Daphne Du Maurier Novels & Stories

her voice squeaked. “Yes. I’m sure I could arrange that. Daphne is living near the border of Brighton now. She’s the companion to a wealthy widow, Lady Estelle Winterbourne.” Emmie lifted her gaze and met her grandmother’s eyes. “Is your daughter...married?” The old woman’s face fell in sadness. “Not any longer. She was married once with a child, but the ship that carried her husband and daughter was attacked by pirates, killing all on board.” What? Emmie’s heart stumbled in rhythm as her mind came to a screeching halt. This couldn’t be right. Georgia had just explained the same way Emmie was told Daphne had died. What was going on?

Turning the music off, I grab the lavender and put it in a tiny glass vase, and set it in the center of the long ebony black dining table. Walking out of the conjoined dining room and kitchen I grab my book, my water bottle, and a blanket. I set the water and blanket by the back door that leads to the porch, and the beach a little off, and head back to the kitchen with my book. Of human bondage, by W. Somerset Maugham. The book itself isn't bad, but from my point of view, it's terribly bland. I like more poetic works. But also a hint of darkness. The best example is the poem, In the Desert, by Stephen Crane, from his book The Black Riders and Other Lines. It has a sense of dystopia that I ca

Gabriel neither confirms nor denies seeing Daphne, though a few of the people who are brave enough to walk up to us react as though they know who I’m talking about. “So, you know her,” I say. “Where is she?” “That is the sorceress Coraline to tell, not us,” a small older woman says. Damon looks at the woman. “Coraline?” “Do you know who that is?” I ask. He doesn’t answer me but instead asks the woman, “What does she look like?” “Violet hair, grey eyes,” she says. I still don’t know what’s going on, but Damon’s eyes go wide. He starts to say something but then stops when another woman walks by with a basket full of herbs. He runs up to her and sniffs it. “What is this?” he demands.

Fuschia pointed to one of the books in her pile, which she had read earlier, although it didn't finish. “Of course, that book explains the origin of the magical dissapearance from the lands of the Dracenthia Kingdom. Which started in the southern region of the kingdom till spread to various other regions. He also wrote about the correlation between the appearance of monsters and the disappearance of magic. The book was written by Sir Arthur Demian, a former secretary of the royal army.” Fuschia checked the name of the author of the book, which turned out to be what Elysian had said.

Arthur wrinkled his nose, “How many times do I have to say—” “Arthur!” Daphne called from down the hallway. He turned his head and gasped. The displeasure at Blade and Mamie’s formal greetings was forgotten and he could barely breathe. She was so beautiful. The older maid at her side looked a bit familiar and smiled slightly as Daphne came down the hallway. She was dressed in blue and silver. The gown seemed to follow the curve of her waist before flaring out into a long ornate skirt that made him think of Luna Sabina’s gown in her portrait. The details around her neckline gleamed with the light in the hallway and drew his eyes up towards the ornaments in her hair.

Then I saw an image of a younger Dorian, with his sharp jawline and fierce eyes, was intimidating, and I couldn't help but feel grateful that I had only met the kinder side of him. But it was the portrait of Lady Maurie that really caught my attention. The painting seemed to come alive, and the woman's twisted smile sent chills down my spine. Her piercing gaze seemed to follow me as I walked down the hall, and I couldn't shake off the feeling that I was still being watched.

"Daphne and I shall be in my room to rest and observe the same room she left before." Daphne went near Maverick while her left hand was holding a tissue that she wiped on her lips. Minutes passed, and Daphne and Maverick decided to go upstairs. Daphne kept observing the surroundings until they reached the second floor, while Maverick, as the owner, was the first to step in. However, Daphne knew every corner, the direction of the rooms, and where the maid quarter was, as she was once a princess, living with her prince charming, but hated by her mother-in-law, unfortunately.

Madam Dorothy replied. Clenching my fist, I mumbled under my breath. “That omega is not trustworthy. I heard that ever since she came into our pack, there have been so many cases of murder and attacks from the vampires. What if… What if she’s a spy? I did some research and found out that her pathetic mother was nothing but a mistress to the beta of Dark Iron Pack, and she’s an illegitimate daughter.” I scoffed in disgust. “Alyssa, I know that Eleanor must have told you really cruel things about Daphne, but those are not true. Daphne is a good person, and…” Madam Dorothy was still speaking when I interrupted, clapping in sarcasm.

The door slammed shut with a resounding thud, startling Victoria and the Duke. They both turned, their bodies tense, as a woman entered the room, her presence undeniable. There, standing in the threshold, was Isabella’s sister, Elena Deveaurux. Victoria’s breath hitched as she took in the sight of her. Elena was everything Isabella wasn’t: composed, calm, with a quiet power that emanated from her like a shroud. Her dark eyes flickered over the room, assessing the situation with a sharpness that made Victoria uneasy. She was dressed in a simple black dress, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders in soft waves. But the coldness in her gaze was unmistakable.

The slow and romantic tune continued to play, echoing into the manor's darkened and somber chambers and hallways. Diana let her feet carry her closer to the wide-open entryway of the living room, her gait so timid and unsteady. So fearful and hesitant. She hated this. She hated it so much. The fact that she had no other options left. No other ways to go around this. She just wanted out of this. Out of this haunted manor. Out of Nicholas' clutches. This chaotic mess that she'd found herself trapped within.