Chapter Ten
Nathaniel leaned into the rain-laden wind. His overseer, Hugh Pitney, was close in height and matched his stride as they continued in grim silence. They took the left fork heading down to the shore. Pitney was one of a few men Nathaniel could rely on. He’d proven he could carry the weight of responsibility on his broad shoulders while Nathaniel was in London.
Nathaniel’s thoughts returned to the painful past, when a dangerous man had brought chaos to Wolfram. He’d slipped through the net and disappeared, denying Nathaniel the chance to bring him to justice and see him hang. But in his gut Nathaniel was sure he’d turn up again. The man was arrogant and confident no one could land a blow on him. He’d spread vicious gossip before he left, and the villagers remained in ignorance of what had happened here two years ago.
They’d reached the stone cottage, isolated from the rest, which perched on a rise above the sandy shore below which a funnel of rock, like a pointing finger, reached out into a dark gray sea, stirred up by the force of the wind. The gale howled around them, the sand-laden wind blowing in Nathaniel’s eyes. Exasperated, he swept a hand over them and blinked away the grit.
“I’ve expected this ever since that three-masted ship turned up,” he yelled above the wind. “How did you discover this hoard?”
Hugh’s brown eyes were troubled. “I stumbled upon it, milord, when part of the roof caved in and I went to inspect it.”
“Good thing you did.” Nathaniel gestured toward the beach. “Have you checked the caves?”
Hugh nodded. “Empty. No sign of recent activity. Crazy to store anything there in this weather, and you’d think they’d know better than to try this again after the last time.”
He forced the door open as the rain became a deluge, flowing from the broken gutters. Ducking their heads, they entered the low doorway. Rain splattered down from the ceiling of the tiny entry, but the main room remained dry. Boxes were stacked over the floor.
“How did they get this lot past the coastguard?” Removing a pocketknife from his coat, Nathaniel squatted down and levered a box open. “Tobacco.” He sat back on his heels with a shake of his head. “Not been here long. They probably meant to move it by boat before we discovered it.” He straightened. “The storm has held them up. Any thoughts as to who is behind it?”
“It’s hard to say, milord. The catch has been poor of late. Some are finding it tough.”
“Get the constable over here.” Nathaniel rested his boot on a box. “I’ll wait here for him.”
Hugh drew the collar of his coat around his ears and shouldered his way out into the rain.
Left alone, Nathaniel wandered around the musty room, opening random boxes. The same smuggling ring. With a different man at the top. They’d have to round them up quickly this time, before more damage was done. Mud stuck to a man, he already had evidence of that. Disgusted and disillusioned, Nathaniel put a hand to his hair and swore. Could things get any worse? He’d lose any support he had in the Lords if word of this reached London.
He groaned. Laura! After Amanda’s death, he’d been determined never to bring another wife to Wolfram. This would frighten her. Hell, she’d only just arrived, and everything was so new to her! He didn’t want her to think life would always be this grim. It wasn’t going to be, not if he had to personally round up everyone involved. Anger and despair seeped into his bones like poison.
***
“Wine, my lady?” The butler stood hawkeyed as the servants brought in the first course.
“Thank you, Rudge.”
Nathaniel had not yet returned.
She’d been determined not to ask Rudge where Nathaniel went, but she couldn’t swallow a mouthful of food until she did. “Where did his lordship go, Rudge?”
Rudge lifted the decanter. “I beg pardon, my lady. Lord Lanyon didn’t see fit to inform me.”
Laura wondered if he just refused to tell her. Whatever message he’d relayed to Nathaniel had sent him rushing away. She glanced away from the butler’s unfathomable, black eyes. He didn’t like her. It perplexed her, for she believed she’d done nothing to warrant it. “What message did you give his lordship?”
Rudge blinked. Laura realized with satisfaction that she’d surprised him. Was the butler not used to his mistress taking an interest in the running of the estate?
“His lordship’s overseer, Mr. Pitney, sent word, my lady. A problem had arisen which required his lordship’s attention.”
Laura sprinkled salt onto the soup, although she didn’t wish to eat it. “What sort of problem is it that cannot wait until morning?”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t say, my lady. Would you care for more wine?”
Laura nodded, realizing she’d drunk a full glass. As the ruby liquid swirled into her wineglass, she discreetly studied him. Rudge was younger than she first thought. The shady side of forty, the gray at his temples and his manner lent him a gravitas one associated with age. “Have you been with Lord Lanyon long, Rudge?”
“Four and a half years, my lady.”
“Then you served the first Lady Lanyon.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“She was a good mistress?”
Rudge put down the wine carafe and stepped back into his position. “Yes, my lady.”
“I believe she was quite lovely.”
“Yes. A very fine lady.” He clasped and unclasped his gloved hands. “Do you not care for the soup? Shall I serve the next course?”
“The soup is delicious, but I’m not very hungry tonight.” She pushed her plate away, wondering if she made him uncomfortable. Her curiosity and perhaps the wine had made her speak out of turn. Somehow, she didn’t much care. She took another sip of the fine claret. “Is there a likeness of her here? I haven’t seen one.”
“His lordship had the portrait removed.”
Laura sat stunned. Amanda’s room was kept as she left it, yet any picture of her had been removed. It made no sense. She rubbed her brow. Unless Nathaniel could not bear to look at one.
“There’s a portrait stored in the library,” Rudge said. “I could show it to you after dinner should you wish it, my lady.”
Laura toyed with her wineglass. Candlelight flashed rainbow colors across the cut glass. “Perhaps I’ll wait for Lord Lanyon to do so. Serve the next course, if you please.”
After dinner, Laura asked for coffee to be served in the library.
Rudge stood beside her as she sat by the fire. “Do you require anything more, my lady?”
“No, that will be all.”
“I could show you the portrait now, if you wish?”
Rudge seemed very eager for her to see it. Should she refuse? Or would she know better what she was dealing with if she viewed it? She finished her coffee and put down the cup. “Very well.”
“If you’ll come this way, my lady.”
Laura rose, wondering if she’d been rash, and followed Rudge to the far end of the room. Opening a cupboard, Rudge carefully removed a large painting wrapped in a cloth cover. His mouth twisted into an odd smile. “This used to hang above the fireplace in this room.” After he pulled away the fabric, his thick fingers caressed the gilt frame. Then he turned the painting toward her.
Had Rudge been obsessed with Amanda? The suspicion sent a shaft of unease down her spine. Not about to give him satisfaction, she studied the painting without comment. The composition was an unusual one. The artist had placed his subject in this room, with the magnificent stained glass window, the baronial fireplace, even the leopard skin rug just as it was now. Again, the feeling that it happened just a moment ago made Laura drag in a sharp breath.
Amanda stood in the center of the stone-flagged floor with a flowery hat in one gloved hand, as if she was about to go out or had just returned. She looked directly at the painter; a smile curved her lips and her blue eyes held laughter, her blonde hair drawn back from a pale brow into a smooth knot. Her gown was of a blue stuff that matched her eyes, and she held a dainty blue parasol at her side.
“She was lovely.” Laura wished Amanda hadn’t been quite so beautiful.
“Yes, she was.” The crisp reply came from behind her. “Put the painting away, Rudge.”
Laura whirled around. Nathaniel stood at the door.
“That will be all, Rudge,” Laura said, not taking her eyes from her husband.
Nathaniel threw himself down into a chair by the fireplace. He’d changed his clothes. “Bring me a brandy before you go, Rudge.”
Her throat tight, Laura remained silent until the door closed behind the butler. “I’m sorry, should I not have seen it?”
“You are interested in my first wife.” Nathaniel sounded exhausted. “I should tell you more.” He passed his hand over his eyes. “I will tell you more, Laura. Just not now.”
Guilt heated her cheeks. She should have waited for Nathaniel to show it to her. His hair was wet, and she longed to move closer, to lean her head against his shoulder and learn what troubled him, but she seemed frozen on the sofa. “What called you out in this dreadful weather?”
“An estate matter. I’m sorry I was not able to dine with you.”
“I can’t imagine what would require your attention so late.”
“Any number of things.” His dark eyebrows snapped together. “Running an estate this size doesn’t fit neatly into normal business hours.”
Noting the edge to his voice, Laura gave up. She rose. “You should eat, Nathaniel. Would you like me to arrange for a tray to be brought?”
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”
It seemed they both had lost their appetites. “I believe I shall retire.”
He raised his head to look at her. “You’re tired?”
“Yes, a little.”
In truth, she quivered with nervous exhaustion. Suddenly, the long day without a shred of affection from Nathaniel overwhelmed her. How could she compete with Nathaniel’s memories of a beloved wife, who would stay forever young and lovely? Life here proved so confusing, so hard to grasp hold of, with a secretive, distracted, uncommunicative husband and a butler who measured her poorly against his previous mistress. Was it an impossible task to make Wolfram her home? But what choice did she have?
Nathaniel stared at the half-glass of amber liquid. “I’ll follow you up in a little while.”
Upstairs, Laura donned a modest nightgown buttoned up to a high collar and dismissed Agnes. She tried to still her anxious thoughts. Hating that she was so unsure of herself and her position here, tears flooded her eyes. Where was her eager lover now? She climbed into bed. Had she failed so miserably? Did he no longer desire her?
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked away the hour.
***
Nathaniel stared into the fire, which crumbled into orange sparks as it died. Laura’s curiosity concerning Amanda was understandable. Yet, how could he explain, put into words what had taken place here and not have her doubt him, as so many others had done?
His tired mind tried to come to grips with what he’d discovered and who might be behind it. When smugglers targeted Wolfram two years ago, Ben Jerkins, who worked at the home farm, had been arrested and hung along with four other men from the village. Although Nathaniel was sure Mallory was behind it, there was no proof, and his head gardener had disappeared soon after Amanda died.
At the time, Nathaniel had been glad to see the back of him. In a murderous mood, he was sorely tempted to deal with the man personally. As the villagers turned their backs on Nathaniel, he discovered that Mallory’s parting gift was to spread hateful lies accusing Nathaniel of murdering Amanda.
Nathaniel had hired an investigator to keep tabs on him, and to make sure that if Mallory ever set foot again in Wolfram, he’d be ready for him.
Mallory’s villainy still affected him and would continue to do so while some believed Nathaniel to be a murderer. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. The familiar horror rolled over him, and he took a long swallow of brandy. He felt incapable of dealing with it. The very thought of his wife with a man such as Mallory made him ill. Had Mallory used Amanda? And after she made demands of him, had he killed her, fearing she might give him up to the police? Nathaniel wished he could find out the truth.
He would have to inform the Customs and excise investigators in London about this new outrage. He found very few he could trust. There was no saying who might be involved. Upstairs Laura waited for him, and he tried to banish his concerns from his mind before he went to her.
Until these people were behind bars Laura would need to be protected. He would not sleep until all this was at an end, and the lack of it was taking a toll on his temper. But tired as he was, his need for her drew him to his feet. Her lovely face, her warm voice and lush curves, her silky skin beneath his hands, her hands on him. Laura’s innocence and honesty made him crave to be the man she thought she married. He couldn’t bear the thought of living without her, yet would she want to remain here? Or would she begin to gaze at him with suspicion? He didn’t think he could bear it if she did.
Reaching the upper corridor, he slowed his steps toward her door. Every night he urged himself to take a chance. To respond to her obvious need to understand him. And each night he pushed it away. He knew he would fail again tonight.