The Baron's Wife Read online

  “Rudge. He almost insisted I see it.”

  Cilla raised an eyebrow. “Did he? Awful man.”

  “And your painting of the cottage? Was Mallory living there then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He went away after Amanda died. I haven’t seen him since.”

  Curiosity sent prickles over Laura’s neck. Was there something more that Cilla did not want to tell her?

  Cilla glanced at her easel.

  Laura rose. “I must go.”

  Following Cilla into the tiny front hall, Laura paused in front of the painting again having found Cilla evasive. “Why choose to paint Amanda at the door of that cottage? It seems a humble setting for her.”

  Cilla stared at her hands. They were capable hands, the fingers long and pointed. Artist’s hands. “Mallory and Amanda were in discussion about the planting of the rose arbor. In her crimson gown, she looked striking against the rustic backdrop, like a rose among weeds. I rushed away, determined to capture it. And the very next day I did from memory.”

  “It seems odd that Mallory left so soon after her death.”

  “He was in love with Amanda. We used to laugh about it.”

  “Did she and Nathaniel have a good marriage?” Laura rushed on as Cilla shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why this is important to me.”

  “Hard to know what happens behind closed doors.” There was sympathy in Cilla’s eyes. “Would my opinion mean much to you?”

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” Laura swallowed the lump blocking the back of her throat. “I’ll leave you in peace.”

  “Love can be a curse for those who love too much.” Cilla opened the door. “You didn’t make me feel uncomfortable. Please come again soon.”

  Laura returned the way she’d come and steeled herself to walk beside the cliff. Perhaps it was here that Amanda had plunged to her death. The idea made the place even more forbidding. Why would a young woman in the eighth month of her confinement come this way? Had the stunning view fascinated her? Once safely past, Laura stopped to glance back. It certainly could not have been here, for no one would go close to the edge, unless they planned to jump. And surely no woman carrying a baby would do such a thing.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sitting alone at the long table in the dining room, Laura toyed with the roast mutton stuffed with oysters. Rudge stood by the door, his gloved hands clasped together. In the silence, the gilt clock on the mantel and the patter of the rain against the window sounded abnormally loud.

  Laura pushed the food around her plate as she took in the details of the room, noting what pleased her and what didn’t. The well-proportioned room was decorated in gold and soft olive and was a little too dreary for her taste. A buffet displayed an impressive array of decorated china and ceramics. Above it, shelves of glassware sparkled. An antique, embroidered screen dressed a corner. She dismissed the stuffed birds in a cage but liked the gold wallpaper above the oak wainscoting. The faded green velvet covering the row of arched windows needed to be replaced. She had a strong desire to make this house hers, and this room was the perfect place to begin. The Victorian style was far too heavy. It was time for something lighter and more cheerful.

  “I believe new curtains are needed for this room,” Laura said, as much to herself as to Rudge. “These are a cold green.” It would be a start, before she redid the whole room in floral pastels, primrose yellow, leaf green, or the lilac of wisteria with gray.

  “Lady Lanyon…” Rudge cleared his throat. “The first Lady Lanyon, that is, planned to change them.”

  Laura welcomed anything she might learn about Amanda. “Did she have something in mind?”

  A smug expression stole into his eyes. “Pompeian red velvet, I believe, my lady. Lady… the first Lady Lanyon had excellent taste.”

  But it was not Laura’s. “I can see we would have agreed on the need for warmth.”

  Rudge’s eyes brightened. “There were samples, I believe, which would still be here. I could find them, my lady. Should you wish?”

  “Please don’t bother. I prefer the charming chintzes in fashion, something floral which will pick up the colors in the carpet and tone well with the oak. I’ll have the dining chairs recovered to suit.”

  Rudge’s mouth firmed and his gaze dropped to his highly polished shoes. “As you wish, my lady.”

  “I’ll write to a decorator. I agree that a touch of Pompeian red velvet works well in this room. It will be perfect to cover the dining chairs.”

  Laura felt Rudge’s gaze on her back as she left the table and wandered the room. He never stepped beyond the bounds of propriety or raised himself above his station, and yet his hard eyes always looked upon her with cool dislike. It made her want to assert her authority. If Rudge didn’t warm to her, at least he would respect her.

  “That leather corner chair shouldn’t be in here. Please have it moved into the library. It will be more comfortable for Lord Lanyon than the chesterfields.” She faced him, finding little had changed in his expression. “Why did the housekeeper leave?”

  “Mrs. Bright succumbed to an illness, my lady. About a year ago, it was. Lord Lanyon has yet to replace her.”

  “I can’t imagine how the house has continued to run without one. I shall begin to interview possible replacements immediately.” Laura paused at the door. “Oh, and have the cage of stuffed birds removed. Potted plants can fill the space. Orchids and ferns are a good choice.” She walked out the door. “I believe I’ll retire, Rudge.”

  In the great hall, as he always did, Rudge lit a candle for her. Laura said goodnight and gathered her skirts in her hand to mount the stairs. The nights were long and lonely without Nathaniel. But next time, she would go with him.

  It was still early when she blew out her candle. Although her mind seemed determined to sort through all she’d gleaned from Cilla, more questions arose than answers, and she soon fell into an uneasy sleep.

  Laura struggled to adjust her sight to the dark room. She leaned on her elbows, listening to the noise that awakened her: scraping and a soft shuffle. She threw back the bedclothes and fumbled for the matches, which eluded her panicky fingers. After several deep breaths to steady her hand, she gripped them. Striking a match, she lit a candle and sighed, relieved to find the room empty. The noise had ceased, but what had caused it? It sounded close by.

  Once she’d donned her dressing gown, she opened the door and tiptoed out into the corridor. At the far end, she glimpsed movement. The flash of white vanished so quickly she began to doubt she’d seen anything beyond a shaft of moonlight. The candle raised high, her shaky hand threw a pale, trembling light over the wide corridor.

  Convinced the glow had come from near Amanda’s bedroom, Laura took two steps toward it. Her legs felt oddly heavy, and she was short of breath. Without Nathaniel’s protection, she was vulnerable. She turned and ran back to her room, shutting her door and locking it. In bed, she hugged her knees, her ears straining for the smallest sound.

  Gradually accepting that the noise must have been the wind which had picked up during the night, Laura lay down. She faced facts. She’d been overconfident in believing that Nathaniel would fall quickly and deeply in love with her, and that their love would blot out his still raw past. It seemed both unreasonable and childish to expect it. He had never attempted to open himself to her and explain his true feelings. Might he feel disloyal to Amanda if he did? Overwhelmed, Laura closed her eyes.

  The dream she’d had on her first day here returned. A lady, light as a cobweb, hovered above her. Her face in shadow, her hair pale as morning sunlight. Fighting her way out of sleep, Laura opened her eyes. She was too hot. She threw off the cover and pounded her pillows. Grayish-lavender shadows hugged the corners of the room as the dawn broke. Laura lay with an arm above her head, gazing at the golden canopy above, sternly assuring herself it had only been a dream. It didn’t work. She remained convinced that what she�
�d sensed close by was either a ghostly presence, or more disturbingly, an earthly one. She wasn’t sure which terrified her the most.

  ***

  Teg carried wicker baskets from the house, full of Mrs. Madge’s fine pasties and her famous Cornish heavy cake, plus jars of rhubarb, apple and blackcurrant preserves. He packed them in the brougham before driving Laura to the vicarage.

  She had dressed carefully in an outfit of dove-gray crepon featuring a short bolero jacket over a lace vest, the high crown of her yellow straw hat adorned with feathers and ribbons.

  When they drove up, the fête was already underway. A group of inquisitive villagers gathered as Laura alighted from the carriage. A small welcoming party came forward to greet her as she and Teg made their way to the tables and handed over their baskets from which delicious, warm-baked smells wafted. Mrs. Madge’s offerings were eagerly accepted. Before Laura had moved on to inspect some of the other stalls, all had been sold. Mrs. Madge would be gratified to hear it.

  Couples performed a round dance on a stage set up for music and dancing. A male tenor followed with a rendition of “Sweet Nightingale,” his fine voice carrying across the air:

  Don’t you hear the fond tale

  Of the sweet nightingale,

  As she sings in those valleys below?

  Once the song had ended and the clapping died away, the vicar assisted Laura onto the platform. A circle of faces ten-deep was raised to watch her, some smiling, some curious. Still unsure of the Cornish ways and language, Laura swallowed to banish her nerves. If her dreams were to be realized, speaking in public would be a skill she must acquire.

  “Dydh da!” She greeted them first in Cornish that she’d learned from Teg. She had prepared a speech, but discarded her notes, talking freely about her love of her new home. Gazing down at the smiling faces, she added an amusing anecdote about a northerner who couldn’t swim, and her shock when her husband rowed her to her new home on that first day. She finished with praise for the committee ladies’ hard work and how splendid a fête it was.

  Relieved that it went well, she was helped down to enthusiastic applause. In the church hall, she took tea with the committee ladies; a plate of cake balanced on her lap as she listened to a discussion of village life. It warmed her to be part of it, and she yearned to do more.

  “It is so very nice to have a baroness at Wolfram again,” said a woman in purple, her hat laden with artificial fruit. “Especially one as elegant as yourself, my lady.” “Why, thank you, Mrs. Matcham.” Laura smiled at the woman, whose cheeks were flushed pink. “I have been admiring your hat; it’s such a summery affair.”

  “Oh. Thank you, my lady.” Ms. Matcham turned a deeper pink and patted her hat. “So sad, what happened.” She leaned forward. “Don’t you let those gossips distress you. Lord Lanyon is a fine man. We don’t believe a word of it.”

  Before Laura could think of a tactful reply, Mrs. Brown, one of the committee ladies, cleared her throat. “Mrs. Matcham, I wonder if you’ll arrange for some more hot water. I believe we’re running out of tea.”

  When Mrs. Matcham moved out of earshot, Mrs. Brown said, “I do apologize, my lady. There’s some here far too free with their opinions.”

  Laura quickly masked her shocked surprise. “That’s perfectly all right. I’m sure Mrs. Matcham meant well, Mrs. Brown. I am not at all thin-skinned, and I treat gossip with the contempt it deserves.”

  After tea, Laura crossed through the throng toward Teg and the waiting carriage. A female voice came from the crowd behind her. “Such a nice lady to have married a murderer.”

  Shocked, Laura stopped and, shaking with distress, forced herself not to spin around and face them. She allowed Teg to assist her into the brougham. How could anyone suspect Nathaniel of such a crime?

  “Such cruel nonsense,” she muttered, as she settled herself on the seat.

  “There are some here who like to stir up trouble where none is warranted. Pay no attention, my lady,” Teg said over his shoulder, as he urged the horses to walk on.

  “I don’t understand such spite.”

  “A few here don’t believe the inquest went far enough into the first Lady Lanyon’s death. Some relish a mystery, my lady; they worry away at it like a cancer. But Lord Lanyon is well liked by most.”

  That wasn’t enough for Laura. She firmed her lips at the unfairness as a surge of anger and dismay gripped her. What lay behind this view? Was Nathaniel and Amanda’s marriage an explosive one? Were they known to argue? A passionate relationship was often a combustible one. But she had never found a shred of violence in Nathaniel. He was gentle with her and his animals. His staff was loyal and obviously respected him.

  Laura felt like weeping and began to understand the problems he wrestled with. She wished there was something she could do. But perhaps there was. She would involve herself more in village affairs. It was easier for her to mingle with the people than it was for Nathaniel, who, although he worked hard to improve their lives, must always seem a little too far above them. And it would give her a chance to mention those things he did for them, like this bill which was about to be passed in parliament, something many may not be aware of.

  “Teg, Mrs. Moffat mentioned her mother was sickly. I plan to call on her. Do you know where she lives?”

  “I do, milady.”

  Laura would take her some baked treats to brighten her day, and perhaps she might be able to offer some help. She would visit the village school. Her university education could be put to good use to spot where improvements might be made. Discreetly, of course.

  Once she’d begun, Laura’s ideas gathered force. As mistress of Wolfram it would be expected of her to visit the poor. She would meet with the clergyman to learn of their needs. She could form a charity; many of the women there today would like to join it, she was sure. And she would defend Nathaniel to her last breath.

  Laura was glad of the breeze to cool her heightened color as the carriage gathered speed. Suddenly, the village appeared to be held back by the past. The end of this year would be the start of a new century, and the village would move forward with it, if she had anything to do with it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The days without Nathaniel dragged by slowly. Laura kept busy taking on new tasks. She inspected the linens, the china, the glassware and silverware, and familiarized herself with the household accounts. She organized the flowers for the library, even though there was no one there to enjoy them but her.

  She roamed as far as she could from the abbey, returning only when her feet grew sore or it began to rain. She spent evenings in the library reading about Wolfram’s fascinating and exciting past.

  A local woman came to inquire about the role of housekeeper but proved unsuitable. Laura could not employ anyone without Nathaniel’s agreement. She decided to cast her net further afield. In the meantime, she mentally rolled up her sleeves and went about with Dorcas making notes, keeping her mother’s instructions in mind. Nathaniel, like most men, didn’t understand the importance of a well-run house. Laura laughed to herself. How like her mother she sounded!

  When she discussed menus and preserves with Mrs. Madge, the cook mentioned they were shorthanded in the kitchen. Laura took note of it as she went to examine the kitchen gardens. She discussed the plantings with the gardener to ensure the right produce and herbs were grown to supply the table. While it was the man of the house who usually hired staff, she must convince Nathaniel to permit her to take on some of the responsibility. She smiled. She believed women to be more practical and to have a better understanding of human nature, although she would not tell him so. There was also the need to have more uniforms made for the staff; poor Dorcas’ and the other maids’ dresses were quite shabby. Laura’s activities helped to keep her from worrying about the disturbing gossip.

  Days before Nathaniel was due to return, Laura sat in the rose garden with the brassbound rosewood writing slope she’d discovered, which might have been Amanda’s, attending
to her correspondence. It had rained earlier, and the air was moist and heavy. A faint breeze sluggishly stirred the leaves of the chestnut tree above her and lifted the corner of her letter. Eloise Travers, a friend from Cambridge, had filled several pages with news of her latest literary conquest. She was employed to review for The Bookman, a monthly magazine. Laura paused from adding her heartfelt congratulations, tinged with a little envy, to admire the arbor of pink and white roses intertwined into a fragrant arch. Amanda and Mallory had exhibited some skill in creating it. Had there been more to their relationship? Hadn’t Cilla said Amanda found the gardener’s infatuation amusing?

  Dismissing such unpleasant thoughts, Laura penned a dutiful letter to her mother, fearful that her parent would fill in the gaps and guess things weren’t as good as they might be. Laura chewed the end of her pen. She had no heart to embellish her words. Instead, she attempted to distract her mother with a request. Might she or her acquaintances know of a housekeeper with good references prepared to come to Cornwall? Laura elaborated on her refurbishment of some of the rooms. Running a house had proved to be more challenging than she imagined, and she’d developed a grudging respect for her mother’s ability to manage Grisewood Hall. Laura added a footnote of love and encouragement for her beloved father, who she knew was overworked and apprehensive as the Boer War raged on in Africa.

  Her last note was to Aunt Dora begging her to come and visit them soon.

  The butler brought several letters on a silver salver. “These have just been delivered, my lady.”

  Laura gazed up at the man’s stern face from beneath her wide-brimmed hat as she took them. “Thank you, Rudge.”

  “Shall you take tea in the library, my lady?”

  “I believe I shall have it here. It’s nicer outdoors.”

  “Very well.”

  As he returned inside, Laura eyed his stiff back, then dropped her gaze to the letters. There was an invitation from the vicar and his wife to dine at the vicarage. She would reply today. It would give her an opportunity to ask him how she might assist the poor and set up her charity. Another invitation to tea had come from two aged spinsters, daughters of a viscount, who lived at Thrompton, a small manor house a few miles outside of Wolfram. Nathaniel had mentioned them to her.