The Baron's Wife Read online

  “That’s the extent of it? I’m relieved it has nothing to do with you and Lanyon.”

  How like her mother to make light of it. Laura was tempted to say more, but she was too tired.

  Her mother rose. “I’m relieved. I pray every Sunday on my knees that you’ll have a good marriage. As successful as your father’s and mine has been.” She came to kiss Laura’s cheek. “Good night, my dear.”

  Laura watched the door close behind her. Her words seemed heartfelt. Perhaps her mother did care more for her than she’d realized. Did her parents have a good marriage? If you scratched beneath the surface, would you find love and fulfillment? Or the lukewarm acceptance and cool compromise she’d often witnessed? Determined her marriage to Nathaniel would be as perfect as she could make it, she rose and went to the bathroom, enjoying a luxury she was determined to introduce to Wolfram without delay.

  When Agnes developed a cold, Laura left the maid in Richmond and traveled to the city straight after breakfast. The dew still glistened on the grass when Laura pushed the gate open into the little front garden. Aunt Dora rushed out to hug her with a cry of delight, drawing her inside.

  Some new possessions added to the clutter, pen and ink drawings, painted fans, embroidered cushions and poetry books. Laura spied fresh pages of verse on her desk, written in Dora’s spidery hand.

  “You’re in luck, darling girl. I’ve finished my latest batch of poems. I’m sending it off to my publisher.”

  Dora held Laura’s face in her ink-stained fingers and studied her. “You look peaky.”

  Laura hugged the soft little body in its drab cotton dress. “I’ve missed you.”

  Dora’s large eyes widened. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it, Laura?”

  Tears pricked Laura’s eyes and she blinked them away. She hadn’t planned to bring her tales of woe to her aunt, but she was tired, and that weakened her resolve. She straightened her shoulders. She would try not to indulge herself and worry her aunt. “We can talk later. I’m here to invite you to Hertfordshire.”

  “What’s there to interest you?”

  “Gateley Park, one of the Lanyon properties. I plan to spend a few days there.”

  “Shouldn’t you wait for Nathaniel to accompany you?”

  “He hasn’t visited the estate for ages. But he’s happy for me to. Will you come?”

  “Well…I don’t have much to wear to mix in exalted circles.”

  “The estate is deep in the country. I suspect that society will be scarce and a trifle dull.”

  “Then, of course I’ll keep you company. And you must tell me all about your new home. You’ve said little in your letters about Wolfram.”

  “Have you been consulting your Tarot?”

  Dora looked sheepish. “Well, I had to get information from somewhere…”

  Laura smiled. “Anything you want to tell me?”

  “No.” She patted Laura’s cheek. “I’m only glad to see you.”

  Laura hugged her again. “I’ve missed you.”

  Dora frowned and drew away. “There is something wrong. I knew it; I found The Tower and the Death card again this morning.”

  Those cards unnerved Laura even though she dismissed the Tarot’s abilities to forecast her future. “Ask Sarah to pack your bag; we’ll talk in the carriage. Hurry, Barnes is walking the horses.”

  “Goodness me, you don’t give a body much notice, do you?” Aunt Dora rushed to pull the bell.

  The trip into Hertfordshire gave them time to talk, but when the carriage swayed, Laura felt too queasy to discuss her life at Wolfram. Instead, she spoke in glowing terms of its wild beauty and talked about Cilla.

  “I’m glad you’ve made a friend.” Dora studied an ink stain on her glove. “An artist too, so interesting. But you’ve told me nothing about the baron.”

  “Nathaniel is an excellent husband. I have no cause for complaint, but he’s distracted by events at Wolfram which he needs to put right.”

  “I don’t like buts.” Dora’s eyes narrowed. “He is kind to you?”

  A bout of nausea rose in Laura’s stomach as the carriage rocked. She closed her eyes. “Yes, of course.”

  “I can see you are not in the mood to talk, so I’ll say no more.” Dora gazed out the window at the empty, rolling hills passing the carriage. “We’ve seen nothing but hills, fields and cows for miles. Where on earth are we?”

  “The Chiltern Hills. I find the landscape quite pretty.”

  “I can’t argue with that, but we must be near. We’ve been traveling for hours, and I could do with a cup of tea.”

  As Dora spoke, the carriage slowed, and they entered a pair of ornate wrought iron gates. Gnarled oaks bordered the lane as they trundled along a gravel driveway where glimpses of the stately mansion appeared through the trees.

  Around a bend in the road, the house appeared. The size and magnificence drew a gasp from Aunt Dora, as she took in the impressive balustrade parapet and elegant Baroque ornamentation.

  After the carriage stopped on the circular sweep of driveway, the groom jumped down to open their door. He assisted Aunt Dora and Laura from the carriage.

  A short man with a flushed face hurried down the front steps, followed by a maid. “I’m Mr. Charleton, Lady Lanyon. His lordship wrote to alert me of your arrival. With such short notice, I do hope you will be comfortable,” he said in an anguished tone. “We are not set up for visitors with only a skeleton staff here.”

  “We are very easy to please, Mr. Charleton.” Laura shook his hand. “I’m sure we shall be comfortable. This is my aunt, Miss Lawley. We require little beyond a warm bed and our meals.”

  “I’m sure we can accomplish that.” He hurried down to offer his arm to Dora who made her way slowly up the steps. “How do you do, Miss Lawley? I expect you’ve had a long and dusty ride from London. I’ll have tea brought to the salon.”

  Laura followed them through the entry into an impressive, well-proportioned room furnished with elaborate Louis XIV furniture, their sensuous curves decorated in gold leaf. China-blue embossed paper lined the walls, the intricately carved white marble fireplace an Adam creation.

  After a reviving afternoon tea consisting of sandwiches and feather-light scones with strawberry jam, Laura was taken to her room, which had pretty, rose-patterned wallpaper and windows overlooking an overgrown rose arbor. Exhausted, she sank onto the gilded four-poster’s pink satin coverlet to consider the significance of this elegant, neglected house. This was Nathaniel’s grandparents’ estate. His mother, Lady Olivia, had been born here. More than a little curious about the family history, Laura was keen to discover more.

  She grasped the bell pull and rang for a maid to assist her out of her travel-soiled dress, after which she planned to investigate by herself since Dora had grumbled about carriages and rheumatism and went to her bedroom to rest. Tomorrow, Laura would ride through the park, which from her window looked extensive.

  The next morning, Laura wandered the gardens with a shawl to protect her from the cool wind. It was a perfect day for riding, with fleecy clouds scudding across the pale blue sky.

  She joined her aunt in the breakfast room, where she spooned eggs onto her plate from the sideboard. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I found it difficult to get used to the quiet.” Dora smiled. “But this morning the birds made such a racket outside my window, it was as noisy as a London street.” She eyed Laura’s riding outfit. “As you’re riding today, I believe I’ll spend the day reading. I peeped into the library; there’s an impressive collection of books and periodicals there. I must say I’m surprised that Nathaniel has neither leased nor sold this property. The cost of its upkeep must be immense. It’s a little sad to see it like this, and odd because the house reminds me of a shrine.”

  At the buffet, Laura lifted a silver cover and added bacon to her eggs. Dora’s use of the word “shrine” reminded her of the flowers placed on Amanda’s grave. “A shrine to whom?”

  Dora shrugg
ed. “His mother, surely? You know how men are about their mothers.”

  Laura took her plate to the table. “She died when Nathaniel was a boy. Cilla said he barely knew her.”

  Her aunt poured her a cup of tea. “He hasn’t told you anything about her?”

  “No.” Laura rubbed her forehead where a headache threatened. “I sensed he didn’t want to speak about her.”

  “There could be different reasons for that. I’m sure you’ll find out what you wish to know.”

  Laura tilted her head. “What makes you think I’m searching for something?” She refused to accept that anything more than mild curiosity had brought her here. Apparently, her aunt thought otherwise.

  “That’s why we’ve come, isn’t it?” Dora tapped a finger on her Tarot card box on the table beside her. “Perhaps I can help you find out.”

  Laura smiled, determined to take anything her aunt suggested with a grain of salt.

  An hour later, Laura left Dora reading in a deep chair by the library fire and walked to the stables. Mounts for riding were no longer kept there, so she was given the manager’s horse, a bow-backed, sluggish animal. She urged it into a trot. The magnificent trees were aflame with autumn color, the parkland overgrown. Dora was right. It was odd to think that no one came here.

  A mile or two on, Laura rode through a break in the hedgerow and found herself on a country road. A signpost pointed to Little Gaddesden. A church spire rose above the trees, so the village could not be far away. She urged her bad-tempered horse into a reluctant canter.

  Woodlands ringed the quaint village of thatched-roof cottages and lodge houses clustered around a green. Outside the modest gray stone church, Laura dismounted and tethered the horse to an iron railing. The church appeared to be empty. When she knocked at the vicarage, the housekeeper explained that Mr. Maudling was making calls. Hoping to catch him before she left, Laura wandered the churchyard reading the inscriptions on the gravestones. She located Nathaniel’s grandparents in their adjacent graves. Searching further, she found Nathaniel’s mother’s grave. Odd that she was buried here and not at Wolfram. Lady Olivia was only thirty years old when she died. The plain inscription gave no clue as to how she died.

  Laura picked a wild briar rose and laid it on the headstone. “I’m sorry we never met. Rest well in heaven.”

  When the vicar failed to appear, Laura rode back to the house, glad to return her fractious mount to the stables. She found Aunt Dora dozing in the library, still curled up before the fire, her head nodding, her beloved, well-worn Tarot cards on the fruitwood side table. Laura didn’t wake her. She crept away and continued her exploration, spending an hour peeking into empty rooms bare of furniture. There were several family portraits hung above the stairs. Nathaniel’s mother featured as a babe in her red-haired mother’s arms, and later as a pretty child, then again as a beautiful young woman dressed in a full-sleeved blue gown, her fair hair in tight ringlets.

  Olivia’s death while Nathaniel was away at school must have affected him deeply. Her delicate feminine beauty reminded Laura of Amanda. As Victoria had said, men did sometimes marry women who looked like their mothers. Laura was so very different, and not only in looks. In every conceivable way, she suspected.

  She joined her aunt for luncheon in the dining room. While she was out riding, a neighbor had called to leave his card and a request for them to join him for afternoon tea.

  “Mr. Burrows is an elderly gentleman whose lands adjoin Gateley Park on its southern border,” Mr. Charleton informed them.

  “How kind. I’ll certainly call on him,” Laura said. “If you’d like to come, Aunt, we’ll take Nathaniel’s carriage and give the horses an airing.”

  Dora nodded. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Mr. Burrows’ home lay several miles away, closer to Berkhamstead. The white-haired gentleman’s estate was smaller than Gateley Park, his home in the square, Dutch style.

  “I couldn’t contain my excitement,” he said, as he led them into the drawing room, walking with the aid of a cane. “Neighbors at Gateley Park again, despite being a brief visit. It’s some years since a member of the family has come here.”

  Mr. Burrows offered Laura a plate of biscuits. “And Lord Lanyon, is he in good health? I did wonder.”

  Laura assured him that Nathaniel was in excellent health but his principal estate and the House of Lords demanded much of his attention. She took a bite of the almond-flavored biscuit and regretted it. It was too sweet. Her stomach churned so much these days. She was sure it was the uncertainty of her future and her constant worry about Nathaniel’s safety. Did he miss her as much as she did him? When would he write and ask her to come home?

  As she sipped her tea, she couched her questions tactfully, hoping that since he was older than Nathaniel’s mother, Mr. Burrows might remember her.

  “Lady Olivia was a fine-looking young lady, if a bit flighty.” He began to fill his pipe. “I hope you won’t mind if I smoke?”

  “Not at all, Mr. Burrows,” Laura said, although her stomach roiled. “My father enjoys a cigar or a pipe.”

  “I’m not one to speak ill of the dead,” he said and drew on the stem. “But I suspect as a girl Lady Olivia worried her parents, for they arranged a union with the baron when she was just out of the schoolroom. She returned here years later very ill.” He stroked his white moustache. “She died far too young.”

  “Was the baron here with her?” Dora asked.

  “I don’t believe he was.” Mr. Burrows clamped his teeth on his pipe with a disapproving frown. “But I don’t listen to gossip.”

  The conversation then turned to matters pertaining to the county and the village.

  Laura opened the window as the carriage returned them to Gateley Park and drew in lungfuls of fresh air which failed to make her feel much better.

  “I wonder how we can discover more about the scandal,” Dora said.

  Laura felt both nauseated and perturbed in equal measures. “What makes you think there was a scandal?”

  “Of course there was a scandal. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and gossip follows, although often nasty and with little respect for the truth.”

  “What about idle gossip, which can come from nothing at all?” Although curious about Nathaniel’s mother, Laura disliked delving into family scandals that Nathaniel had not wished to tell her. She could only hope that one day he would be able to speak of it.

  “You should take the opportunity to learn the truth, you know,” Dora said. “It’s not wrong to want to know exactly what you’re dealing with.”

  Laura drew in a breath, afraid she’d stumble on something shocking that she would find hard to keep from him. She followed her aunt into the library.

  “We shall see what mysteries l’art de tirer les cartes can reveal to us. Let us consult the oracles.” Dora’s supple fingers spread her Tarot cards over the table.

  Although reluctant, Laura couldn’t resist sitting down to watch her aunt. The placing of each card was heavy with importance as Dora laid them out in their familiar configuration.

  When Dora looked at her, she reminded her of a bright-eyed sparrow. “I have asked a question.”

  Laura leaned her arms on the fruitwood table. “What question would that be?”

  “It concerns your future. Let’s see what evolves,” her aunt said, annoyingly mysterious. The Queen of Cups appeared upside down. “Reversed!”

  “Which means?” Laura asked impatiently.

  “Even reversed, the Queen of Cups is a good outcome; it just means that you must be patient. Stay focused on the loving side of your personality. True, deep love for others encompasses understanding that those you love are on their own timelines. Don’t push. Good things come to those who wait.”

  Laura bent her head and studied her hands. “Surely I have…”

  “Hush. Look, Laura.” Dora tapped the cards. “There are other matters at hand.”

  Laura stared. The Queen of Cups was covere
d by The Devil. And the King of Pentacles sat in judgment over her. On the right side was the Page of Cups, below her the Knight of Wands, and on the left The Fool.

  “Who might the Page of Cups be?” Laura asked.

  “I believe it is Nathaniel as a boy, when something happened that still deeply affects him.” Dora pointed to the last card. “The outcome card is Death, as we already know.”

  “Death?” Laura asked anxiously, caught up despite herself. “Whose?”

  “It could be Nathaniel’s mother or his first wife. Both have had a marked effect on his life.”

  “I’m not enjoying this. What about this one, The Tower?”

  “I wasn’t going to mention The Tower. It means profound change and possible danger.”

  “Danger?” Laura cried. “Who’s in danger?”

  “Placed as it is, it could possibly be Nathaniel.”

  “Oh no.” Laura slapped her hands to her cheeks as the blood ran cold in her veins.

  Dora patted her shoulder. “I said possible danger. He is not hurt or dead.”

  “Please put the cards away.” Laura swallowed a feeling of dread and pushed back her chair. “I don’t believe in the Tarot.”

  Dora obliged. “We shall have to discover more ourselves. In my humble opinion, your life won’t be as good as it should be until we discover what lies in the past. It greatly affects the present and the future.”

  “Dear Aunt Dora,” Laura kissed her aunt’s soft cheek, “I wish you wouldn’t talk like a proverb. It gives me goosebumps.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The next few days passed slowly. There was little to do beyond reading, and riding the stubborn mare was more of a chore than a delight. After Dora’s disturbing Tarot reading, Laura grew more anxious and impatient for word from Nathaniel. She rode to the village post office and sent him a telegram: Darling, I long for word from you. Please tell me you’re all right. Your loving wife, Laura.

  She rode back to the house. A colorful drift of leaves covered the ground beneath the trees, as autumn’s beauty faded into winter. Aunt Dora was in the library, surrounded by tomes of poetry.