The Baron's Wife

by Maggi Andersen

  “You would use my mother’s words against me?” She tried not to smile. She was determined to hear it all and not be distracted by his charm.

  “I wouldn’t dare.” Nathaniel’s eyes flared, and his teasing smile made him irresistible.

  She giggled. “Please continue.”

  “The inquest into Theo Mallory’s death is to be held in a few days, and there will be those who will not want the truth to come to light. Those whose relatives are involved in the smuggling will remain tight-lipped.”

  A shiver ran down Laura’s spine when she thought of Mallory, his face disfigured and bloodied, floating in the waves at the bottom of the cliff. She nestled against her husband as the carriage clattered along the avenue toward her parents’ house.

  “There’s more isn’t there, Nathaniel?”

  He put his arm around her. “I’ve always believed Amanda was murdered. Perhaps she saw something she shouldn’t, and the villains pushed her off the cliff. I just don’t know. Two years after she died and with Mallory and the smugglers gone, I considered it safe to marry again. The very day after I brought you home to Wolfram, I saw that ship and realized it wasn’t over; that cutthroats and smugglers were still using this coast for their nefarious purposes. And then Mallory returned.”

  Suppressing a shudder, Laura gazed up at him. “And that is why you went out every night?”

  “It’s not a lie that I’m a poor sleeper. I took the boat out sometimes. I sailed close to the shore seeing if I could spot any activity either in the grounds or in the caves, but I never saw anything untoward.” He sighed. “But now that Mallory’s dead, and the smugglers’ ship gone to the bottom of the sea, it’s safe to bring you home.” He lifted her chin with the heel of his hand. “You do want to come home to Wolfram?”

  Some unexpressed thought lurked in his eyes; something he wasn’t prepared to tell her, but he’d revealed so much, it would wait for a better time. “Yes, my love.”

  She still didn’t know how big a piece of his heart Amanda still laid claim to, but Laura pushed the thought away with the knowledge that he wanted her.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Laura collected Agnes and said goodbye to her parents. Five days after they departed London, they arrived back in Wolfram, having stayed at inns along the way, enjoying being together, discussing their future and engaging in nights filled with passion.

  The sun set earlier now. To Laura, under a golden moon, the village appeared almost magical. Whitewashed cottages climbed the hill, milky-white windows aglow with candlelight; lamplight threw flickering shadows over the waterfront, with the arc of sky above a deep indigo tumbled with stars. Across the water, the solid granite walls of the abbey rose from the dark gardens.

  Laura was already metaphorically rolling up her sleeves, keen to resume her visits to the church, the school, the neediest villagers and the tenant farmers.

  “A hunter’s moon,” Nathaniel observed. “They’ll have a good catch.”

  Laura smiled. She drew in a deep breath of the familiar salty air laden with fresh, fishy odors. She was home.

  The sea caressed the granite banks of the causeway as the carriage crossed. At the stables, the dogs erupted through the door with joyful barking. Laura left Nathaniel to greet them and to speak to the groom. She entered the house, gazing at everything anew. Even Rudge, standing impassively at the door, appeared a little less implacable.

  Realizing she was hungry, Laura hurried to change for dinner. “Did you enjoy the trip, Agnes?”

  The maid’s eyes were like saucers. “Never knew a city to be so big, milady! I prefer Wolfram. I’d get lost up in those parts!”

  She laughed as Agnes shook out the green silk taffeta. But after slipping the dress on Laura, the maid struggled with the buttons. “It seems a little snug, my lady.”

  “Can you tighten the corset laces?”

  Agnes tugged at the strings on Laura’s corset.

  “Oh, stop. I can’t breathe. This dress has never fitted me well. That might be why I seldom wear it. I’ll wear the gray, Agnes.”

  She’d been aware of the corset pinching. Was she putting on weight? Her pulse picked up as she began to count. What with the trip and the illness, had she lost track? She couldn’t be. Her last monthly courses were just before she left for London. But might she have fallen pregnant on the last night she and Nathaniel were together? Laura stilled. A baby? She clasped her hands together as hope and joy spread through her, her first thought to run to Nathaniel. She spun away from the mirror. She couldn’t disappoint him. She must be sure.

  “Milady?” As Agnes held up the dress, Laura made the decision not to tell him until she was certain. But how perfect a homecoming it would be. She hugged the thought to her with a smile.

  That evening when they lay together, Nathaniel was tender, as if he already suspected she might be with child. But of course, he couldn’t know. When she woke in the morning, he slept beside her, his arm resting over her waist.

  Thrilled to find him there, she raised herself up on an elbow. “Good morning, darling.”

  “Good morning, my sweet.” A smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and his gray eyes smoldered. He reached for her. “Mmm. You smell delicious, all warm and rumpled. What have I been missing?”

  She cradled his face and kissed him, hopeful of having crossed some invisible barrier and put past hurts behind them.

  Later, walking through the park, Laura breathed in the cold, salt-laden air with relish. The dogs had joined her and rooted about in the deep drifts of papery leaves.

  Reaching Cilla’s gate, Laura ordered the dogs home. Obedient, they turned and ran off as she knocked.

  Cilla opened the door dressed in her painter’s smock. “Laura! You’re home. I’ve been busy. I plan to have these ready for my exhibition.”

  A testament to her hard work was stacked along the walls: canvases bursting with an explosion of bright color in a freer style, which Laura had never seen from her before.

  “They’re extraordinary.” Laura turned to Cilla and laughed. “You have a daub of violet paint on your nose.”

  Cilla smiled and rubbed at it. “Look at you, you are positively blooming.”

  Laura flushed, remembering what had recently taken place in her bedchamber. When she and Nathaniel had tarried over breakfast, she’d told him more about her trip. She decided not to mention the letters Dora found, afraid it would destroy the peace and happiness of the morning, but she fully intended to draw him out concerning his grandmother and the neglected estate when the time was right. But right now, she enjoyed that he was happy. His prized mare was in foal. Laura considered burgeoning life in the stables to be apt. She resisted hugging her stomach and prayed she was with child.

  Cilla eyed her. “Where have you gone off to, Laura?”

  “I’m sorry.” Laura smiled. “I was woolgathering.” She wandered along the paintings, each one more striking than the last. “I’d like to buy one of these.”

  “I don’t think they’re suitable for Wolfram.”

  It occurred to Laura that Cilla would want to show them all in London. “If not all are sold, of course.”

  “I could paint your portrait?”

  Laura thought of the magnificent one of Amanda that had once hung over the fireplace. “No. You’re too busy.”

  “I’ll find time. It would make a nice present for Nathaniel.” She frowned. “He will employ one of the renowned portrait painters to paint you both when his heir arrives.”

  Cilla looked so disgruntled that Laura rushed to reassure her. “I know he would love a portrait of me painted by you. If you do have time, I would love it too!”

  The more she thought about it, the more the idea appealed. The temptation to hang a portrait in the library to rival Amanda’s both chastened and amused her.

  “I’ve finished up here, so why don’t we begin?”

  Laura widened her eyes. “Now?”

  “Why not? The light is still good.”
r />   “Very well. Where would you like me to sit?”

  Cilla took her arm. “Over by the window.” She studied Laura with a practiced eye. “Your moss green dress is good, if a little plain. We need a touch of color.” She went to her bureau, opened a drawer and returned with a coral necklace she fastened around Laura’s neck.

  As Cilla set up her canvas and prepared her palette, Laura glanced in the mirror. She touched the rough, irregular-shaped beads set in gold. They were exactly like the necklace she’d seen in Amanda’s room. “This is pretty. Where did you buy it?”

  Cilla turned to look. She frowned. “I can’t remember. A London market most likely.”

  “I’ve never seen you wear them.”

  “I don’t wear much jewelry.” Cilla began to sketch on the canvas with a sure hand. “I bought them for the color.” She bent her head over her palette, mixing paint. “I admired the coral necklace Amanda used to wear.”

  After half an hour of sitting, Laura began to fidget, and Cilla put down her brush. “That’s enough for today.” She carefully arranged a cloth over the painting, ruining any chance of Laura seeing it.

  Laura stretched. “I hoped to see what you’ve done. But I shan’t break your rule again.”

  Cilla smiled, shaking her head. “You’ve been very patient. May I offer you some tea?”

  “Thank you, but it’s grown late. I should go home.”

  “Tomorrow then? Once I have the composition right, I work fast. I’ll have this finished in no time.”

  Laura smiled. “Tomorrow then.” She envisaged her portrait hanging above the fireplace, somehow making Wolfram feel even more like home to her.

  The next afternoon, after sitting for Cilla again, Laura joined Nathaniel in the village. The inquest into Theo Mallory’s death was about to begin. She had insisted she come and held his hand as he pushed through the people crowding around the doorway of the town hall in Penzance. She slid onto a wooden bench beside Cilla. The other seats were soon filled. The rest jostled to find a place or stood at the back of the room. The atmosphere was heavy with expectation, the murmuring hum rising in volume.

  With a bang of the coroner’s gavel, the voices dropped away. The post mortem was read out. Mallory had died from several severe blows to the head and face from a blunt object. He was dead before he hit the water. A collective gasp traveled around the room.

  It had not been an accident, nor had he taken his own life. Someone had killed him. Laura gazed around at the faces, as shocked whispers filled the hall. Many stared at Nathaniel. He held himself erect on the seat beside her, his stony profile as grim as she’d ever seen him.

  Mrs. Madge, Mallory’s mother, took the stand dressed in a black gown. She pushed back her shoulders and raised her chin. “My son returned to Wolfram to put a stop to those who’ve discredited the family name.” She stared around the room, her eyes defiant.

  Florrie Havers, who was well known to the sailors around the dock and the inns, came to her feet. “Pity you didn’t ask him where he got ’is money. Theo gave me a bottle of port and some tobacco for a tumble, ’e did.” She laughed, a hand on her wide hip. “But I would have done it for nothing.”

  Mrs. Madge moved faster than Laura would have thought her capable. She was across the room and had a good grasp of Florrie’s hair before anyone could stop her. The hall erupted with people shouting, as the two women were pulled apart. Mrs. Madge still clutched Florrie’s curly hairpiece in her hand as they led her away.

  A man dragged Florrie screaming and cursing out the door. The low rumble ceased as the room settled down again, everyone leaning forward expectantly.

  The facts emerged. A witness, fisherman Bill Murphy, told how he’d seen Mallory with Will Throsby, the under groom from the abbey. Heads swiveled to look at Nathaniel, as Murphy described how on the night Theo disappeared Bill was returning a mended fishing net to his boat. He saw the two men arguing heatedly near the seawall.

  Throsby was then brought into the room from his jail cell where he’d languished on a charge of smuggling. His face was pinched and he fidgeted, turning his hat around in his hand. Under hard questioning, he broke down and confessed he’d been told to kill Mallory. If he hadn’t done it, he’d be the one lying dead. He’d hit Mallory with an oar several times, then pushed his body into the water. When asked to explain why, he grew angry. “Mallory lied. Swore to us that ’e and Lady Amanda would protect us should anything go wrong. They were thick as thieves. And then ’e gave us up to the police.”

  There was an uproar in the room. The gavel came down several times before it quieted again.

  “Who gave you the order to kill Mallory?” the coroner asked.

  “I don’t know ’is name,” Will said. “Never saw ’im before. Came from up north. Said if I didn’t do it, me Ma and little sister would be tossed into the sea.” He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

  “Did your employer, Lord Lanyon, know of this?” The coroner asked.

  “’Is lordship knew naught about any of it. We used ’is land is all. While ’e was gone to London.” Will pointed at Nathaniel. “I feel bad about that, Yer Lordship. You was always good to me.”

  “Then why in God’s name didn’t he come to me for help?” Nathaniel murmured with a sad shake of his head.

  Once the coroner had given his verdict of murder, set a trial date and banged his gavel, the hall exploded in noisy debate as everyone filed outside.

  Nathaniel escorted Laura to the waiting carriage. “I have to speak to the constable. If you don’t want to wait, I’ll send the carriage home.”

  “Of course I’ll wait. I’d like to come with you.”

  “Perhaps you should hear this.” He took her arm and walked toward the police station.

  She smiled, pleased to see the strain gone from his face. “Do you think this will be the end of it?”

  “Lord, I hope so.”

  She listened as Nathaniel discussed the findings with the constable. Mallory had been involved in the first smuggling operation up to his neck. He’d signed his death warrant when he came back to Wolfram and tried to muscle his way into this one. And he’d intended to blackmail Nathaniel, spread it about that Amanda’s baby was his. He’d boasted about it when drunk in the tavern two days before his death.

  “By then no one believed Mallory’s lies,” the constable said. “Roe at The Sail and Anchor threatened to beat Mallory to a pulp if he said another word about it. Threw him out on his ear.”

  Laura was shocked into silence. She placed a protective hand on her stomach. The constable was right: Mallory had been revealed for the scoundrel he was. His word meant nothing. But what did Nathaniel believe?

  Laura glanced up at him as they walked back to the carriage, his big hand clasping hers. Surely now they could get on with their lives. The thought warmed her. The nausea she had suffered a month ago was gone, and she felt amazingly well. Once the doctor confirmed her pregnancy, she could confidently tell Nathaniel her news. A baby would bring them closer and help to banish the sadness that had clung to Wolfram like a dark cloud. But even as she thought it, a shiver raced down her spine. Would they ever know how and why Amanda died?

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Something woke Laura. Finding Nathaniel gone from the bed, she propped herself up on her elbows. The last few days, he’d remained with her until morning. Moonlight swept through the gap in the curtains and cast a silvery glow into the far corner of the room. She watched, transfixed, as the light appeared to take shape. Did she imagine the force that seemed to gather in the room? Strange that she wasn’t afraid.

  “What do you want?” The shape shifted and formed the vague outline of a woman. “Is it you, Amanda?” Laura whispered.

  Silence.

  Laura gripped the bedcover, unable to move, fighting to penetrate the gloom. A breeze stirred the curtains, and the ray of moonlight shifted. This was ridiculous. She found the matches, and with trembling fingers, lit a candle. The bedroo
m looked the same as it always did. Her imagination was getting the better of her. She raised the candle to check the time on the mantel clock. It was almost two. Nathaniel had no reason to search the grounds now that the smugglers were gone. Where was he? Surely he hadn’t returned to his cold, lonely bed in the chamber next door. Was he working in his study? Really, he needed his sleep.

  Perhaps he was just restless and didn’t wish to disturb her. She had to believe he would welcome her company. She slipped from her bed and donned her dressing gown and slippers. The open panel revealed an empty room, the bed smoothly made.

  Disheartened, she stepped out into the hall. A light flickered beneath Amanda’s bedroom door. Laura almost gasped aloud. So, he was there. The muscles of her legs seemed rigid as she forced herself to walk to the door, determined to confront him. Her fear of facing his obsession with his first wife almost choked her. Rudge had had Amanda’s bedchamber emptied of all possessions; what drew Nathaniel to the room? Did Amanda still have his heart?

  Gearing herself up for an awful scene, Laura slowly opened the door.

  Apart from the furniture, the room was bare of its showy paraphernalia. A candle stub burned low on the mantel, its feeble glow a small circle of light. A man in dark clothes bent over in the shadows, his back to her. She heard a strangled sob.

  Was it Nathaniel? Distressed, Laura slammed the door shut, and with quick steps, somehow made it back to her room. She collapsed on the bed in tears. As she wiped her eyes, she thought about what she’d seen. His sobs seemed wrong. Had she jumped to a hasty conclusion? She ignored the urging of her rational mind to remain in bed until morning and snatched up a candle, determined to face whoever was in that room.

  This time, when she turned the doorknob with trembling fingers, only the acrid tang and trail of smoke from the extinguished candle wafted about the empty space. She retreated to the corridor where the huge tapestry stirred in a cold draft and rubbed at the goosebumps on her arms. He must have heard her shut Amanda’s door. She peeked into Nathaniel’s bedchamber to make sure he hadn’t returned. Empty.