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    A Marriage of Undead Inconvenience
    A Marriage of Undead Inconvenience
    A Marriage of Undead Inconvenience
    Ebook68 pages1 hour

    A Marriage of Undead Inconvenience

    By Stephanie Burgis

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    About this ebook

    Margaret Dunhaven may have been forced into marriage with the sinister vampire lord of Shadowcroft Manor to fulfill a family obligation, but she's not about to stay trapped there for long. The beastly man doesn't even have any decent tea leaves in his kitchen!

    However, when she realizes that she's not the only one who's been forced into this marital union, it's time to join forces with her unwanted new husband. If they can combine her scholarly skills with his ancient history, then, working together, they might just manage to reclaim her inheritance, break his curse, and find their freedom.

    ...Just so long as they don't fall in love along the way.

    A witty and sparkling gothic fantasy novella that puts a new twist on Beauty and the Beast in an alternate-history version of late 19th century England.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherStephanie Burgis
    Release dateAug 5, 2024
    ISBN9798224157730
    A Marriage of Undead Inconvenience
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    Author

    Stephanie Burgis

    Stephanie Burgis is a dual citizen of the US and the UK and lives in South Wales (land of dragons) with her husband, the author Patrick Samphire, and their children. The Dragon with a Chocolate Heart is Stephanie's first (delicious) novel for Bloombsury.

    Read more from Stephanie Burgis

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      Book preview

      A Marriage of Undead Inconvenience - Stephanie Burgis

      A Marriage of Undead Inconvenience

      A Marriage of Undead Inconvenience

      STEPHANIE BURGIS

      FIVE FATHOMS PRESS

      For Batwrangler, with thanks!

      Contents

      A Marriage of Undead Inconvenience

      Afterword

      Acknowledgments

      A Marriage of Undead Inconvenience

      It was Margaret Dunhaven’s opinion that a marriage which constrained her to drink stale tea could not be described as ‘convenient’ in any meaningful sense of the word. In fact, as she emptied out the last of the cavernous old kitchen cupboards and a mound of stirred-up dust billowed into her face, she realized—through a set of convulsive sneezes—that her current circumstances merited an entirely different term.

      Despite every claim made by her relatives across the nightmarish forty-eight hours since they had kidnapped her from the luxuriant depths of her college library, she found herself trapped in a marriage of deep inconvenience...and she would have to resign herself to brewing those tattered and scent-less old tea leaves after all, if only to sharpen her brain for working out an escape route.

      Grumbling under her breath, she tucked up the folds of her absurdly elaborate wedding gown with one hand, picked up the dusty tin of tea leaves with the other, and stepped down from the rickety old chair she had used as a precarious stool.

      Ahem, said the deathly-pale and wild-haired man who loomed in the doorway of the kitchen, his disheveled grey suit a full century out of fashion.

      "No." Exchanging the tin for a battered old kettle, Margaret stalked through the room to the connected scullery and yanked hard on the brass tap.

      Pipes wailed in protest at being woken from their long slumber. Margaret set her teeth together and endured the racket.

      What I was attempting to say... he continued.

      Margaret had been honing the force of her venomous glare to warn rival research students away from her chosen study desk for well over three years now. She called on that skill once more as she turned, deliberately, to face him. You may now be my husband, she enunciated tightly, "but I will not be listening to another word you say until I’ve had a proper cup of tea."

      Apparently, even the undead could be made to understand some simple facts of life. The vampire lord of Shadowcroft Manor stepped back a full two inches under her regard, his bulky shoulders stiffening defensively.

      That’s better. Margaret set the newly-full kettle on the stove and refused to worry about the fact that she was turning her back on her new spouse...even as the exposed nape of her neck prickled in atavistic warning.

      Well, if he did lunge forward to try to bite her, she’d simply whack him over the head with the kettle she’d just filled and take care of the problem that way. Honestly, she almost hoped that he would. It would give her the perfect excuse to let out all of her pent-up fury.

      Unfortunately for her more violent impulses, her sinister new husband waited with apparent patience all the way through her very thorough steeping of the leaves and her first long, disappointing sip before he finally cleared his throat and drawled, "Would it be too unbearably forward of me, madam, to escort you to the parlor?"

      Margaret’s shoulders sagged as she sighed.

      This tea, no matter how unpleasant, was indeed the bolster she had needed to recall her common sense. Making an enemy of her unwanted spouse would be no more sensible than alienating her most persnickety academic supervisor. So, she ignored the sardonic tone of his offer and said, That would be helpful, my lord. Thank you.

      Bowing, he led her through a maze of cobwebbed, empty corridors and dust-shroud-covered rooms to a small but surprisingly comfortable-looking parlor, with two deep-cushioned sofas set close together. Candles cast a warm glow from old-fashioned candelabras set atop sturdy oak cabinets. The thick black velvet curtains were firmly closed when they arrived, but Lord Riven drew them open to reveal the even thicker darkness outside as Margaret set her teapot and cup on a side table and braced herself for their first conversation since they’d met at an altar an hour earlier.

      You must know, she said, that this will never work. Regardless of whatever mad urge led you to blackmail my family, you can’t have truly wished for an unwilling wife—and I’ll be useless as a housekeeper or a hostess, I promise you.

      A shaggy swathe of tawny hair fell across his eyes as his head tilted, shielding his expression as he stood by the darkened windows. Blackmail? I’m not quite sure...

      She flapped one hand impatiently. "Oh, for goodness’ sake. Do you expect me to pretty it up for tact’s sake? There wasn’t even any milk in the kitchen for my tea, after a two-day journey without any stops that were long enough to rest. You can’t expect me to dance about with words now!

      "My aunt and uncle were both extremely clear that I—and they—had no choice in this matter. If I said no, the whole family would be ruined, cast out upon the streets for rats to nibble upon our hair as we slept in the stinking gutters; I would

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