My Lady's Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel(21)

“That woman were beautiful in face and body alone, love. Not in soul. Her soul were twisted and vile. She despised those little children, the way she despised anyone she thought beneath her. But now that is me speaking ill of the dead, and I shouldn’t, love.” As she speaks, you watch Mrs. Butts’s eyes flash with dark, unknown memories.

The situation is getting increasingly messy. You can’t separate fact from feeling, and feeling from fiction. You sense all logic slipping through your grasping fingers and are wondering what to do next when the clock strikes, a crow cries, and the house’s front door is flung open, all at the same time.

The handsome vicar stands in the doorway.

“Hello, Reverend,” Mrs. Butts says, sliding into full-on welcome mode. “Lord Craven is occupied at the moment—”

“I did not come to call on Lord Craven, my dear Mrs. Butts. I came on urgent business…” He turns to face you. “With you.”

Your heart drops as your temperature rises.

“Forgive my intrusion, but I will be only a moment,” the vicar says in a loud, amiable way, before lowering his tone to a whisper for you, and you alone. “I need to meet with you. Tonight, in the eldritch garden.”

He takes your hand and kisses it. The motion is quick but sears you to the core. He searches your eyes for a haunted moment; then, confident at what he finds there, he turns away to address Mrs. Butts and Betsy once more. “See you all at church on Sunday!”

And then he is gone.





Holy hell. Turn to this page.





With the traitor locked up in Glenblair’s dungeon, Ollie heads straight to the nearest militia, and word is sent to London. A few days later, a smartly dressed man arrives: Lord Fleming, the top spymaster in Britain. What he recounts nearly causes you to swoon.

“I don’t believe it,” you say, dazed. “Could this be true?”

“Believe it,” Lord Fleming replies in the crisp, efficient tones of a professional turncoat. “We’ve ensured that Glenblair Castle belongs to the Society for the Protection of Widows and Orphans of the War. And that Ruston here has received a fair share of reward money for capturing the traitor Abercrombie, and—”

“And I want you to have it,” Ollie speaks in a rush. Lord Fleming does not seem to appreciate being interrupted.

“Oh, Ollie,” you say. “Thank you.”

Lord Fleming takes your arm. “I hear from young Ruston that you spotted the trap laid by the blackguard Abercrombie. How the devil did you manage it?”

“Simply, my lord,” you say. “After I ruled out Mac as the mole and considered what both he and Ollie told me about Constantina and the regiment, the only possible person it could be was Abercrombie. Besides the man’s predilection for burning papers and the evidence hidden in his blasted wooden chest, the note he sent, which he intended to look like Ollie—Ruston—had written it, was a hopeless forgery. I have known Mr. Ruston since childhood, and he has written me many terrible poems”—Ollie’s face reddens—“so I would know his handwriting anywhere. That is how I knew to bring reinforcements.”

“Remarkable,” Lord Fleming says. “You know, we could use a resourceful, canny, and beautiful young lady such as yourself in the secret service.”





Well, there’s a tantalizing offer!

Do you accept? Spies are fantastically intriguing…Turn to this page.

Or do you turn down his kind offer? Turn to this page.





You and Craven watch young Alexander as he sleeps, his sweet face now placid and smiling gently.

It is not just the boy who has been transformed. As the dawn breaks, a peace descends over the house, the likes of which you have never felt before. The rooms appear lighter, the air cleaner, and even the remaining paintings bear a more benign expression. It is as if the deadly fever that had consumed Hopesend has finally broken, and there is hope for life…and perhaps love.

Craven turns to you and strokes your hair.

“You have saved us all,” he says. “But I know that it would be cruel to keep you here. Not when you could be free—free to love a worthy man. Free to go about your business without a care in the world.” He speaks with a tremor in his voice and a mixture of sadness and hope in his eyes.

“I can find a place for you, far from here. In America, with an honorable man of my acquaintance. One who I know will be a good employer.”





Do you want to get out of here? Turn to this page.

Or do you know that Craven is just frightened and pushing you away? He loves you! And needs you! Then turn to this page.





You nod at Mac and lock your gaze onto his hazel eyes, sharing a moment of connection and understanding so profound that it needs no words. Which is fortunate, under the circumstances, since you hardly have time for sweet nothings.

“Death is no matter to me. It will come as a relief!” cries Ollie to his traitorous ex-lover. Constantina smirks.

“Then you are a fool. A fool who is about to learn what happens to those who cross me!”

Now is your chance. When she is busy cackling villainously and not paying a great deal of attention to her surroundings, you nod, silent as ever, and Mac takes your lead. Moving as one, you creep toward her stealthily. Mac readies his dirk, and you remove your shoes and one stocking, feeling about for a heavy rock or something similar to create a makeshift bludgeon.