by Téa Cooper
‘How could you?’ No matter how much she struggled he held her firm.
He made a noise deep in his throat and locked eyes with her. ‘My hope is that you will stay, stay here with Olivia.’ Concern, a flicker of anger and something else she couldn’t place crossed his face. ‘Will you?’
The note in his voice made her blood tingle. She pushed away, her palms flat against his chest, her eyes searching his face. The change was startling, the barriers between them fell. His hand cupped her jaw, sending heat streaking through her. She drew in his scent, leather and saddle soap, fresh hay and eucalyptus. Her breath shuddered and she stretched up on tiptoes, then paused, barely stopping herself from pressing a kiss to his lips.
With a long drawn-out sigh he tightened his grasp, drawing her closer. He smoothed her hair from her face. ‘It’s what Olivia wants. She’ll have Ludgrove, live out her life here at Yellow Rock, surrounded by the people she loves, and the two properties will continue to function as one. You haven’t answered my question … will you stay?’
Nathaniel’s heart pounded as he tried to steady his breathing. He wanted to say so much more—there were so many hurdles to overcome.
Lettie’s lips moved, her breath fanned his face as she framed her answer then froze.
He whipped around. The door swung back on its hinges to reveal Rawlings.
A wave of guilt rocked him. How would Rawlings feel about his only child, his much-loved daughter caught in the arms of a drover?
No. No longer a drover. A stockman perhaps, a landowner once the sale was finalised. He straightened his shoulders, looped his arm around Lettie’s waist and pulled her against him, hip to hip. He’d start the way he intended to continue. He would be courting Lettie. No doubt, no second thoughts.
‘Congratulations, young man. Olivia has just told me you are the proud owner of the Maynard property.’ Rawlings beamed at the pair of them.
Not what he had expected, not at all.
‘Never doubted your ability, and I hear you’re set on breeding Walers again, carrying on the family tradition.’
And how the hell would he know that? He turned to Lettie, saw her cheeks pink. He hadn’t been the only one talking to Olivia. ‘It’s a thought I had. Seems the Light Horse are looking for good animals.’
‘Indeed, indeed. Oh, I almost forgot. Lettie, your mother is asking for you.’
The pretty flush in her cheeks faded instantly, replaced by an ashen pallor.
‘You’ll find her upstairs, resting. The afternoon’s events have exhausted her.’ Rawlings settled himself in the chair, crossed his legs. ‘I don’t suppose there’d be a drink anywhere? Matters we need to discuss.’
Lettie hovered, the look on her face no different to the night she’d stood beside her crumpled car, plucking up the courage to mount Rogue. He couldn’t pick her up in his arms and carry her to safety this time, no matter how much he wanted to. ‘Would you like me to come—’
‘No, no thank you. This is something I must do.’ She rummaged around on the desk, picked up a drawing. ‘Talk to Pater, there’s a bottle of brandy in the cupboard underneath the bookshelves, and some glasses. Celebrate your success.’ She threw him a wry smile, left him wondering if he’d ever know what she was thinking.
Nathaniel had to pull open a series of doors before he located the brandy and the glasses, meanwhile Rawlings wandered around, hands behind his back surveying the maps on the wall. Maps Nathaniel hadn’t even had a chance to take in. He could count the number of times he’d been in this room on one hand, never thought he’d be standing here providing Rawlings with a drink. Not that it would ever be his study; the main house sat fair and square on Ludgrove land. He had no doubt that one day it would belong to Lettie. She had her book to write, her drawings, Evie’s map, and she and Olivia would live here, if he could convince her to stay. The farmhouse was more than adequate; besides it would leave him close to the stables where he wanted to be. Not that there’d be much going on for a year or two. Although Olivia had accepted a ridiculously low price for Maynard, the same he’d expected to pay for Rossgole, it left him with very little to make a start. He’d have to keep working off the property to make ends meet. For the people at Randwick, there were always horses that needed moving. Rawlings even. His head came up with a snap. He poured a generous slug of brandy into a glass and offered it to Rawlings, then a smaller one for himself. He sniffed the contents, wondered if he wouldn’t rather it contained the rum Denman favoured.
‘Right, young man. Now, where were we? You have a mind to breed Walers again. Something I might be able to help with.’
Oh no. He wasn’t going to be under anyone’s thumb. This was something he was going to do for himself, for Denman, for Lettie and Olivia. He raised an eyebrow and took a sip of the brandy, let it slide down his throat.
‘I’m sure you’re aware of Kitchener’s recommendations. Compulsory part-time military training and the establishment of twenty-eight regiments of Light Horse. The Royal Military College opened last year. They’ll be needing horses, strong-hearted animals bred for speed, strength and stamina.’
Which was exactly what Nathaniel had in mind when he set out to buy Rossgole. No reason his dream couldn’t transfer to Yellow Rock. He and Olivia had discussed it at length. But he didn’t want to be at anyone’s beck and call, least of all Rawlings.
‘It’s a project I very much admire. Sadly though it’s time for me to stand aside. Let you younger men step up. Which brings me to my next point.’
‘You’re going to sell the racehorses?’
‘No, that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. I thought we might come to an agreement. I’d like to offer you a partnership. Bring the animals back here. Stand the stallions at stud, sell the offspring. Let’s face it, my record on the track isn’t the best. And I’m getting on. I’ve a mind to retire, dedicate a bit more time to Miriam, she’s been sadly neglected over the past few years and neither of us are getting any younger.’ He took a long swallow, licked his lips. ‘Nothing like a decent brandy,’ he added almost as an afterthought.
Nathaniel was on the point of refusing.
‘Complete control and a fifty per cent share in the sale of the offspring and an introduction to the people you need to meet if this idea of yours is to take off.’
‘Why are you doing this?’
Rawlings pursed his lips. ‘I’ve got my daughter to consider.’
Nathaniel slugged the remainder of the brandy before he blurted out something he might regret. Now was not the time for pride.
With every step, on every stair Lettie’s courage drained. By the time she reached the landing her legs could barely carry her. She slipped into her room and sank onto the floor next to the bed. Evie’s painting fell from her hands and she bent her forehead to the counterpane, relishing the smooth cool feel of the satin. It was something she had to do, nothing she wanted to do. Until she spoke with Miriam, asked the question that plagued her, she couldn’t move forward.
She pulled the painting towards her, beautiful in its simplicity, a Botticelli Madonna that could have graced the walls of any of the art galleries in Sydney or Melbourne—maybe even Paris or London. But somehow she doubted Miriam would see it that way. Miriam was the only one who truly knew the identity of Thorne’s father. The one simple truth that only a woman knew; other people might hazard a guess as to someone’s parentage, but only a mother knew.
And Lettie had to know, had to hear it from Miriam’s lips. There was no doubt in her mind that Olivia was correct and that she was dancing with Bailey but it didn’t prove that Bailey hadn’t sired Thorne, or that the drover—Chapman—had. Only one person held that knowledge and it was a secret Miriam had kept for over thirty years.
She peered at her ashen face in the mirror, ran a brush through her hair and retied it. What did it matter what Miriam thought about the way she looked? Surely she had left that childish nonsense behind. Ignoring her fluttering heartbeat she grasped the picture in her sha
king hand and set out across the landing.
Her knock elicited no response. She swung the door open, mouth clamped against the cloying scent of lily of the valley, and waited while her eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings. Nothing she hadn’t done before yet somehow this time it was different.
The fine net curtains around the bed billowed, but Miriam was barely visible. Not sitting, pillow plumped, as Lettie expected, just a mound beneath the lace-edged sheet.
‘Letitia.’ Miriam’s muffled murmur pricked her ears and her tear-stained face appeared. She held out her gnarled hand, the rings hanging loose on her thin fingers. ‘This should never have happened. It is all Olivia’s fault.’
Lettie stood, unable to speak, hand clasped around Miriam’s, each bone as frail as a bird’s beneath the loose skin.
‘You should never have come. Legal counsel should have dealt with it. Olivia is … Olivia cannot be trusted. I knew this would happen, I warned you, and now you have nothing. Your rightful inheritance stripped from you by a greedy, unforgiving old woman.’
Lettie took two steps back as Miriam spilled the torrent of venom, and her resolve firmed. She bit on her lips, trapping her threatening scream. ‘Mother, we must talk.’ She held out Evie’s picture.
Miriam’s eyes closed and she rolled across the bed, her face to the window.
Determined not to be put off Lettie crossed to the other side, perched, uninvited, and held up the painting again. ‘Is this a picture of you? I believe Evie drew it the day you left Yellow Rock to marry Pater.’
Miriam’s eyes remained firmly closed and the lines on her face taut with frustration.
‘Mother, open your eyes. Have you seen it before? You’re wearing a blue cloak that belonged to Grandmother, your mother, Alice.’
After several agonising moments Miriam raised her head and peered at the picture through narrowed eyes. ‘It’s difficult to see in this light.’ She flopped back against the pillow.
Infuriated, Lettie leapt to her feet and reefed open the curtains around the bed and then those covering the windows. ‘Look at it, look at it closely.’ She returned to the side of the bed, the picture held in two hands and stuck it under Miriam’s nose.
‘It’s an excellent likeness. Evie was such a clever girl, always with her paints and pencils. Such a shame, such wasted talent, to have died so young.’
‘Mother!’ Lettie’s shrieked filled the room. ‘Will you please accept the truth. Evie did not die in childhood. She disappeared. She left here thirty years ago, and was never seen again.’ An overwhelming desire to bang her head against the bedroom wall overcame her. There was no gentle way. It was as though Miriam lived in a world of her own making, one that bore no resemblance to reality. ‘This is a picture of you on the day you left Yellow Rock. Look at it. Were you carrying a child?’
‘Impossible.’ Miriam squinted at the picture. ‘That was before I married Edward.’
‘And that, Mother, is my point. Olivia remembers. Grandfather knew. That’s why he arranged for you to marry Pater.’
Miriam shot upright, her shift slipping from her bony shoulder. ‘Thorne was Edward’s son. William’s grandson. Your brother. I will not have you speak ill of him, or me. You will not accuse me of such contrivance. I gave birth to the family’s only male heir.’
Either the victim or the victor. Never the perpetrator. Now she could understand Olivia’s reluctance to ask Miriam for the truth. ‘Yes, you did. And yes, Thorne was my brother, always will be. However Pater was not Thorne’s father.’
‘Olivia has poisoned your mind.’ She rolled beneath the sheet. ‘Edward!’ Her frail cry barely broke the charged silence.
Lettie stared out at the lengthening shadows. Was it her place to force Miriam to acknowledge the truth? What would anyone gain? Her shoulders slumped—suddenly it seemed unimportant. An unpleasant and unnecessary haranguing of a woman who had made her own truths and continued to live by them. Thorne would always be her brother regardless of his parentage. Pater had accepted him, William had and so too had Olivia. She picked up the picture and closed the door behind her.
Epilogue
Six months later
Lettie and Nathaniel stood at the top of the table under the angophora tree, the long white cloth anchored by sprays of flowering boronia and gum leaves.
He reached for her hand, brought it to his lips. ‘Happy?’ he murmured.
‘Happier than I ever imagined.’
They’d made their wedding vows in the little church in Broke amid a profusion of wildflowers. After much debate she and Miriam had agreed upon her wedding dress, a simple soft white muslin dress which Peg’s daughter had made, and she wore Miriam’s Irish lace veil fastened with a coronet of flannel flowers. Pater had escorted her down the narrow aisle, the smiling faces of the congregation mingling with the scent of beeswax and cedar. Then they’d returned to Yellow Rock for the wedding breakfast.
‘There’s something I’d like to do before we sit down. Do you think we can leave?’
‘We can do whatever you wish.’
She didn’t tell Nathaniel where she wanted to go. He simply took her hand and they followed Oxley through the long grass and wildflowers up the hill to the family plot beneath the spreading trees.
Carefully she untied the ribbon securing her bouquet and laid the flannel flowers on the newly placed stone memorials. ‘I feel as though Evie, Bailey and Thorne are with us in spirit, home where they belong.’
‘I’m not sure they ever left us.’
A breeze stirred the leaves of the trees above them and the air flooded over her, stopping her breath, catching her heart. ‘You’re right. And I believe they’re happy too.’ She interlaced her fingers with Nathaniel’s. ‘We should go back.’
Every seat around the table was filled. Oxley presided over one end of the table, a silk tie knotted around his neck, flanked by Denman and Peg and her bevy of grand-daughters, their coronets of flowers already askew and their dresses showing the marks of their tumbles in the grass. Mr and Mrs Lovedale sat on the opposite side with Sam, looking quite the young squire. At the top of the table Olivia hovered, jiggling from one foot to the other, one hand resting on Miriam’s shoulder, the other on Pater’s.
‘Olivia’s up to something,’ Lettie whispered as Nathaniel held the chair for her at the centre of the table. ‘You haven’t hatched another plan and forgotten to tell me, have you?’
Nathaniel took one of her hands and pressed his lips to her wrist with such warmth and tenderness her knees trembled and her heart pounded.
She rested her cheek against his palm and sank into the chair.
‘I have no idea what she’s up to. And no, no plans beyond tonight,’ he whispered, his breath fanning the tender skin behind her ear.
Colour flooded her face as the implication of his words settled. She’d hardly seen him in the weeks leading up to their wedding. He had been backwards and forwards to Sydney bringing the horses to Yellow Rock while Denman issued instructions to Sam and a troop of young boys from Broke as they prepared paddocks and kept the stables running with almost military precision. Lettie had spent all of her time in the study putting the finishing touches to the first draft of her manuscript.
The sound of metal against glass brought the assembled company to order and the crowd settled into their seats, all eyes fixed on Olivia.
‘I’ve never been a great one for tradition; rather than follow the accepted progression of events I would like to speak first. I believe as the matriarch of this family I may claim that right.’ She pinned Miriam with a stare, and received a nod of acquiescence and something that might have passed for a smile.
A smattering of applause greeted her words but Lettie doubted anything would stop Olivia. The determined look in her eye and her general air of excitement had infected everyone around the table.
‘We gather here today not only to celebrate the wedding of Lettie and Nathaniel but also the future. The past twelve months have taught me that we
must take what we can when it is offered, pay no heed to convention and expectation. We must grab happiness in both hands and embrace it.
‘This is the beginning, not only for Lettie and Nathaniel, for all of us, as we celebrate the coming together once more of the Ludgrove and Maynard families.’ Olivia paused and produced a thick white envelope from her sleeve. ‘And this, my darling Lettie, I am handing to you for safekeeping.
‘I am very much hoping that William’s wishes will be honoured but my time for intervention is over. I will leave that to the two of you—in the hope that one day you will fulfil the dreams of your forefathers. And now a toast—Nathaniel and Letitia, and the future.’ The words echoed around them and Nathaniel slipped his hand into hers.
Everyone stood, glasses raised and echoed Olivia’s words. Lettie had no need to unfold the paper Olivia handed to her. She knew it contained the deeds to Ludgrove. Olivia had managed, in her roundabout way, to ensure that the mighty Ludgrove-Maynard alliance would continue just as William wished.
And as Lettie sat surrounded by everyone she loved a deep swell of happiness filled her, as though the clouds had parted to reveal the future.
She had truly come home and need never leave again. She and Nathaniel would live in this house, their children would grow here and prosper protected by the guardians of the past and the promise of the future—an outcome Thorne would thoroughly applaud.
Historical Note
As with so many of my books The Cartographer’s Secret is a mixture of fact and fiction. I’ve always had a fascination for maps, particularly those of the early Dutch cartographers. When I discovered that most of those early cartographers were women, working in their family business and obliged to sign their maps with their husband’s name, I was more than a little outraged!
However, I like to set my stories in Australia and so the fictional character Evie Ludgrove stepped onto the stage. I then started researching nineteenth-century Australian maps. What a goldmine I found, and most of them are available online. (I recommend a visit to the David Rumsey Map Collection at davidrumsey.com)