“Yes,” Emmaline nodded. She felt drawn to the house, like it was an old friend. “I already do.”
“Do you have any questions for me?” The real estate agent dug through her bag and pulled out a fistful of papers. “Or would you rather just get to it?”
Emmaline bit her lip. Why was this house priced so low, she wondered. It can’t really be that flimsy excuse about the bank – wouldn’t they want someone to pay as much as possible? I wonder if something awful happened here. She swallowed nervously. No, it couldn’t have been anything too bad – or else the real estate agent would have mentioned it. Besides, I feel like this house needs me.
“Let’s get to it,” Emmaline said. She smiled weakly. “I’m ready to buy.”
The real estate agent grinned. “Excellent,” she said crisply. “Follow me, and we’ll get started right away.”
Chapter Two
Portrait of a Lady
It took a week for the papers to be settled. Emmaline stayed in London, with her best friend from art school, Lily. She enjoyed the company, but found herself itching to get back to Clanbourne House and make it her own.
“I still can’t believe you managed to snap that up,” Lily said. She sighed enviously. “That was a real find!”
Emmaline nodded. “It was,” she said. “Don’t worry – you can come visit, as soon as things get settled in the house.”
Lily snickered. “With such a big house, that might take a very long time.”
“It’ll be good to have a project,” Emmaline said. Because it’s not as though I’m feeling very creative nowadays, she added cynically in her head. Ever since Jack’s death, Emmaline had struggled to create art. It was both frustrating and depressing – for most of her life, Emmaline had been glued to a canvas, palette in hand. But now she felt as though there was something physically blocking her from creating new work.
“Yes,” Lily agreed. “How much stuff came with the house?”
Emmaline made her eyes wide. She grabbed a leather portfolio embossed with Cornwall Real Estate and pulled a sheaf of papers loose.
“Wow,” Lily said. She looked down at the photos. “And all of this furniture comes with the house?”
Emmaline nodded. She wrinkled her nose. “To be honest, I’ll probably try to sell a lot of it,” she said. “It feels so stuffy – I don’t know, I like the idea of having big, airy rooms.”
Lily laughed. “Always the artist,” she said. “Give me dibs on this?” She pointed to an elegant four-poster bed with a wooden canopy and damask curtains.
“That’s the one thing I was thinking of keeping,” Emmaline said guiltily. “But you’re welcome to most of the other stuff.”
Lily nodded. “This is so beautiful,” she said. “Look at that fireplace!” She pointed to a giant stone fireplace in one of the bedrooms.
“I know. It’s good – there isn’t any heat,” Emmaline said. “And I can’t afford to install that right now. I’ll be glued to the fire during the winters.”
“I’m glad you’re doing this,” Lily said. She gazed at her friend. “It’s time you started moving on.”
Emmaline’s chest ached like someone had just ripped out her heart. She sighed. “I can’t move on,” she said quietly. “Jack is in my mind – all the time. Nothing is going to change that.”
“When you’re ready, I know some great guys here—“
“No!” Emmaline cried fiercely. “No. I’m sorry, Lily. But there’s no way I could ever be with another man again. Jack was my soulmate.”
“Emmaline,” Lily said sadly. “I know how badly it hurts. But you’re so young! You’re only twenty-nine!”
Emmaline shrugged. “The years with Jack were as good as a lifetime,” she said. “I just wish I’d gotten to enjoy more of them.”
Lily was silent.
“So, you know, Clanbourne House is near the ruins of Tintagel,” Emmaline said.
“Like King Arthur?”
Emmaline nodded. “I can’t believe how much history Cornwall has. It’s like moving into a museum.”
“Plenty of places for you to visit,” Lily said.
“Yeah.” Emmaline laughed. “After you know, the twenty years it’s going to take me to spruce up the house.”
Lily smiled. “I know you’ll do a great job,” she said. “Just trust me.”
~~~~~
Three days later, Emmaline drove her rented car the five-hour trip from London to Cornwall. She’d flown back to New York and sold her condo, as well as most of her belongings. The only things she kept were necessities – a few favorite outfits, shoes, and the two paintings Jack had purchased the first night they’d met. The paintings had obviously been done before Emmaline had met Jack, but now they reminded her of her late husband, and provided a small measure of comfort.
Lily had offered to come along and help, but Emmaline had declined her friend’s offer. As selfish as it felt to admit, Emmaline wanted the first few days in Clanbourne House to be hers and hers alone. The affinity she felt with the large manor had grown even stronger since the first time she’d seen it, and she couldn’t wait to start decorating and make the place truly her own.
As she carried her small suitcase over the threshold, the hairs on the back of Emmaline’s neck stood up. She shivered, gazing around at the expansive entry hall. This couldn’t be called a foyer – it was much too large, almost like the lobby of an aging but still-grand hotel.
A small thrill of excitement rushed through Emmaline. This place is really mine now, she thought. Somehow, Emmaline had the sense that Clanbourne House was just as excited to belong to her as she was to own it.
“I know no one has lived here for a long time,” Emmaline said softly, resting her hand on the wall. “But I promise – you’ll be beautiful again in no time.”
Another thrill shot through Emmaline. The house agrees with me, she thought. It knows that I’m here to help.
Although the real estate agent had extolled the virtues of Clanbourne House’s most recent owners, Emmaline discovered that there were quite a few things that would need fixing. There was electricity installed in most of the rooms – albeit quite shaky electricity, which always seemed dimmer than it should. At night, the manor home was cold. The gusts of wind whipping around made Emmaline feel more alone than ever.
And yet, she was happier – or at least, more content – than she’d been ever since Jack had died. Emmaline eagerly busied herself with cleaning and getting things cataloged and organized. She spent a whole week in the library because every time she’d see a book with an intriguing spine, she’d abandon all pretense of cleaning and settle on the floor with a forgotten eighteenth century novel in her lap.
The master suite of Clanbourne House had been locked for many years. Emmaline had been in the house for a few weeks before she even made it upstairs. When she did, she was shocked to discover the room was stacked with decorations and all kinds of furniture – almost as if it had been used for storage.
“That’s strange,” Emmaline said aloud. She’d taken to speaking to herself instead of thinking silently – it was almost cathartic now that she was alone day and night. “I wonder what all of this stuff is doing in here.” She wiped her sweaty hands on her dirty jeans, pulled her blonde hair into a messy knot, and began the hard work of moving heavy wooden furniture across the floors.
An hour later, Emmaline paused for a break. She sat on the floor of the master suite with a bottle of water and a hastily prepared sandwich. As she ate, she glanced around. This was the room with the beautiful four-poster bed and the massive fireplace. It also boasted a gorgeous antique fainting couch and huge windows that overlooked the cliffs of Cornwall.
“I can almost see Tintagel from here,” Emmaline said softly. She stood up and stretched, walking over to the glass and peering out at the beautiful sea.
As she turned around to resume work, something hanging above the fireplace caught Emmaline’s eye. It was a painting of a young woman – a few years youn
ger than Emmaline, perhaps twenty-one or twenty-two. She was beautiful, with creamy pale skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair.
The woman was dressed in a fine Regency gown, with a low square neckline and puffed short sleeves. She was wearing all white, with her soft blonde curls piled high on her head and wrapped with pearls and a thin strip of white silk. Despite the obvious wealth and beauty, she didn’t look happy. Her lips were smiling – just barely – but her blue eyes were sad, almost forlorn.
Looking at the painting gave Emmaline chills. She stepped closer and gasped as the air around her turned from humid and almost warm to cold and dry. Emmaline wrapped her arms around herself and looked up at the portrait.
“Who are you,” Emmaline wondered aloud. She narrowed her eyes and tried to read the bottom of the painting for a title, or the artist’s name. “You look so sad.”
The woman’s expression looked almost sadder as Emmaline stared.
“I know you can’t talk,” Emmaline said. “But I’m here now. I promise, I’m going to make Clanbourne House beautiful again.” She wiped her hand on her brow. “And I’m going to keep you here,” she decided. “Was this your home?”
The woman in the painting stared on, her face fixed in eternal gaze.
“That’s strange,” Emmaline said slowly. She stepped closer to the wall. There was a rectangular-shaped area of the wall that looked lighter than the rest, almost as if it were faded. When she realized it was the same shape and size as the painting of the woman, Emmaline gasped.
She narrowed her eyes. “You once had someone here beside you,” she said. “What happened?”
After a few seconds of silence, Emmaline snorted. “I know, you’re not going to tell me,” she said. “But I’m curious.” She looked around the room. “And I’ll find them, too. I promise.”
Chapter Three
Whispers on the Wind
Over the next few weeks, Emmaline spent more time than ever digging through the house, looking for the corresponding painting for the master bedroom. And while she found a great many paintings, none of them matched the correct faded area on the wall of the master suite.
Emmaline had made the master suite her home. There was an antique writing desk that looked feminine and petite – it had obviously been made for the lady of the house, or perhaps an elder daughter. Emmaline moved the desk into her bedroom and kept her laptop there. She moved the fainting couch to the end of the bed, and ordered all new curtains for the broad windows.
Often, Emmaline caught herself speaking to the portrait over the fireplace. The more she stared at the painting, the more she appreciated the craftsmanship and care that had obviously gone into the portrait. Whoever had painted the beautiful blonde woman had known her very well, and loved her very much. Sometimes, it made Emmaline think of Jack. But most of the time, she felt comforted by the presence of the woman over the fireplace. You experienced the same kind of earth-shattering love that I did, she thought one day as she stared at the portrait. I know how it feels. I know how much it can change you.
The season began to change from a blustery, cool summer into a cold fall that left a perpetual chill in Emmaline’s bones. One day, she was downstairs sweeping the leaves away from the grand entrance and porch when a car drove up.
“Emmaline!” Lily leapt out of the driver’s seat and ran over to hug her friend.
“Lily!” Emmaline was shocked to discover tears in her eyes.
“What’s the matter?”
Emmaline wiped her tears away. “Nothing, nothing,” she said. She sighed. “I think I was just beginning to forget how it feels to speak with another human, that’s all.”
Lily nodded. “I’ve brought you something,” she said. She grinned, holding up a basket full of American snacks and beer. “I just got back from New York – I went for a big opening in Soho.”
“Oh, wow.”
“And there’s something else,” Lily said. She smirked. As Emmaline watched in anticipation, Lily pulled a handful of papers out of her bag.
“What is that?”
“Well, when I was in New York, I met this historian guy,” Lily said. She wrinkled her nose. “He was kind of like, oh, I don’t know – an old professor. But anyway, I told him that my best friend had moved to Cornwall, and he told me that he used to come here all the time! He actually toured your house when the last people owned it, in the seventies. And he told me all this crazy stuff!”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Lily said. “I thought you’d be interested.”
The two women walked inside, chattering and gossiping the whole way. Emmaline found herself excited, but not starved for news of the outside world. She had little social interaction – mostly, her trips into a nearby village for food and mail – but she found herself growing more contented with that than ever before.
Emmaline and Lily sat at the smaller table, in the kitchen. It too was an antique – clearly, it had been used while Clanbourne House still had a large staff. There were scores and marks in the table. Sometimes, Emmaline ran her hand over them and wondered what sort of vegetables and meats had been cut here.
“So,” Lily said. “This was owned by a family called Dunraven.”
Emmaline nodded. “That much I know,” she said. “The realtor told me.”
“Well, what else do you know?” Lily sulked. “This isn’t as much fun as I thought.”
Emmaline laughed. “Relax,” she said. “Nothing.”
“So, the last Dunraven who owned the home was Lord Alfred Dunraven,” Lily said. “His wife was named Rebecca.”
A chill ran down Emmaline’s spine and she shivered. “Why were they the last?” Instinctively, she knew that the painting in her room was Rebecca.
It clicked into place almost like a puzzle piece in her mind.
Lily shrugged. “The guy didn’t say much else after that. He just said that Rebecca suffered a great tragedy in her life, and they didn’t have children.”
“Oh.” Emmaline thought of the painting upstairs in her bedroom. I wonder if that’s why she was heartbroken – because she could never have children.
“He did say the marriage was a very unhappy one,” Lily continued. “Lord Alfred was very cruel.”
A loud crash from the hall startled both Emmaline and Lily. Emmaline jumped up and gasped, running out of the kitchen. Lily followed right behind her.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Emmaline said, feeling dazed. Goose flesh broke out over her arms and she shivered. “It sounded like something was coming from in here.” Slowly, Emmaline walked into the old pantry – it had been used by the kitchen staff as a meeting place, and there were still a couple of old chairs inside.
There was a small wooden box on the floor. As Emmaline stepped closer, the wooden box jostled and rattled. She shuddered, squatting down and reaching for it. As soon as the box was in her hands, a loud squeaking filled the air. Emmaline looked down to see a large rat, running across the floor. She shrieked, dropping the wooden box with a loud clattering sound.
“Oh my gosh,” Emmaline said. “It was just a rat.” She sighed with relief, wiping her hand on her forehead.
“Gross,” Lily said. “Did you know there were rats here?”
Emmaline shook her head. “No,” she said. She shivered again. “Just glad it wasn’t anything else.”
The two women walked back into the kitchen. Emmaline turned to Lily.
“Did the guy say anything else about the house?”
Lily frowned. “Not exactly.” She licked her lips. “Something about Rebecca having a huge dowry – I think she was an orphan, and Lord Dunraven basically bought her from a convent when she turned sixteen.”
“Oh, how awful,” Emmaline said. “That poor woman.”
Lily nodded sympathetically. “Yeah,” she said. “Very sad stuff.”
Hours passed as the two friends caught up with each other. Emmaline didn’t have much to share – other than restoring Clanbourne House,
she’d been spending her time reading and taking long walks along the Cornwall cliffs.
“Really, Emma, you should try to work on something new,” Lily advised. “It’s been ages since you painted.”
A lump swelled up in Emmaline’s throat. She nodded. “I know,” she said softly. “I just…I feel like I can’t do anything without Jack.”
Lily reached out and touched her friend’s arm sympathetically. “It’ll happen,” she said. “I know it will.”
“Maybe,” Emmaline said.
“So, I know this is early, but I was thinking of having an ex-pat thing around Thanksgiving, you know? Just like back home,” Lily said. “I love England, but I really miss turkey and stuffing.”
Emmaline nodded. “That could be nice,” she said.
Lily’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Yes,” she said. “Besides, it’s been ages since you came to London!”
“I know,” Emmaline said. “I’ll try to make it, okay? As long as the weather here isn’t too awful.”
Lily smiled. “And,” she said casually, glancing down at her hands. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet – he’s going to be there too.”
Emmaline raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Lily nodded. “His name is Todd, he’s an artist – mostly watercolors, but he also sculpts in metal. He’s really sweet,” she said.
Emmaline frowned. “Like, a friend?”
Lily looked guilty. Her cheeks flushed faintly pink.
“Emma, he’s really nice, I swear. I wouldn’t introduce you to a guy that wasn’t nice.”
“I don’t care whether or not he’s nice,” Emmaline said slowly. “Lily, I’m only interested in meeting someone as a friend. You know that.”
Lily nodded. “I know…it’s just, Emmaline, you don’t have to marry this guy, you know? But it wouldn’t be so bad if you went on a date or two, right?”
Emmaline shook her head. “Definitely not,” she said. “There’s no way I’d feel comfortable going out with anyone.”
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