Leaving her chamber, with barely a thought, Laura turned right instead of left and found herself standing before the door which had been occupied the night before. With a steadying breath, she knocked. When no sound came from within, she tried the handle. The dooropened.
She leaned back against the open door and blinked. The walls of the luxurious bedroom were of deep magenta overlaid in gold. The bed had ruby satin bed hangings and a matching silk coverlet. A rose-pink velvet armchair perched by the window. Laura shivered and rubbed her arms. The chilly room smelled musty, as though shut up for a long time. But overlaid was a scent she failed to identify. The candle in a glass candlestick on the dresser had burned down to a stub. It was tallow. Odd when she’d been told that only beeswax candles were used in the house. Laura crossed the crimson rug to open the two matching mahogany armoires.
“Good heavens!” Her voice sounded loud in the still room. Both cupboards were crammed with dresses of every hue. Taffeta silk, appliquéd velvets, organdie and India muslin, capes trimmed with ostrich or fur, and silk tea gowns of the finest quality. Silk underthings and nightgowns were folded neatly in the drawers. Laura picked up a dainty, soft gray chemise trimmed with Valenciennes lace. A delicate perfume wafted into theair.
The realization almost buckled her knees. This could only be Amanda’s bedchamber. Laura quickly folded the chemise and returned it to the drawer, as if she had no right to be there. She couldn’t rush away though. She was held captive by a need to understand more about the woman who had been Nathaniel’swife.
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 alantern-shapedbottle and removed thediamond-cut glassstopper,recognizing the scent:a hint ofylang-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 withamethystsand 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 toaChopinNocturne. 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. Shewouldaskhim.
Soon.
She feared his answer, or worse, his lies,as she exited the room. Closing the door behind her, she turned and sawhim.
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 hershoulders.
“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 shewas.
With the dogs panting at thehorses’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 agun.
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 hishorse.
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 abird’sdizzying 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.Itseemed to capture Nathaniel’s interest. She noted the rigid set of hisshoulders.
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 skillsyet.
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’sroom, 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,andthat frightening dropsuddenly became too close forcomfort.
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 bridlepath.
“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, findingconcern. “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,sowhy 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 thequayside. Inside was dim with a low, heavy-beamed ceiling andflagstonefloor. The air was stale and smelled heavily of hops from the locally brewed ale and cider. It was not an establishment she would choose tofrequent.
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 frombeneath herlashes.
