Laura turned her attention to the dresser. A row of sterling silver and cut glass perfume bottles were scattered over the top as if they had been disturbed. She picked up a lantern-shaped bottle and removed the diamond-cut glass stopper, recognizing the scent: a hint of ylang-ylang and exotic vanilla. Clive Christian Number One, Queen Victoria’s favorite perfume, and Laura’s mother’s. Laura shoved in the stopper with trembling fingers.
A silver-plated comb and mirror set, inlaid with amethysts and crystals, lay on the muslin-covered table amid other treasures: a rope of creamy pearls flung carelessly down, a pair of golden candles in crystal holders, pink artificial roses in a crystal vase. She opened a jewel box to a Chopin Nocturne. Necklaces, earrings and trinkets almost spilled from it. Her fingers hovered over a coral necklace in an exotic gold setting. Her breath came faster, and her nape prickled as if someone looked over her shoulder. Laura replaced the lid and hurried to the door. Had it been Nathaniel here last night after he left her bed? The possibility struck Laura like a blow to her stomach. She didn’t want to believe it. But who else could it have been? Was he still in love with his dead wife? They must talk about this. She would ask him.
Soon.
She feared his answer, or worse, his lies, as she exited the room. Closing the door behind her, she turned and saw him.
He stood outside her bedroom door. Frowning, he tucked his riding crop under his arm and drew on leather gloves. “That was Amanda’s bedroom. Are you exploring?”
Laura flushed. “I wasn’t aware it was hers.” She straightened her shoulders.
“We’d best take that ride. It looks like it might rain.”
“Does it?” She hurried after him, smoothing her silk cravat with nervous fingers. “The sky had scarcely a cloud when last I looked.”
“The weather can change in a moment here.”
He turned his broad back and started for the stairs. He invited no questions. Did he assume she didn’t wish to ask any? Of course she did. Curiosity ate at her, churning her stomach. She chewed her lip and followed him. Should they have it out now? After their ride, perhaps. What a coward she was.
With the dogs panting at the horses’ heels, she and Nathaniel rode up the lane into the wood, pungent with rotting leaf mounds. They followed a bridle path, the earthy smells mingling with the tang of pine. The dogs disturbed a flock of wood pigeons, and they exploded into the air as if at the sound of a gun.
She followed Nathaniel out from the trees, emerging onto a strip of land above the bluff covered in wild grasses. “Careful here,” Nathaniel called, reining in his horse.
The sea wind threatened to rip Laura’s hat from her head. A hand on the crown, she attempted to steady her horse. Above them, clouds scudded across the sky and seabirds swooped. Her gaze followed a bird’s dizzying path as it dived into the white-tipped waves to rise again with a wriggling fish in its beak. The cliff curved away; at the foot, the surging sea dashed against rocks in a thunderous roar. Laura licked her lips, tasting salty brine on her tongue. Out at sea, a three-masted ship disappeared into the haze. It seemed to capture Nathaniel’s interest. She noted the rigid set of his shoulders.
She wanted to speak to him but held back, lacking the confidence to draw her horse close to his. The neat roan was an obliging animal, but Laura didn’t trust her riding skills yet.
After Wimbledon, Wolfram seemed timeless. It had stood unchanged for centuries. So many lives played out, day by day, year by year, and generation by generation. She was suddenly aware of her own mortality. She almost laughed at her gravity as she watched her handsome husband, in command of his huge stallion. She had everything to live for. Was it Amanda’s room, so carefully preserved, as if she’d just walked out the door, that brought this morbid turn of mind? Or the shifting horse beneath her and the nearness of the cliff? Her horse sidled, and that frightening drop suddenly became too close for comfort.
Nathaniel’s mount stamped and snorted. He appeared deep in thought, turned away from her, gazing out to sea. The wind plucked at her hat again, and the veil of net tightened, claustrophobic against her face. Laura panicked. She pulled on the reins and turned her horse back onto the bridle path.
“Laura!” Nathaniel rode after her. He headed her off on the narrow path, pushing his horse in front of hers. “Did she bolt?”
She swallowed. “No.”
“Then why did you take off like that?”
She couldn’t explain. She looked into Nathaniel’s face, finding concern. “The cliff…”
He backed his horse away, his face relaxing. “Goose. Come on. Let’s ride to the village. You’ll feel better when you meet some of the people here, and I’ll introduce you to the parishioners in church on Sunday.”
After he ordered the dogs home, they rode across the causeway. The whitewashed cottages in the village stood out against the landscape, their slate roofs the color of the sea. A few people came out to pay their respects as she and Nathaniel trotted down the street, but others hung back, talking among themselves. Nathaniel appeared not to notice as he helped her dismount. He had done so much for these people, so why did they dislike him? For dislike it surely was. She thought of the rock which had hit their carriage on the way from Penzance and wanted to question him, but sensed by his set expression that he wouldn’t welcome it now.
“Let’s take some refreshment.”
He took her arm, and they entered the old Tudor inn, The Sail and Anchor on the quayside. Inside was dim with a low, heavy-beamed ceiling and flagstone floor. The air was stale and smelled heavily of hops from the locally brewed ale and cider. It was not an establishment she would choose to frequent.
Nathaniel nodded at the two people behind the bar. “Roe, a glass of port for Lady Lanyon.”
The barmaid, a blue-eyed blonde with a low-cut blouse, curtseyed and gave Nathaniel a sly glance from beneath her lashes.
It was lost on him, Laura was glad to see.
The innkeeper, Roe, bowed his head. “Milady.” He scrubbed at the bar with a cloth. “Excuse me, Y’ Lordship, while I wipe up the tears of the tankard. Can’t have you wetting the sleeve of your good coat.”
Nathaniel ordered a pint of ale for himself, then led Laura through a door into a smoky parlor with small windows looking out onto the street.
Roe brought their drinks. “It’s a pleasure to have you in my humble establishment.” His grin exposed a missing front tooth. “Not like the rascals and sharps that usually frequent the place.”
“What does he mean by referring to the drinkers here as sharps?” Laura asked after he’d left the room.
“Nothing complimentary, that’s certain.” Nathaniel drained his tankard. “Stay here, Laura. I won’t be a moment.” He returned to the bar.
Laura heard him say, “I need to have a quiet word with you, Roe.”
“If you’ll step into the back room, Y’ Lordship?” Roe replied.
A good twenty minutes later, Laura, having finished her drink, walked to the parlor door wondering where Nathaniel had gotten to. A soldier stood at the bar talking to the barmaid. His pipe smoke seeped into the stuffy parlor. The pair glanced at her. The soldier said something Laura couldn’t catch, and the woman, her breasts rising like two half-moons from her white blouse, threw back her head and laughed.
Laura’s discomfort grew. Why had Nathaniel brought her here then left her to drink alone? As her frustration mounted, he reappeared.
Roe returned to his place behind the bar. “No fear, Y’ Lordship. That business shall be dealt with.”
Frowning, Nathaniel murmured something indecipherable and threw some coins onto the bar.
“Right you are.” Roe weighed the coins in his hand. “Thanks for the strike, Y’ Lordship.”
Nathaniel escorted Laura into the street. He tossed another coin to a young lad minding their horses, then threw her up into the saddle.
He treated her in such a cavalier fashion. As soon as they were out of earshot of the curious villagers, Laura ed
ged her mount closer, disappointment causing her voice to shake. “Why did you take me there?”
“Why? It’s the local inn.” His eyebrows met in a puzzled frown. “I’ve been going there since I was old enough to drink.”
“I don’t think it’s a suitable place…” she began, then realized it sounded snobbish and unreasonable. “It’s just that I didn’t enjoy drinking alone.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect my business to take so long.”
An unwelcome thought had crept into her brain, and she desperately wanted to dismiss it. Nathaniel had told her the port they drank at home had come from Portugal. Did smuggling still go on in these parts? “What business would you have with that man?”
“Sweetheart, please, it’s nothing of import. Don’t concern yourself.”
He shut her out and showed no interest in her opinion. Tense and wary, Laura gripped the reins. Had she left her mother only to replace her with a male version of the same? Her horse sensed her mood and broke into a gallop across the rocky ground of the causeway.
“Laura!”
When they reached solid ground, she was still fighting to slow the animal. Nathaniel grabbed her reins, pulling their horses close. His expression was one of pained tolerance. Laura quaked.
“Are you going to take off every time something happens that doesn’t suit you? This is Cornwall, Laura. It’s dangerous to let your mount have her head. This isn’t Hyde Park. Things are done differently here.”
Laura remembered her aunt’s words. Would she ever really know him? She tried to pull her horse’s reins from his grasp. “Let go, Nathaniel.”
“When you have regained your good humor.”
She didn’t want to admit she’d lost control of the horse. His disappointment in her would be too hard to bear. “I’m not used to being treated in this fashion,” she said instead. It sounded weak and wasn’t what she really wanted to say; her frustration was about something else entirely. She clamped her lips together.
“Of that I am patently aware.” He studied her for a moment with a perplexed expression, and then released her reins. He nudged his horse into a canter. “If you’ve forgiven me, we shall call on Cilla. That’s if you still care to?”
“I do.”
He appeared to be on friendly first-name terms with this woman. Laura was in no mood to meet her. They rode on in strained silence. The chance to question him about Amanda’s bedchamber receded even further.
When they approached the narrow track along the bluff, Laura was already regretting her quick temper. Her husband’s business affairs were not her concern, although he might have humored her. She faced the fear that although he clearly desired her, he wasn’t in love with her. It was foolish to expect so much so soon. She grew angry with herself for being vulnerable to every perceived slight.
***
Roe’s news had rocked him, and Nathaniel struggled to push it from his mind. Having secured the horses to the rail beside the water trough, he held out his hand to Laura, hoping she’d recovered her good nature. He could tell by the lift of her chin that Laura hadn’t completely forgiven him. She was young and expected a great deal from life. He’d been aware of this when he’d married her. In the future, he would conduct his business alone. He’d wanted her company and to have her under his eye. But he refused to burden her with his problems. There were things of which he couldn’t speak, wounds so deep that he would be afraid to voice them. They needed time. Unfortunately, they didn’t have it. A trip to London could not be avoided. Legislation was to be introduced into parliament which would affect Wolfram.
Laura needed a friend, but there were good reasons why she and Cilla might not get on. Once again, the fear that he’d made a serious mistake bringing her here caused his shoulder muscles to knot. He shrugged, trying to ease them, and took her arm.
***
A muscle ticked beside Nathaniel’s jaw. Laura would attempt to clear the air between them once they were alone. A garden path led to the small stone cottage. Red geranium spilled from window boxes, the front door painted a bright yellow. She took a deep breath and plastered on a smile as he knocked on the door. There was no sound from within.
“It appears Cilla is not at home,” he said after a moment.
As they retraced their steps to the gate, a woman appeared in the lane riding a bicycle.
“Nathaniel! How nice.” Miss Gain jumped down from her bike. “I went to buy sugar from the village shop.” She grimaced. “I expected to be back in a trice, but I ran into Mrs. Hartwell and she does talk so.”
Nathaniel took the bike from her. “Cilla, I’ve brought my bride to meet you. This is Laura.”
Laura studied the woman as she came through the gate. Cilla was attractive. A tall brunette close to Nathaniel’s age. Laura noted her very modern divided navy skirt which ended at calf level with a twinge of envy.
“How lovely to meet you at last, Laura.”
“I’ve been keen to meet you, Cilla, ever since Nathaniel told me you were an artist.” Laura shook her hand, her gaze falling on the man’s tie Cilla wore around her neck. She brightened. Might this woman be interested in women’s suffrage?
Cilla’s amused hazel eyes met hers. “Please do come inside.”
They entered the tiny front hall. “Come through to the back garden. I find it the best place for tea. One cannot be indoors on such a day.”
The cottage was filled with light and bursting with odd things. Sculpted pieces, some finished and some not, sat amongst rocks, feathers, driftwood, books and dried flowers. Bunches of fresh flowers were shoved into vases without a care to their arrangement and placed wherever a spare space offered itself. Hook rugs covered the bare boards. An embroidered, fringed shawl hung over the back of the crimson sofa with cushions of all shapes and sizes thrown on it willy-nilly. Bright, thickly painted canvases in the loose and bold style of the French Impressionists covered the walls. Sheer white curtains stirred in the sea breeze at the open windows.
The acrid smells of oil paint and varnish fought with the floral scents. A canvas hidden beneath a cloth perched on an easel in a small dining room off the parlor. She’d made this her studio, where all the paraphernalia of the artist—a palette, half-squeezed tubes of paint and jars filled with brushes—were piled onto a table.
Nathaniel led Laura outside to a leafy, vine-covered loggia, where they sat in wicker chairs. Here they could look directly out to sea, the cliff only yards away. The sea breeze toyed with Laura’s hat again, and she eased the net away from her face.
Nathaniel placed a hand on her arm and leaned toward her. “Laura…”
Cilla bustled out of the doorway carrying a tray. She unloaded tea things onto the wicker table and disappeared again.
“Yes, Nathaniel?” Laura searched his face.
He frowned and shook his head. “I can see you’re not happy. But now is not the time to talk.”
Laura forgot her plan to appease him. “I’m glad you acknowledge that we do need to talk.”
Cilla reappeared with a cake plate, which Laura now recognized to be Cornish heavy cake.
“I didn’t make the cake,” Cilla said. “Mrs. Hartwell did, and she’s a splendid cook. Eat up.” She pulled off her shabby straw bonnet and threw it on the ground, placing her chair leg on the brim to stop it blowing away. “I’ll be mother, shall I?” Cilla picked up the brown teapot and proceeded to pour the tea. “You look very well, Nathaniel.” She glanced at Laura with a smile. “It’s been an age since I’ve enjoyed decent company. And Nathaniel told me you attended university.” Her eyes widened. “I’ve never met a woman who has done such a thing.”
“I was fortunate to be able to sit in on lectures,” Laura said. “I didn’t write papers or take exams.”
“Still…” Cilla shrugged. “I would love to hear more about it.”
Nathaniel winked at Laura and nodded, as if to say this was what he hoped would happen. They’d been discussing her, apparently. “And I look forw
ard to learning more about art.”
Cilla appeared to be a fish out of water here. She was obviously very talented, but who else would share Cilla’s interests? At least Aunt Dora, who devoted her time to writing poetry, mixed with other writers in London.
Nathaniel looked very much at home here, leaning back in his chair, sipping his tea. How often did he visit? A shaft of jealousy coiled inside her. Had he confessed the secrets he held so tightly in his heart to Cilla? An even more unattractive situation occurred to Laura. Had they once been lovers? Such a thought was unworthy of her. What was the matter with her?
Laura took a gulp of tea. It burned her throat. “Oh!” she said, choking. She reached for a napkin.
Nathaniel straightened, with a concerned expression. “Are you all right, my dear?”
She would hate for Cilla to suspect that they’d quarreled earlier. She smiled. “It was a little hot.”
“How do you find Wolfram, Laura?” Cilla asked.
“I’ve yet to see much of it,” Laura said. “It’s so big. When Nathaniel told me about his home, I never envisaged anything quite like this.”
Nathaniel frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a ringing approval.”
“I certainly meant it to be.”
Cilla refilled her cup. “I imagine one accustomed to living in a city would take time to get used to the… differences.”
Laura flushed, feeling besieged and strangely inadequate. An outsider. “I already feel very much at home.”
Nathaniel’s somber gray eyes searched hers. “I hope so.”
She had been uncertain about so much since she’d arrived and felt unequal to the task of refuting it.
“In time,” Cilla said with an encouraging smile, “you will come to love it, the lack of modern comforts and all.”
Laura gave Nathaniel a small smile. “I have to admit there are a few things I do miss.”
She felt grateful to Cilla for tactfully changing the subject. Now was not the time to suggest new plumbing. They discussed village affairs, and even though their conversation mostly excluded her, Laura listened with interest.
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