. Blood intruded on my vision, blotting the pretty fabric covers and the pastel paint on the walls. Splashes, spots, dribbles and drops. I swam in it. Then I fainted.

  I woke in darkness. My arms were pinned to my sides, and I burned with heat. For a moment I thought I was in hell. Again, my husband’s face swam before my eyes and I thrashed, wrestling the sheets and blankets from around me. I fell to the floor then, and writhed for what seemed like hours, struggling and bound in the twisted sheets. I felt myself begin to cry and the tears burned my cheeks, stinging my cracked, dry lips. I felt the metal tight against my skull, pressing against my nose, and the bloodlike taste in my mouth where it pressed my tongue. I heaved, and my body was wracked with dry sobs and shaking as the blackness pressed into me, suffocating me. In what seemed the most real vision of all, I saw a man standing over me, a stranger looking down as I lay on the floor. He seemed to know me, and appeared shocked at what I had become. I curled into a ball of shame, rocking back and forth interminably.

  Then there was a light, then cool hands on my arms, holding me firmly when I flinched away. Then sweet oblivion.

  I was asleep for another day and a half. After they had forced a few drops of laudanum down my aching throat, the blood withdrew from my vision and darkness gently covered everything again. I still felt the pain of compression over my skull, the mute discomfort and fear, but it grew less with every hour. My feet began to heal and the cut on my forehead swelled into a tender purple bruise, tinged with streaks of yellow.

  Edwina was an angel. As I hovered between consciousness and unconsciousness she was there, her presence holding back the memories. She sat with me all day and into the evening, reading to me from a novel or a stack of old fashion magazines, or just sitting in silence while she sewed, and I dozed. She also told me about Tristan.

  ‘He paints, you know.’

  I didn’t, and felt a surge of interest in him. I had barely thought of him since I had seen him the first time I had woken up. The beautiful young man. I remembered golden hair, longer than was fashionable, hanging in gentle waves.

  ‘Anything, anything you like. People, animals, buildings, fields. He’s ever so good. He was going to travel, you know, to Italy and France. He’d always wanted to visit the Louvre. But then he joined the army, and there was all that bad business with France, and he just never did.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll go now the war’s over? It’s been almost a year, hasn’t it?’

  Edwina stilled and sighed, looking beyond me out of the window.

  ‘I like to think he will. He used to want to so much. He longed to travel and explore and learn more about the world. I didn’t want him to go but he said I was silly to worry. But it was the war you see. Then he joined up, said it was the only way he could see the world. We asked him to reconsider but his commission had already been bought. Luckily, he was only out there six months before he was sent home.’

  ‘Was he hurt?’ I saw blood again, this time on Tristan’s entrancing face, as he lay in a crumpled heap on my lap.

  ‘Oh no, it was over, you see. He got there just after that business at Waterloo, so there wasn’t really anything to do. Which was a relief to me, of course. Not just so Tristan wasn’t in any danger, but it’s very pleasant to be rid of that Napoleon Bonaparte fellow. Awful man, but then, what does one expect from the French? Wonderful clothes, though.’

  I couldn’t imagine Tristan in the army. He was too delicate, too ethereal to be involved in the wars of men. But what did I know of anything? I’d only seen him once. Twice, if you counted the time he knocked me down. How could I presume to know him? I didn’t even know myself.

  They let me out a few days later. I was helped down the stairs with Edwina on one side and Tristan on the other. I flinched as Tristan’s arm circled my waist and longed to run. The knowledge that Edwina was near helped me to suppress the panic rising within me. How I clung to her. I already wondered how I could bring myself to leave. She speculated that I would be well again within the month, once my feet and ankle had healed fully. I hoped I could keep up the charade of my identity for so long.

  I was placed in a bath chair at the top of the lawn, overlooking the gardens and in the shade of the house behind me. They were comfortably off rather than wealthy, I had discovered. Certainly not as well to do as my husband had been, but not many were. The house was a larger cottage, in the Tudor style with black beams and white plaster, and leaded windows with tiny diamond panes. Like Edwina and her son, understated but beautiful.

  As I sleepily surveyed the still grass, bright in the pale sunlight, I felt entirely at peace. The laudanum kept my nightmares away, and here in a place so entirely alien to the rest of my life, I couldn’t quite believe that I had ever been married, that I had acted as I had, or that I had ever really existed until this moment. Here was the be all and end all of my existence, and I was entirely happy for that to be so.

  I had been given a book from the library, chosen for me by Edwina and passed on with assurances that I would love it. I hadn’t even read the title. I neither needed nor wished for escapism at that moment.

  The wind
hushed through the trees that bordered the lawn, whispering sweet, soothing nothings that lulled me to the verge of sleep. I hovered in that wonderful state where the mind wanders smoothly from subject to subject, dwelling on nothing, and heading gently towards the outlandish. Then suddenly I was alert and afraid.

  I sat bolt upright. My head swam and the grass spun for a moment. Someone was watching me. The trees concealed whatever lay beyond the lawn, but I knew the threat I felt didn’t come from there. My neck prickled as I tried to breathe slowly, willing myself to turn around. Turn around. It was nothing, it would be nothing, just a chill breeze, a foolish superstition conjured up by an overwrought mind. I had been dosed up with laudanum for days – it was probably part and parcel of that.

  Two storeys of windows faced me. All dark, their secrets were screened by the bright reflection of the garden. A shadow moved in the corner of my eye, but I told myself it was one of the trees.

  Once disturbed, my unease remained, and I found I could not settle back into the calm I had felt earlier. Dozing was no longer an option and I felt too on edge to read, so it was a relief when Tristan approached through the trees with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder and a rug rolled up under his arm. His shock of blond hair gleamed near white in the sun, and fell over his eyes as he squinted in my direction.

  He was taller than I had realized, and thinner too. He raised his free arm in a salute to me, and I waved back, assailed now by a new kind of nervousness.

  ‘Mind if I sit with you?’ he asked, his voice as lilting and melodious as I had remembered.

  ‘No, no.’ I fluttered my hands uselessly.

  ‘How are you today, Alice?’ A blush stained his cheeks. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve remembered a second name? It seems terribly presumptuous of me to use your given name when I don’t know you.’

  ‘That can be forgiven, I think, considering that I barely know myself at the moment.’

  He smiled, and I saw pity in his eyes. Tristan unrolled the rug on the grass beside me and sat at my feet. It felt strange to look down on him, only a few feet away, all long limbs and pale skin.