The Mystery at Falconbridge Hall

by Maggi Andersen

  Her mother’s frown of annoyance at the state of Laura’s clothes melted away at the mention of his name. She gave him her hand. “How do you do, my lord? You are most welcome.”

  “I’m sure an extra guest will prove a great nuisance, Lady Parr.”

  “Not at all. With my husband’s work, we always expect an extra guest or two,” her mother said briskly. “Sir Edmund will be delighted. Laura, take Lord Lanyon through to the conservatory.”

  Her father held court among the ferns and orchids with the other smokers exiled from the drawing room. Laura paused at the door. “If you’ll excuse me, Lord Lanyon, I must do something with my hair.”

  His gray eyes studied her auburn locks. “Don’t let me keep you.” He smiled. “I shouldn’t like you to come down with pneumonia either.”

  She resisted tucking the damp hair which sat heavily against her nape into place. “I’ll just introduce you.”

  After her father greeted Lord Lanyon, Laura left them. Her intention to hurry to her room was halted when a lady approached her. “Hello, Laura.”

  “Mrs. Courtney-Smith, how nice to see you.”

  The politician’s wife was dressed in a plum silk gown, her pigeon breast adorned with several rows of Venetian glass beads. Her gaze swept over Laura’s disordered hair and down to the damp hem of her dress.

  Mrs. Courtney-Smith made it her business to know everyone who might be of benefit to her husband. “I don’t believe I’ve met your escort?”

  “Lord Lanyon, Mrs. Courtney-Smith.” Laura resisted explaining how they’d met. She was already aware of the necessity to avoid facing the lady’s censure. One word from her and her mother would clamp down on her activities with the suffrage.

  She raised her eyebrows. “The baron? I believe I read about him in the social column of the Times. A widower. But not for long I suspect.”

  He was a widower? Laura wondered what the article had said about him, as Mrs. Courtney-Smith launched into a potted version of her day. As soon as she could extricate herself politely, Laura made for the door. Fortunately, no one else sought to detain her. Her father invited many new acquaintances to their home. He worked hard and was an ambitious member of the government who hoped to become prime minister. Father had always encouraged Laura to pursue her dreams. His support had allowed her to sit in on lectures at the university while accompanied by her maid. But although she finished the degree, she could not claim it as hers.

  Laura returned after changing into a cream silk tea gown embellished with opulent lace, a tight corselet at the waist and a low square-cut neckline. She found Lord Lanyon still closeted with her father in the conservatory. They were talking politics, and she would have loved to join them. Annoyed that women were excluded, she returned to the drawing room.

  Mother beckoned her from the sofa, a sherry glass in her hand. “Well! That is an improvement, I must say. Did you really have to appear in such a disheveled state?”

  “I can’t control the weather, Mother.”

  Her mother was not in the mood to argue. “Lord Lanyon is an interesting man. Where did you meet him?”

  “We shared a cab. There was an accident. The driver was drunk.”

  “Sharing a hansom?” Her mother took a sip from her glass. “Simply not done in my day.”

  Her mother had a knack for passing over details which did not interest her. Annoyed, Laura resisted mentioning that her mother had never been in a hansom.

  Lord Lanyon was not placed near her at the table, and as fashion was discussed on her right, and staffing problems on her left, she found the whole affair quite tedious. When she later saw Lord Lanyon to the door, she offered her hand. “It has been a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

  He held her hand in his for a long moment. “I have tickets for a concert at the Royal Opera House on Saturday evening—the pianist, Paderewski. The person accompanying me cannot attend, and I don’t wish to go alone. I hope you’ll take pity on me once more.” He tilted his head with a smile. “These occasions are so much better shared, don’t you agree?”

  Paderewski! She would love to hear him play. How could she resist? It was only a concert after all. “I’d be pleased to come. Thank you.”

  He nodded. “I shall telephone and ask your father.”

  “Yes. Good night.”

  He opened his umbrella and hurried out to the cab her father had ordered for him. What had she done? Her mother would never give up now until she married the man.

  ***

  Nathaniel entered his hotel room and sat in an overstuffed chair, gazing out through the window at the blurred row of lights along the Thames. He’d come to town to present a bill to Parliament, and then return to Cornwall. He was not seeking a bride. In fact, he had decided not to marry again.

  Laura Parr. What was it about her that drew him? Before going in to dinner, Lady Parr had expressed her frustration at Laura’s modern views. “What is happening to young women today?” she’d said with a moue. “Laura is too independent. I am at my wit’s end to know what to do with her.” She had taken his arm and led him toward the dining room, with Laura and her father following, he hoped out of earshot. “My daughter read far too many radical essays at university,” she continued, “and they have filled her head with useless knowledge. Marriage to a strong man will settle her down.”

  Should she become his wife, Miss Parr would have to be prepared to deal with tenants and villagers and suffer a dearth of the intellectual conversation she was accustomed to, and he sensed, very much enjoyed. The abbey was miles from a large town. A young lady such as she would find it difficult to accept the way things were at Wolfram. Had he the right to extinguish her youthful romanticism? Was he losing his good sense?

  His struggle for peace had been so tenuous, and he suspected she would turn his life upside down and dig into secrets it suited him best to leave buried. But when her eyes had met his in the Parr’s entry foyer, he’d have sworn a frisson of excitement, breathtaking with promise, passed between them. His body had leapt to life, as if he’d been in a long sleep. Such a coltish beauty, with her coil of auburn hair baring her long, graceful neck. As he returned in the carriage to the city, he was already confident of Miss Parr’s passionate nature. It was evident in the flash of her beautiful green eyes and her willful mouth that he wanted badly to kiss. A serious young woman, she seemed completely unaware of her charm. She had a frankness that he liked.

  Damn it. He wanted her. And for a young woman as gently reared as Laura, that could only mean marriage. Her independent spirt and strength of character made him hopeful theirs would be a good future despite everything. A passionate one if he was any judge.

  Nathaniel frowned and drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair. He doubted even this fiery beauty could penetrate the thickness of the wall he’d built around himself in the last two years. Would what he offered of himself be enough? Was he mad to think that a wife as engaging as Laura could charm the villagers, quell the gossip, and return Wolfram to the home it once was?

  He left the room, wondering if he might find Horace Tothill at his club.

  “Nathaniel!” Horace rose to shake his hand. “Good to see you in London. A session at the Lords I gather?”

  “I’ve been doing some research for a project I’m considering. A much-needed orphanage for the Southwest.”

  “A commendable venture, by the sound of it. What news of Wolfram?”

  Nathaniel signaled a waiter. “What are you drinking?”

  “Whiskey, thanks.”

  When the waiter scurried off to fill their order, Horace ran a hand through his sandy hair. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “Wolfram? Not much changes, Horace.”

  “But it’s been two years. I would have thought…”

  Nathaniel shook his head, not wishing to discuss it. “Nothing untoward has occurred since, but people have long memories.”

  “Especially when they’re fed a lot of outrageous lies.”

&
nbsp; Nathaniel accepted his drink from the waiter. He raised his glass to Horace. “I have made a decision, however.”

  Horace’s brown eyes studied him. “Whatever it is pleases you at least.”

  “I trust that it will. I plan to marry.”

  “Well, that is one for the books, I must say. Very good news indeed!”

  Nathaniel offered him a small smile. “Let us hope so.”

  Chapter Two

  At breakfast the next morning, Laura’s mother tackled her in a purposeful manner. “Lord Lanyon sought permission from your father to take you to the opera.” She studied Laura. “You’ve made it plain that you’re not ready to give up your freedom, as you put it, to marry. May I ask why you’ve accepted his invitation?”

  Laura finished buttering her toast and reached for the strawberry preserve. “Because I want to hear the pianist, Paderewski. He’s brilliant.”

  Her mother added hot water to the teapot. “Lanyon is a very attractive man, although perhaps a little swarthy for my taste. Your father wasn’t the most handsome of men.”

  “Didn’t you marry for love, Mother?”

  Lady Parr poured milk into her cup. “What a question. Marriage isn’t about love.”

  “Can’t it be?”

  “A good marriage isn’t based on passion. It’s a business partnership, which can, if you choose wisely, become one of mutual satisfaction.”

  She’d never witnessed real affection between her parents, but she still hoped to one day experience it herself. “Did you never want something more?”

  Mother frowned. “I’m not the one we are discussing. You are twenty-two years old. If you manage to lead Lanyon to the altar, the whole of London society will be at your feet.” She topped up Laura’s teacup from the blue-and-white porcelain teapot. “The barony is an ancient one. It goes without saying that Lanyon is an excellent catch. His country seat is in Cornwall, once an abbey, I believe.”

  Laura firmed her lips, refusing to revisit the old argument again. She planned to find employment soon and move into lodgings in Bloomsbury with some of the single women from the movement. She pushed away her half-eaten toast and touched a napkin to her lips. “It’s only a concert, Mother.”

  “Must you always make things difficult, Laura? Your sister would have welcomed this,” she said with a clash of the silver teaspoon against the dainty floral china. “Eliza would have been pleased.”

  Laura took a slow, deep breath. “I am not Eliza.”

  “New shoes are definitely in order.” Lady Parr continued, her mind already ticking off an invisible list. “Robb shall drive us into London this afternoon. We’ll go to Worth for a pair of French kid opera slippers.”

  Laura was so tired of her mother comparing her with Eliza she wanted to scream. But she’d learned to hold her tongue. Since her twin sister died of diphtheria, Laura had found it difficult to rise above the sadness that still hung over them like a pall. She seemed unable to assuage her own grief, let alone her mother’s. She urgently wanted to break free, to become an independent woman, aware she’d have to fight her parents as well as society’s expectations. But if she didn’t, she’d sink into abject despair.

  “Lord Lanyon is a widower,” her mother continued, breaking into Laura’s thoughts.

  “I know.”

  “He told you?”

  “No. Mrs. Courtney-Smith mentioned it.”

  “There’s not much that lady misses.” Her mother’s gaze settled on her. “His wife passed away. Two years ago, I believe.”

  “How did she die?”

  “I don’t know the circumstances, but she was with child. How the poor man must have suffered.”

  “Indeed,” Laura said softly. Had she caught a glimpse of sadness in his gray eyes? “Which gown should I wear, Mother? The blue?”

  “The pale-yellow silk Charmeuse with the sash at the waist.” Her mother’s tone became brisk like a hound scenting a fox. “And my pearls.”

  She must keep on her toes. Her mother planned to have her marry this man. A plot to bring it about would already be in place. While Laura hated to be manipulated, she was confident she could enjoy Lanyon without risking her freedom and looked forward to seeing him again.

  On Saturday evening, Lanyon called for her in a smart black carriage, his own this time, with a crest on the door panel, which her mother took note of, a speculative gleam in her eyes. In his superbly cut evening clothes he looked every inch a peer. His black tailcoat fitted his broad shoulders; pearl buttons peeked from his shirtfront above the white silk waistcoat. An elegant stripe ran the length of his trousers, emphasizing long, strong thighs. His black silk top hat and gold-topped cane completed the picture of sartorial elegance.

  “My, he looks well tonight,” her mother said, as she accompanied Laura to her bedroom to fetch her cape. “Such a fine figure of a man.”

  Oddly unsettled by his dark good looks, Laura smoothed suede gloves to her elbow. Surely a man such as Lanyon wouldn’t be interested in her beyond a mild flirtation. He would marry a debutante from a family as old and noble as his.

  “The most important thing is for the two of you to suit,” her mother said, her eyebrows forming twin peaks. “And I believe you will.”

  Laura wasn’t sure on what basis her mother formed that opinion. But for once, they agreed on something: he was handsome. Mary settled the waist-length, sable-collared evening cloak over Laura’s shoulders, and she tucked a scented lace handkerchief in her beaded reticule.

  “Perfect.” Her mother tweaked the bow at the back of Laura’s gown. “Don’t spoil the evening with your foolish ideas of women’s independence. I assure you that Lanyon will not find it at all interesting.”

  “How can you be sure?” A wave of apprehension swept through her. What if she bored him?

  “He is thirty-two and needs an heir.” Her mother smoothed Laura’s fur collar. “His interest in you is not intellectual, but rather in finding a wife, a suitable mother for his children. And after all, that is a woman’s role in life. Especially those of the landed gentry.”

  Laura held her tongue. She studied her appearance in the mirror and had to admit her mother was right about the pastel gown. It did suit her.

  On the way to the concert, Lord Lanyon’s dark gaze studied her in the gloom of the carriage lights. “You look like an angel.”

  “How deceptive of me. I am far from angelic.”

  “Such a heated retort.” He smiled. “Perhaps I was clumsy. A lady might wish for a more elegant homage to her charms.”

  “I don’t wish for flowery compliments, my lord.” She chewed her bottom lip. She’d been ungracious. She still seethed from her mother’s interference. “I’m sorry. I’m annoyed with my mother. Please forgive me.”

  “You and your mother are at odds?”

  “We don’t see eye to eye on some things. The world is changing rapidly, but Mother hangs onto a past where women could do little more than be an adjunct to a man. Merely there to give him children.”

  “Children are important though, are they not?”

  “Well, of course.” And to someone like him especially. She took a deep breath, determined to get her point across. “But there are other roles for women besides childbearing. A woman could juggle more than one, I feel sure. I know I could.”

  “Perhaps you would like to follow your father into politics.”

  “If it was possible, but it isn’t.”

  “I can understand your frustration, my dear.”

  Did he mean it? She stared at his handsome face, searching for a sign that he merely patronized her. “Women do achieve great things. But they have to fight every step of the way.”

  “A wife of mine would need the skills of a politician. There’s a lot she must deal with.”

  “What, for instance?”

  “A large staff, tenants, those who look to the baroness to become involved in village affairs. Raising my children, but that goes without saying.” He eyed her carefully. “My wi
fe would be my partner in running the abbey, as well as my partner in life.”

  The carriage swung around a corner and threw them together. She felt the warmth of his body through her gown. Laura lost the thread of her argument as a surprising sense of yearning filled her. “I don’t dislike the idea of children,” she said, tentatively.

  His smile stretched into a grin, his teeth white against his olive skin. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

  The carriage deposited them outside the Opera House in Covent Garden where they joined the milling crowd dressed in their opera cloaks and finery. As they moved through the entrance hall, Laura caught snatches of conversation. Men were discussing the Boer War. She had questioned her father about it. Although he was reluctant to tell her much of the unpleasant details, the broadsheets had filled in the gaps.

  She’d read John Stuart Mill who said that although war was an ugly thing, moralists and patriots who think that nothing is worth a war are much worse. She would like to have Lord Lanyon’s opinion.

  He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and they climbed the red-carpeted staircase together. She glanced up at him, curious to discover more about him. “If women were in charge of the country, there would be no wars,” she said, becoming purposefully provocative to draw his response.

  A dark eyebrow raised a fraction. “You may be right.”

  “If our country was in danger, would you fight?”

  “Every able-bodied man would.” His fingers tightened around her arm. “What a solemn discussion. Let’s enjoy the evening, shall we?”

  Chastened, Laura wondered if she’d shocked him. Or worse, had he found her immature?

  From the lavish opera box, she gazed down on the stage, soaking up every nuance of the music as the pianist created magic. She turned once to glance at Lord Lanyon and found him watching her, a soft smile on his lips.

  Later, as they stood awaiting the carriage, she remained deeply affected by the superb virtuoso. “I enjoyed tonight very much. Thank you for inviting me.”