Laura pushed the food around her plate as she took in the details of the room, noting what pleased her and what didn’t. The well-proportioned room was decorated in gold and soft olive and was a little too dreary for her taste. A buffet displayed an impressive array of decorated china and ceramics. Above it, shelves of glassware sparkled. An antique, embroidered screen dressed a corner. She dismissed the stuffed birds in a cage but liked the gold wallpaper above the oak wainscoting. The faded green velvet covering the row of arched windows needed to be replaced. She had a strong desire to make this house hers, and this room was the perfect place to begin. The Victorian style was far too heavy. It was time for something lighter and morecheerful.
“I believe new curtains are needed for this room,” Laura said, as much to herself as to Rudge. “These are a cold green.” It would be a start, before she redid the whole room in floral pastels, primrose yellow, leaf green, or the lilac of wisteria withgray.
“Lady Lanyon…” Rudge cleared his throat. “The first Lady Lanyon, that is, planned to change them.”
Laura welcomed anything she might learn about Amanda. “Did she have something in mind?”
A smug expression stole into his eyes. “Pompeian red velvet, I believe, my lady. Lady… the first Lady Lanyon had excellent taste.”
But it was not Laura’s. “I can see we would have agreed on the need for warmth.”
Rudge’s eyes brightened. “There were samples, I believe, which would still be here. I could find them, my lady. Should you wish?”
“Please don’t bother. I prefer the charming chintzes in fashion, something floral which will pick up the colors in the carpet and tone well with the oak. I’ll have the dining chairs recovered to suit.”
Rudge’s mouth firmed and his gaze dropped to his highly polished shoes. “As you wish, my lady.”
“I’ll write to a decorator. I agree that a touch of Pompeian red velvet works well in this room. It will be perfect to cover the dining chairs.”
Laura felt Rudge’s gaze on her back as she left the table and wandered the room. He never stepped beyond the bounds of propriety or raised himself above his station, and yet his hard eyes always looked upon her with cool dislike. It made her want to assert her authority. If Rudge didn’t warm to her, at least he would respecther.
“That leather corner chair shouldn’t be in here. Please have it moved into the library. It will be more comfortable for Lord Lanyon than the chesterfields.” She faced him, finding little had changed in his expression. “Why did the housekeeper leave?”
“Mrs. Bright succumbed to an illness, my lady. About a year ago, it was. Lord Lanyon has yet to replace her.”
“I can’t imagine how the house has continued to run without one. I shall begin to interview possible replacements immediately.” Laura paused at the door. “Oh, and have the cage of stuffed birds removed. Potted plants can fill the space. Orchids and ferns are a good choice.” She walked out the door. “I believe I’ll retire, Rudge.”
In the great hall, as he always did, Rudge lit a candle for her. Laura said goodnight and gathered her skirts in her hand to mount the stairs. The nights were long and lonely without Nathaniel. But next time, she would go withhim.
It was still early when she blew out her candle. Although her mind seemed determined to sort through all she’d gleaned from Cilla, more questions arose than answers, and she soon fell into an uneasy sleep.
Laura struggled to adjust her sight to the dark room. She leaned on her elbows, listening to the noise that awakened her: scraping and a soft shuffle. She threw back the bedclothes and fumbled for the matches, which eluded her panicky fingers. After several deep breaths to steady her hand, she gripped them. Striking a match, she lit a candle and sighed, relieved to find the room empty. The noise had ceased, but what had caused it? It sounded close by.
Once she’d donned her dressing gown, she opened the door and tiptoed out into the corridor. At the far end, she glimpsed movement. The flash of white vanished so quickly she began to doubt she’d seen anything beyond a shaft of moonlight. The candle raised high, her shaky hand threw a pale, trembling light over the widecorridor.
Convinced the glow had come from near Amanda’s bedroom, Laura took two steps toward it. Her legs felt oddly heavy, and she was short of breath. Without Nathaniel’s protection, she was vulnerable. She turned and ran back to her room, shutting her door and locking it. In bed, she hugged her knees, her ears straining for the smallestsound.
Gradually accepting that the noise must have been the wind which had picked up during the night, Laura lay down. She faced facts. She’d been overconfident in believing that Nathaniel would fall quickly and deeply in love with her, and that their love would blot out his still raw past. It seemed both unreasonable and childish to expect it. He had never attempted to open himself to her and explain his true feelings. Might he feel disloyal to Amanda if he did? Overwhelmed, Laura closed hereyes.
The dream she’d had on her first day here returned. A lady, light as a cobweb, hovered above her. Her face in shadow, her hair pale as morning sunlight. Fighting her way out of sleep, Laura opened her eyes. She was too hot. She threw off the cover and pounded her pillows. Grayish-lavender shadows hugged the corners of the room as the dawn broke. Laura lay with an arm above her head, gazing at the golden canopy above, sternly assuring herself it had only been a dream. It didn’t work. She remained convinced that what she’d sensed close by was either a ghostly presence, or more disturbingly, an earthly one. She wasn’t sure which terrified her the most.
***
Teg carried wicker baskets from the house, full of Mrs. Madge’s fine pasties and her famous Cornish heavy cake, plus jars of rhubarb, apple and blackcurrant preserves. He packed them in the brougham before driving Laura to thevicarage.
She had dressed carefully in an outfit of dove-gray crepon featuring a short bolero jacket over a lace vest, the high crown of her yellow straw hat adorned with feathers and ribbons.
When they drove up, the fête was already underway. A group of inquisitive villagers gathered as Laura alighted from the carriage. A small welcoming party came forward to greet her as she and Teg made their way to the tables and handed over their baskets from which delicious, warm-baked smells wafted. Mrs. Madge’s offerings were eagerly accepted. Before Laura had moved on to inspect some of the other stalls, all had been sold. Mrs. Madge would be gratified to hearit.
Couples performed a round dance on a stage set up for music and dancing. A male tenor followed with a rendition of “Sweet Nightingale,” his fine voice carrying across the air:
Don’t you hear the fond tale
Of the sweet nightingale,
As she sings in those valleysbelow?
Once the song had ended and the clapping died away, the vicar assisted Laura onto the platform. A circle of faces ten-deep was raised to watch her, some smiling, some curious. Still unsure of the Cornish ways and language, Laura swallowed to banish her nerves. If her dreams were to be realized, speaking in public would be a skill she mustacquire.
