That particular day had been yet another surprise from Maxwell, and Louisa still didn’t know how he’d managed to arrange it. She flipped the pages back to four days earlier: Tuesday, the twelfth of June, 1845.
The outing that day had been presented as a mystery, one prearranged by Maxwell who refused to give even a hint of whatit entailed. “Bring your journal,” he’d said. “I have a feeling you might need it.”
The mystery deepened.
After a short carriage ride under sunny skies, they’d arrived at a magnificent old house tucked against a hillside, with an army of sweet-smelling roses clambering haphazardly over its whitewashed walls. According to the sign at the gate, the house was calledRydal Mount. Louisa had never laid eyes on the house before, but she recognized its name. And she knew who lived there.
To her absolute surprise and delight, she and Maxwell had subsequently spent almost an hour in the owner’s company; a precious measure of time with a man whose name was known worldwide and already assured a place in history.
The experience had been one of the most memorable in Louisa’s life, yet she had written nothing about that day in her journal. First of all, it was hardly necessary. Each and every detail had been burned into her memory. Besides, it was an event that merited a verbal retelling, time and again; a tale to be passed down through the years. Mostly, though, she simply could not bring herself to write upon a page that had already been claimed by a master poet, even though he had written but two short lines: a grand total of eighteen words.
Plus, his signature.
Poetry is the first and last of all knowledge
It is as immortal as the heart of man.
William Wordsworth.
It was not every day that one had the privilege of taking tea with the Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom. True, the visit had been relatively brief, and Mr. Wordsworth had used part of it to voice his concerns to Maxwell about the encroachment ofthe railway into his beloved Lake District. But he’d also indulged Louisa with a tour of his wonderful gardens, including his ‘writing-hut’ with its spectacular views and where much of his poetry had been written.
It had been an unforgettable experience.
Louisa smiled and turned back to the current page in her journal, the closure to that day’s entry now set in her mind.
I was about to write that our honeymoon has been wonderful, but that would imply it is over. I much prefer to believe that it is only just beginning.
Chapter Twelve
Harlow Industries hadnot been thrust into liquidation during Maxwell’s absence. There had been a couple of issues, however. Something about a smelting-furnace failure in the South Shields plant and a warehouse fire in Glasgow, although the latter had been quickly contained and caused little damage. As a result, an exchange of words had taken place between Maxwell and Finlay, their clarity muffled by the closed door of Maxwell’s office. Since then, his demeanor had hardened a little around the edges. Or perhaps, Louisa mused, it had simply returned to normal.
Finlay appeared nonplussed and remained as friendly as ever, but despite Louisa’s protests, insisted on taking dinner in his room each evening. “You’ll see me at breakfast, and you might see me at luncheon, but, unless my being there is absolutely necessary, the evenings are for you and Maxwell alone. I’m quite comfortable in my room, Louisa. It’s no hardship at all.”
Of course, Louisa’s hope that her husband would become accustomed to sharing a bed with her all night had not materialized. As alluded to, they each had their own chambers at Northcott, separated by an adjoining door, though Maxwell had again made it clear that the arrangement was simply a consideration for her, due to his insomnia. Their intimate relationship remained just as spirited, however, and the adjoining door usually stood open till well into the night.
Despite that, there had still been no verbal declarations of love from Maxwell. Louisa knew where her heart lay, but hesitated to speak from it, fearful that he would not reciprocate in kind, or worse, feel obliged to do so. She told herself words didn’t really matter, that Maxwell showed his affection for her in other ways. At least, he did when he wasn’t ensconced with Finlay in what had been the study but had now become his office. Apart from the evenings, Louisa hadn’t seen much of her husband since returning from their honeymoon.
Not that she’d been idle either. Along with Northcott Manor’s new, rosy-cheeked housekeeper, Mrs. Hartley, Louisa had been busy most of the week going through the manor from top to bottom, arranging and rearranging things. She’d also spent time getting to know the rest of the new staff as well as interviewing a couple of potential lady’s maids.
“Out of the two, I think I prefer Mrs. Archer.” Louisa sat at her dressing table, tilting her head as she put on her amethyst earrings. “Mrs. Talbot is a little too matronly for my tastes.”
Maxwell, leaning nonchalantly against the mantel, frowned as he pondered. “Talbot’s references are actually the most impressive of the two, although Archer’s aren’t too shoddy either. I want to verify both of them, though, before you make a decision. I like to know who I have living under my roof, and especially those working in close proximity to my wife. That being so, please do not ever hire anyone in my absence, Louisa. At least, not without checking with me first.”
“Of course not.” She held up her necklace, a delicate gold chain with an amethyst and diamond pendant. “Would you mind?”
He moved to stand behind her, took the necklace and placed it around her neck, a frown furrowing his brow as he fastened the delicate clasp. A tingle ran across Louisa’s skin as his fingersbrushed against her nape. “By the way,” he said, “Finlay and I will be leaving for South Shields on Wednesday morning.”
“Oh.” She absorbed the information. “How long will you be away?”
“At least a week, I should think.” Task completed, he straightened and regarded her in the mirror, his expression wary. “Maybe less if things go smoothly. Perhaps you could spend a night or two at Highfield while I’m gone?”
“Yes, I might do that.” Determined not to validate his wariness, Louisa centered the pendant at her throat and summoned up a bright smile. “Actually, if you have no objection, I’d like to pay a visit to Francesca’s in Knaresborough while you’re away. Do a little bit of shopping.”
“No objection at all,” he said, his expression relaxing, “as long as you have McKinney drive you and have Francesca invoice me for your purchases.”
Louisa shook her head. “I have my own money, Max.”
“You’ll not use any of it, my dear, I insist. Also, if your maid’s employment hasn’t been approved by then, you’ll take one of the housemaids as a companion. All right?”
