She grasped the bell pull and rang for a maid to assist her out of her travel-soiled dress, after which she planned to investigate by herself since Dora had grumbled about carriages and rheumatism and went to her bedroom to rest. Tomorrow, Laura would ride through the park, which from her window lookedextensive.
The next morning, Laura wandered the gardens with a shawl to protect her from the cool wind. It was a perfect day for riding, with fleecy clouds scudding across the pale blue sky.
She joined her aunt in the breakfast room, where she spooned eggs onto her plate from the sideboard. “Did you sleep well?”
“I found it difficult to get used to the quiet.” Dora smiled. “But this morning the birds made such a racket outside my window, it was as noisy as a London street.” She eyed Laura’s riding outfit. “As you’re riding today, I believe I’ll spend the day reading. I peeped into the library; there’s an impressive collection of books and periodicals there. I must say I’m surprised that Nathaniel has neither leased nor sold this property. The cost of its upkeep must be immense. It’s a little sad to see it like this, and odd because the house reminds me of a shrine.”
At the buffet, Laura lifted a silver cover and added bacon to her eggs. Dora’s use of the word “shrine” reminded her of the flowers placed on Amanda’s grave. “A shrine to whom?”
Dora shrugged. “His mother, surely? You know how men are about their mothers.”
Laura took her plate to the table. “She died when Nathaniel was a boy. Cilla said he barely knew her.”
Her aunt poured her a cup of tea. “He hasn’t told you anything about her?”
“No.” Laura rubbed her forehead where a headache threatened. “I sensed he didn’t want to speak about her.”
“There could be different reasons for that. I’m sure you’ll find out what you wish to know.”
Laura tilted her head. “What makes you think I’m searching for something?” She refused to accept that anything more than mild curiosity had brought her here. Apparently, her aunt thoughtotherwise.
“That’s why we’ve come, isn’t it?” Dora tapped a finger on her Tarot card box on the table beside her. “Perhaps I can help you find out.”
Laura smiled, determined to take anything her aunt suggested with a grain ofsalt.
An hour later, Laura left Dora reading in a deep chair by the library fire and walked to the stables. Mounts for riding were no longer kept there, so she was given the manager’s horse, a bow-backed, sluggish animal. She urged it into a trot. The magnificent trees were aflame with autumn color, the parkland overgrown. Dora was right. It was odd to think that no one camehere.
A mile or two on, Laura rode through a break in the hedgerow and found herself on a country road. A signpost pointed to Little Gaddesden. A church spire rose above the trees, so the village could not be far away. She urged her bad-tempered horse into a reluctantcanter.
Woodlands ringed the quaint village of thatched-roof cottages and lodge houses clustered around a green. Outside the modest gray stone church, Laura dismounted and tethered the horse to an iron railing. The church appeared to be empty. When she knocked at the vicarage, the housekeeper explained that Mr. Maudling was making calls. Hoping to catch him before she left, Laura wandered the churchyard reading the inscriptions on the gravestones. She located Nathaniel’s grandparents in their adjacent graves. Searching further, she found Nathaniel’s mother’s grave. Odd that she was buried here and not at Wolfram. Lady Olivia was only thirty years old when she died. The plain inscription gave no clue as to how she died.
Laura picked a wild briar rose and laid it on the headstone. “I’m sorry we never met. Rest well in heaven.”
When the vicar failed to appear, Laura rode back to the house, glad to return her fractious mount to the stables. She found Aunt Dora dozing in the library, still curled up before the fire, her head nodding, her beloved, well-worn Tarot cards on the fruitwood side table. Laura didn’t wake her. She crept away and continued her exploration, spending an hour peeking into empty rooms bare of furniture. There were several family portraits hung above the stairs. Nathaniel’s mother featured as a babe in her red-haired mother’s arms, and later as a pretty child, then again as a beautiful young woman dressed in a full-sleeved blue gown, her fair hair in tight ringlets.
Olivia’s death while Nathaniel was away at school must have affected him deeply. Her delicate feminine beauty reminded Laura of Amanda. As Victoria had said, men did sometimes marry women who looked like their mothers. Laura was so very different, and not only in looks. In every conceivable way, she suspected.
She joined her aunt for luncheon in the dining room. While she was out riding, a neighbor had called to leave his card and a request for them to join him for afternoon tea.
“Mr. Burrows is an elderly gentleman whose lands adjoin Gateley Park on its southern border,” Mr. Charleton informedthem.
“How kind. I’ll certainly call on him,” Laura said. “If you’d like to come, Aunt, we’ll take Nathaniel’s carriage and give the horses an airing.”
Dora nodded. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Mr. Burrows’ home lay several miles away, closer to Berkhamstead. The white-haired gentleman’s estate was smaller than Gateley Park, his home in the square, Dutch style.
“I couldn’t contain my excitement,” he said, as he led them into the drawing room, walking with the aid of a cane. “Neighbors at Gateley Park again, despite being a brief visit. It’s some years since a member of the family has come here.”
Mr. Burrows offered Laura a plate of biscuits. “And Lord Lanyon, is he in good health? I did wonder.”
Laura assured him that Nathaniel was in excellent health but his principal estate and the House of Lords demanded much of his attention. She took a bite of the almond-flavored biscuit and regretted it. It was too sweet. Her stomach churned so much these days. She was sure it was the uncertainty of her future and her constant worry about Nathaniel’s safety. Did he miss her as much as she did him? When would he write and ask her to comehome?
As she sipped her tea, she couched her questions tactfully, hoping that since he was older than Nathaniel’s mother, Mr. Burrows might rememberher.
“Lady Olivia was a fine-looking young lady, if a bit flighty.” He began to fill his pipe. “I hope you won’t mind if I smoke?”
“Not at all, Mr. Burrows,” Laura said, although her stomach roiled. “My father enjoys a cigar or a pipe.”
