The Baron's Wife Page 10

  She pulled the sheet over her breasts. “You wouldn’t want me to stay with you?”

  “Not want you?” Nathaniel laughed and shook his head. He reached out and traced a line down her throat. “I’ve wanted you in my life since I first set eyes on you. So much so, I assured myself you would be happy here.”

  He sounded doubtful. Did he regret marrying her? Laura moved away, not wanting his touch to distract her, as her eyes filled with tears. She left the bed lest he should notice and pulled on her nightgown. “I wish I understood you, Nathaniel. Sometimes I fear you don’t want me near you.”

  “That’s nonsense!” Shrugging into his dressing gown, he followed her across the room. “Sweetheart, I’ll be busy, tired and I fear short-tempered. You wouldn’t be comfortable in a hotel suite. You can see your friends, go shopping with your mother.”

  At her vanity table, Laura picked up her pearl-handled hairbrush, its familiar smoothness reassuring beneath her fingers. She began to brush, but her movements were jerky and she snagged a curl.

  Nathaniel removed the brush from her hand. His firm strokes felt wonderful. “I need to gather support for an important bill. The people here rely on me.”

  “But I’ve been asked to open the church fête on Saturday. I did tell you. It’s my first official act as your wife.” She’d expected him to be there.

  He met her gaze in the mirror. “There’ll be other fêtes. Make your excuses; they will understand that you must accompany me to London.”

  “I don’t like to, Nathaniel. They’ll think I don’t care, and I want them to like me.” And she was in no mood to come under her mother’s measuring gaze. Certainly not now when she felt so unsure. “And I wish to address the servants, familiarize myself with the running of the household. We have no housekeeper. That cannot go on. You must employ one.”

  “Yes, quite so.” Nathaniel put down the brush, swept aside her hair and touched his lips to her nape. “Perhaps you’re right. It’s an opportunity for the villagers to get to know the new baroness, who’s a charming, lovely lady.” He smiled. “I know they will warm to you. While I’m gone, you must take any concerns to my overseer, Hugh Pitney. He’s a good man and will assist you.”

  She turned on the stool. “I will miss you terribly.” She placed her hand at his nape and drew his head down for a kiss while she prayed that he would miss her as much.

  “And I you, sweetheart.” He swept her up in his arms and returned to the bed.

  ***

  Nathaniel leaned back against the leather seat as the steam train chugged northward. The journey provided him with time for contemplation without distraction. He had instructed Hugh to keep a sharp eye on Laura during the daylight hours. The wheels were set in motion for an investigation into the smuggling, which the harbormaster and the revenue agents would orchestrate. He prayed something would come of their inquiries soon. The smugglers had been put on notice. They would be scattering to avoid the revenue men, and there was little reason for them to return now that their spoils were gone.

  Could he and Laura ever settle into a peaceful life together? Nathaniel wasn’t sure he believed it, but he clung to the possibility like a drowning man. He stared sightlessly out of the window. Would she continue to gaze at him with such warmth and affection? Having her love and her trust, when so many doubted him, was important. Whether he deserved it or not, it had become everything.

  Chapter Twelve

  After seeing Nathaniel off on his way to the station in Penzance for the London train, Laura walked back to the house. Would he miss her as much as she would miss him? There was still a wall between them she seemed unable to breach. Was it because she’d failed to measure up to Amanda? She couldn’t bear to think he might regret marrying her. One thing she was confident of, however: she did not disappoint him in the bedroom, for his hunger for her had not abated. But she’d begun to suspect that his confidence of her passion and his prowess to satisfy her smoothed over any disagreements between them. Nothing would change unless she demanded more openness from him. She was bewildered by how meek she’d become. She didn’t know herself anymore. She’d always been spirited, a fighter, but fear of discovering Nathaniel’s affections remained with his first wife had silenced her. If it were true, it was something she couldn’t fight.

  A stroll before lunch would have the dual purpose of ordering her thoughts, while discovering more of her new home. There was still so much she had yet to see.

  Donning her hat, Laura strolled along the tree-lined lane past the row of stone cottages. One house looked very much like the one in Cilla’s painting. Yes, there was the band of tall firs isolating it from the rest. She hesitated, then opened the creaky, rusted gate and entered the weedy front garden that had been a riot of color in Cilla’s painting. Shading her vision from the sun’s reflection, Laura peered through the dirty window into an empty room. Nathaniel had said they were unoccupied, but when she opened the front door and walked into the tiny parlor, she found the room partially furnished. A sofa flanked the fireplace, a table beside it. A fire had been laid in the grate as if someone was soon to arrive to light it. A branch of candles and a box of matches sat on the mantel. Feeling she had made a mistake and wandered into someone’s home, Laura hurried out the door.

  As she walked to the gate, a man on a chestnut horse appeared in the lane. The overseer, Hugh Pitney, pulled up his mount and raised his hat to greet her before riding on. She recalled having seen him earlier that day. Was Mr. Pitney following her? Laura bit her lip. Nathaniel must have instructed him to keep an eye on her. It was nonsensical. Was she not safe here? Nathaniel was as bad as her mother.

  Laura continued her walk, glad that Mr. Pitney had made himself scarce. In among the trees of the park, she breathed in the pungent aroma of damp leaves, warm bark and fungi. Dappled patches of sunlight broke through the canopy overhead, brightening the shrubs and trees bordering the well-trodden path.

  A squirrel scampered over a fallen log. Rustling in the bushes made her turn, her heart thumping, until her common sense took hold. It would be a deer or some other small animal. Not given to flights of fancy, she considered it foolish to find the silence, broken only by bird calls, ominous. Nevertheless, she picked up her skirts, increased her pace and hurried toward the patch of sunlight ahead.

  She hadn’t considered her direction and was a little shocked to find herself at the top of the cliff. She was about to go back the way she’d come, but stared instead at the awe-inspiring view. It was undoubtedly beautiful. There was a rim of dark gray on the horizon above a churning silver sea.

  When Laura looked down at the crashing waves below, she grew dizzy. She hadn’t been aware that heights affected her in this manner. Caught by a gust of wind, her skirts flapped, and when she smoothed them down, the wind ripped her shawl from her shoulders. She grabbed at it, but found herself only a few yards from the edge. Her throat tightened, and she stepped back on shaky legs. The fringed Cashmere shawl floated well beyond her reach. Like a sail in the wind, it soared out over the cliff and disappeared beneath the swell of white-capped waves below.

  Laura held on to her hat, which threatened to join the shawl. She turned and marched along the narrow track through the trees. Instead of continuing in the direction of the village, she walked along a lane bordered by a high hedge.

  “Damn it!” she muttered, remembering the pretty shawl had been a present from Aunt Dora.

  “My goodness. Is that you, Laura?” Cilla rose from the garden with a trowel in her hand, a straw hat in a sad state of disrepair on her head. An apron covered a pair of what appeared to be men’s trousers rolled up at the ankle. “This is a nice surprise.”

  Laura smiled. “I’ve been exploring.” She wasn’t sure she was up to facing the artist when she felt so low. But perhaps she’d unconsciously brought herself here, for Cilla might supply the answers to her questions.

  Cilla grinned. “Please excuse my gardening attire. These were my French lover’s and are so much
more useful than a dress. You’re just in time for lunch.”

  Laura hesitated. “Thank you, but I should return to the house. They’ll be expecting me.”

  “Nonsense.” Cilla opened the gate and stood aside. “My maid is here today. I’ll send her over to tell them you won’t be in for lunch.”

  “Well, if you’re sure.”

  “I’d love the company.”

  Wondering if Cilla was ever lonely, Laura followed her along the path. “In London, some suffragettes prefer men’s clothes, to make a statement I suppose. But I doubt the villagers would approve if I did it here.”

  Cilla chuckled. “They consider me to be a batty artist, so they tolerate me. But barely. You would cause a frightful scandal, however. Are you interested in women’s suffrage?” She looked surprised. “I wouldn’t expect a baroness to bother with such things.”

  “I wasn’t always a baroness.” Laura bit her lip at the fractious tone of her voice. It wasn’t Cilla’s fault that she now struggled to understand who she was and what she wanted. “I was very much involved when I lived in Wimbledon.”

  Cilla’s hazel eyes brightened. “I hope you intend to continue to support this excellent cause.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And Nathaniel approves?” Cilla’s tone was mild, but her sidelong glance alerted Laura that she doubted he would.

  “Of course,” Laura said airily. She needed a distraction and paused to look at the painting of the cottage garden in the moonlight. An impressive, moody work. “I walked past this cottage earlier.”

  Cilla folded her arms and leaned against the wall. “That place is empty now.”

  “Who used to live there?”

  “Theo Mallory. Head gardener at Wolfram.” Cilla dropped her arms. She turned and walked through the sitting room.

  “I’ve met the head gardener, and his name isn’t Theo. Does he still work here?”

  “Not anymore.”

  Although she sensed Cilla’s reluctance to discuss it, Laura persisted. “Who is the lady in the red dress at the door of the cottage? Real or imagined?”

  Cilla swiveled, eyebrows raised. “She was real. Tell me, what has Nathaniel told you about his wife’s death?”

  Embarrassed, Laura shrugged. “Just that she died from a fall.”

  “Then perhaps I shouldn’t talk of it. Come and keep me company while I prepare us a simple lunch. I have cauliflower soup and herby pie. If that appeals?”

  “Sounds delicious. As you’re now without your maid, please allow me to help.”

  Cilla smiled as she removed her hat. The green and brown scarf tying back her hair brought out warm lights in her eyes. “You may set the table. Such pleasant weather, we’ll eat outside.”

  Laura discovered she was hungry. As she ate the delicious pie, she and Cilla chatted about the William Morris collection she and Nathaniel had seen. It was a pleasure to talk to someone who shared her interest. But when they’d exhausted that subject, the question that burned in Laura’s brain begged to be answered.

  “Can you at least tell me how Amanda died?” She reddened as the words popped out without prior thought. “I assumed a fall down the stairs.”

  “You haven’t asked him?”

  “I was gearing myself up to do so.”

  Cilla frowned. “There’s no reason why Nathaniel won’t tell you.”

  Laura dropped her gaze and flushed. “I think he still mourns her.”

  Cilla pushed away her plate. She rested her elbows on the table. “Well, you’re going to find out eventually, and you’ve a right to know. I’m not surprised he hasn’t brought the subject up though. You’re right. I believe he remains very troubled.”

  Laura took a sip of water, her mouth suddenly dry.

  “When Amanda failed to return to the house at dusk, Nathaniel gathered together an army from the estate and the village to search for her. The next day they found her body washed up on the rocks. She’d fallen from the cliffs. The weather was fine, so that wasn’t a factor. We get dreadful storms here sometimes.” Cilla dropped her gaze to the table and drew a pattern on the tablecloth. “We were very good friends. I miss her dreadfully.”

  “A horrible accident,” Laura said.

  “That was the coroner’s finding when an inquest was held.”

  “Why would Amanda wander about alone heavily pregnant?”

  “She liked to walk. Exercise made her feel better.” Cilla gazed out to the horizon and frowned. “There were rumors. Don’t ask me to repeat them, Laura. It would be merely unsubstantiated gossip, and I like to think I’m above that. I feel a sense of loyalty to Nathaniel. He has been kind to me.”

  Laura swallowed at the horror of such a useless death. She fell silent, recalling her fright when her shawl blew over the cliff.

  “The servants and villagers have little better to do than gossip,” Cilla said. “Such a tragedy. I imagine it will pass into the annals of history, as mysteries do. Try not to believe anything you might hear about Nathaniel though.”

  Laura stared at her. “Nathaniel?”

  “I’m sorry I mentioned it. Let it go, Laura. You have your own life to live. Amanda’s death will never be solved.”

  For Nathaniel’s sake, Laura could not dismiss so sad a loss that easily. “But her unborn baby. Nathaniel’s baby.”

  “I’ve no doubt he’ll relegate it to the past where it belongs when you give him an heir.”

  Laura almost gasped. It seemed so coldblooded.

  Cilla pushed away from the table. “Let’s have tea inside, shall we?”

  They stacked plates and cutlery onto a tray and sat in the sitting room.

  The friendly atmosphere had waned slightly. “I’m sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to talk about it either, Cilla. It’s just that I need to know.”

  “Then talk to him.”

  Frustration filled Laura’s eyes with tears. “I know, it’s just…” She put down her cup, spilling tea in the saucer. She couldn’t explain that she was afraid she could never fill Amanda’s place in Nathaniel’s heart.

  Cilla rose and placed her arm around Laura’s shaking shoulders. “You are troubled, aren’t you? I think you should give it time. Be patient, Laura.”

  Laura sagged back in the chair. “Do you believe love to be a necessary ingredient to a successful marriage?”

  What she didn’t understand weighed her down. Why Nathaniel left her bed after they made love, and why he pushed her away when she tried to express tender feelings. Where he went every night. And she knew he did because she’d figured out how to open the panel. He had said once they were destined to be together. Had he meant it? Did he still believe it?

  Cilla’s eyebrows rose. “Surely you aren’t referring to yours and Nathaniel’s? Why, he’s besotted with you. I didn’t expect him to ever marry again. I am sure he’d decided not to. Yet here you are.”

  Laura picked up her cup with shaky fingers and took a gulp. The strong, hot tea warmed her and helped her regain her composure. “I must beg your pardon, Cilla. Burdening you with my troubles is unforgiveable. It’s because I’ve no one to confide in. Nathaniel has been distracted since we came here. He’s been caught up with estate problems.” She brushed away the annoying tears on her cheek. “I’ve felt so isolated.”

  Cilla smiled. “You have nothing to apologize for. You are welcome to talk to me at any time.”

  “No. I’ve become a bore. Please tell me more about yourself. What brought you to Wolfram?”

  “My father was born here in the village. He and my mother returned after they married, and I spent my childhood here. Until Nathaniel went away to school, he was part of a group of children who roamed the land together. My family was not of his class, of course, but children care nothing for that, and no one seemed to object at the time.”

  She leaned back in her chair. “My parents returned to France when I was a young woman. It was wonderful at first.” She looked down at her hands. “Then they died of influenza within a w
eek of each other, leaving me destitute. I had to sell my paintings cheap on the left bank of the Seine to eke out a living. And after my lover died, I couldn’t bear to remain.”

  “How dreadful,” Laura said. “Were you about to marry?”

  “Marriage isn’t for me, Laura. I prefer a bohemian life. It’s impossible to live as I wish in a small village like Wolfram. I ran back here in distress, but I shall return to Paris once I have sold enough paintings.”

  Laura realized what a sheltered life she’d led, never having to worry about where her next meal came from or the roof over her head. Poor Cilla. To think she’d been jealous of her, fearing she and Nathaniel might have had a relationship. Would she never have any sense where he was concerned? Jealousy was such a humiliating emotion, but born out of insecurity, and that was as much his fault as hers.

  “A contact in London is arranging for an exhibition of my work,” Cilla said, breaking into Laura’s thoughts.

  “How wonderful. You are very talented, Cilla. I know you’ll become very successful.” Cilla would feel more at home in a big city. She would be among like-minded people. Laura understood that. She still felt like an outsider here herself.

  “You’re kind, Laura. I should like to paint you. Perhaps when you feel more settled, you’ll consider it.”

  “I should like that. I considered you to be more of a landscape artist, but I see you are adept at portraits too.”

  Cilla tilted her head as if already considering the possible composition for Laura’s painting. “I’ve painted a few portraits.”

  “The lady in the blue dress at the abbey?”

  “That’s mine.”

  “I thought so. It encapsulates a brief moment and says so much about Amanda. She looks happy.”

  Cilla’s smile widened. “I think I captured Amanda’s essence. She had that wonderful ability to grasp life with both hands. Not let anything stand in the way of what she wanted. How did you come to see the painting? I heard it was taken down.”