“I can’t always know when my presence will be required in parliament. I did explain that to you Laura when we first met. This is the way my life must be.”
She tried to banish the disappointment from her voice. “I do understand. It’s just that I expected us to have more time together. We have delayed our honeymoon.”
“I am sorry. But you shall come with me. Stay at Wimbledon, visit your parents. I’ll put up at a London hotel, but I will hardly be there. I’m busy during the day and must attend dinners that you would find dreadfully dull.”
She pulled the sheet over her breasts. “You wouldn’t want me to stay with you?”
“Not want you?” Nathaniel laughed and shook his head. He reached out and traced a line down her throat. “I’ve wanted you in my life since I first set eyes on you. So much so, I assured myself you would be happy here.”
He sounded doubtful. Did he regret marrying her? Laura moved away, not wanting his touch to distract her, as her eyes filled with tears. She left the bed lest he should notice and pulled on her nightgown. “I wish I understood you, Nathaniel. Sometimes I fear you don’t want me near you.”
“That’s nonsense!” Shrugging into his dressing gown, he followed her across the room. “Sweetheart, I’ll be busy, tired and I fear short-tempered. You wouldn’t be comfortable in a hotel suite. You can see your friends, go shopping with your mother.”
At her vanity table, Laura picked up her pearl-handled hairbrush, its familiar smoothness reassuring beneath her fingers. She began to brush, but her movements were jerky and she snagged acurl.
Nathaniel removed the brush from her hand. His firm strokes felt wonderful. “I need to gather support for an important bill. The people here rely on me.”
“But I’ve been asked to open the church fête on Saturday. I did tell you. It’s my first official act as your wife.” She’d expected him to bethere.
He met her gaze in the mirror. “There’ll be other fêtes. Make your excuses; they will understand that you must accompany me to London.”
“I don’t like to, Nathaniel. They’ll think I don’t care, and I want them to like me.” And she was in no mood to come under her mother’s measuring gaze. Certainly not now when she felt so unsure. “And I wish to address the servants, familiarize myself with the running of the household. We have no housekeeper. That cannot go on. You must employ one.”
“Yes, quite so.” Nathaniel put down the brush, swept aside her hair and touched his lips to her nape. “Perhaps you’re right. It’s an opportunity for the villagers to get to know the new baroness, who’s a charming, lovely lady.” He smiled. “I know they will warm to you. While I’m gone, you must take any concerns to my overseer, Hugh Pitney. He’s a good man and will assist you.”
She turned on the stool. “I will miss you terribly.” She placed her hand at his nape and drew his head down for a kiss while she prayed that he would miss her asmuch.
“And I you, sweetheart.” He swept her up in his arms and returned to the bed.
***
Nathaniel leaned back against the leather seat as the steam train chugged northward. The journey provided him with time for contemplation without distraction. He had instructed Hugh to keep a sharp eye on Laura during the daylight hours. The wheels were set in motion for an investigation into the smuggling, which the harbormaster and the revenue agents would orchestrate. He prayed something would come of their inquiries soon. The smugglers had been put on notice. They would be scattering to avoid the revenue men, and there was little reason for them to return now that their spoils were gone.
Could he and Laura ever settle into a peaceful life together? Nathaniel wasn’t sure he believed it, but he clung to the possibility like a drowning man. He stared sightlessly out of the window. Would she continue to gaze at him with such warmth and affection? Having her love and her trust, when so many doubted him, was important. Whether he deserved it or not, it had become everything.
Chapter Twelve
After seeing Nathaniel off on his way to the station in Penzance for the London train, Laura walked back to the house. Would he miss her as much as she would miss him? There was still a wall between them she seemed unable to breach. Was it because she’d failed to measure up to Amanda? She couldn’t bear to think he might regret marrying her. One thing she was confident of, however: she did not disappoint him in the bedroom, for his hunger for her had not abated. But she’d begun to suspect that his confidence of her passion and his prowess to satisfy her smoothed over any disagreements between them. Nothing would change unless she demanded more openness from him. She was bewildered by how meek she’d become. She didn’t know herself anymore. She’d always been spirited, a fighter, but fear of discovering Nathaniel’s affections remained with his first wife had silenced her. If it were true, it was something she couldn’tfight.
A stroll before lunch would have the dual purpose of ordering her thoughts, while discovering more of her new home. There was still so much she had yet tosee.
Donning her hat, Laura strolled along the tree-lined lane past the row of stone cottages. One house looked very much like the one in Cilla’s painting. Yes, there was the band of tall firs isolating it from the rest. She hesitated, then opened the creaky, rusted gate and entered the weedy front garden that had been a riot of color in Cilla’s painting. Shading her vision from the sun’s reflection, Laura peered through the dirty window into an empty room. Nathaniel had said they were unoccupied, but when she opened the front door and walked into the tiny parlor, she found the room partially furnished. A sofa flanked the fireplace, a table beside it. A fire had been laid in the grate as if someone was soon to arrive to light it. A branch of candles and a box of matches sat on the mantel. Feeling she had made a mistake and wandered into someone’s home, Laura hurried out the door.
As she walked to the gate, a man on a chestnut horse appeared in the lane. The overseer, Hugh Pitney, pulled up his mount and raised his hat to greet her before riding on. She recalled having seen him earlier that day. Was Mr. Pitney following her? Laura bit her lip. Nathaniel must have instructed him to keep an eye on her. It was nonsensical. Was she not safe here? Nathaniel was as bad as hermother.
Laura continued her walk, glad that Mr. Pitney had made himself scarce. In among the trees of the park, she breathed in the pungent aroma of damp leaves, warm bark and fungi. Dappled patches of sunlight broke through the canopy overhead, brightening the shrubs and trees bordering the well-trodden path.
A squirrel scampered over a fallen log. Rustling in the bushes made her turn, her heart thumping, until her common sense took hold. It would be a deer or some other small animal. Not given to flights of fancy, she considered it foolish to find the silence, broken only by bird calls, ominous. Nevertheless, she picked up her skirts, increased her pace and hurried toward the patch of sunlightahead.
She hadn’t considered her direction and was a little shocked to find herself at the top of the cliff. She was about to go back the way she’d come, but stared instead at the awe-inspiring view. It was undoubtedly beautiful. There was a rim of dark gray on the horizon above a churning silversea.
When Laura looked down at the crashing waves below, she grew dizzy. She hadn’t been aware that heights affected her in this manner. Caught by a gust of wind, her skirts flapped, and when she smoothed them down, the wind ripped her shawl from her shoulders. She grabbed at it, but found herself only a few yards from the edge. Her throat tightened, and she stepped back on shaky legs. The fringed Cashmere shawl floated well beyond her reach. Like a sail in the wind, it soared out over the cliff and disappeared beneath the swell of white-capped waves below.
Laura held on to her hat, which threatened to join the shawl. She turned and marched along the narrow track through the trees. Instead of continuing in the direction of the village, she walked along a lane bordered by a highhedge.
“Damn it!” she muttered, remembering the pretty shawl had been a present from AuntDora.
“My goodness. Is that you, Laura?” Cilla rose from the garden with a trowel in her hand, a straw hat in a sad state of disrepair on her head. An apron covered a pair of what appeared to be men’s trousers rolled up at the ankle. “This is a nice surprise.”
