room door closed behind them, Laura said, “If you will excuse me, ma'am, I believe I shall retire now.”
She did not want Maria Forbes to learn her story. She dreaded baring her soul to Miss Burleigh and finding herself still condemned. Most of all, she could not bear to let the awful, humiliating memories loose in her own head.
Chapter 5
Laura ate breakfast in bed.
“His lordship ordered it, my lady,” Myfanwy had said anxiously, “and for all the kindest master he is, none on us'd disobey an order, look you.”
So she indulged him, and herself, and she found she enjoyed lounging against a stack of pillows with a tray of eggs and muffins on her lap, a pot of tea on the night-table. A day empty of chores awaited her, no dusting, no garden to be weeded, no marketing and no cooking. Through the open window came the fragrance of lilacs and a thrush's warble. The sun shone on the spring-green, five-fingered leaves and white candle-blossoms of a huge horse chestnut just visible from her bed.
To be cosseted for once was a pleasure, but the bright perfection of this last day of May called her out of doors. She drained the last drop of tea and threw back the covers.
Half an hour later, she was strolling down a gravel path between beds of roses sprouting new, reddish leaves and swelling green buds. Between the bushes, polyanthus vied with pansies to make the best show in a dozen brilliant colours. In the west, beyond gardens and park, fields and woods, the Welsh mountains loomed on the horizon.
An elderly gardener raking the gravel saluted her and she complimented him on the flowers. With a toothless beam, he poured forth a flood of words. His intonation was Welsh, but owing to the lack of teeth she was not sure whether he was speaking in that language or English. She smiled and nodded and strolled on.
The path ended at a steep flight of steps, patched with orange lichen, leading down to a lower level of gardens. Shaded from the morning sun, the stone was still damp from yesterday's rain. Laura hesitated. The less formal garden below was enticing, with peonies, columbine, and lily-of the valley surrounding a fountain. She had castigated Gareth for suggesting that she ought not to climb stairs. On the other hand, these were steep and looked slippery, and she had no need to tackle them.
She was about to turn away when she heard the crunch of rapid footsteps on the gravel path behind her. Before she turned, before he spoke, she knew it was Gareth.
“Cousin Laura! Don't go down there, I beg of you.”
He was bare-headed, his hair shining gold in the sun. The fear on his handsome face startled her. With a flash of insight, she recognized that he was driven less by regard for her, for Laura Chamberlain, than by some urgent inner compulsion.
Her curiosity increased, but the realization made it easier to say imperatively, “My lord, I am a grown woman and I refuse to be dictated to.”
“I only want to protect—”
“I know my own strength. I am accustomed to independence, to making my own decisions.”
“My duty—”
“If you continue to believe that my acceptance of your hospitality makes it your duty, or your right, to lay down the law,” she snapped, “I shall be obliged to return to Cambridgeshire at once.”
“No,” he cried, horror-stricken. “You must not attempt that journey again—”
“Must not?”
“I mean, please, cousin, don't leave. I could not endure knowing myself responsible if any harm should come to you.”
“No one could possibly hold you to blame.”
“I should blame myself.” He gave her a crooked, irresistible smile. “I beg your pardon for laying down the law. I shall do my best to curb the impulse, I promise you, if you will promise to forgive occasional lapses—and to take care of yourself.”
“It's a bargain.” Mollified, she held out her hand and he took it in both his. The warmth of his bare hands, strong and shapely, penetrated her thin, much-darned
She did not want Maria Forbes to learn her story. She dreaded baring her soul to Miss Burleigh and finding herself still condemned. Most of all, she could not bear to let the awful, humiliating memories loose in her own head.
Chapter 5
Laura ate breakfast in bed.
“His lordship ordered it, my lady,” Myfanwy had said anxiously, “and for all the kindest master he is, none on us'd disobey an order, look you.”
So she indulged him, and herself, and she found she enjoyed lounging against a stack of pillows with a tray of eggs and muffins on her lap, a pot of tea on the night-table. A day empty of chores awaited her, no dusting, no garden to be weeded, no marketing and no cooking. Through the open window came the fragrance of lilacs and a thrush's warble. The sun shone on the spring-green, five-fingered leaves and white candle-blossoms of a huge horse chestnut just visible from her bed.
To be cosseted for once was a pleasure, but the bright perfection of this last day of May called her out of doors. She drained the last drop of tea and threw back the covers.
Half an hour later, she was strolling down a gravel path between beds of roses sprouting new, reddish leaves and swelling green buds. Between the bushes, polyanthus vied with pansies to make the best show in a dozen brilliant colours. In the west, beyond gardens and park, fields and woods, the Welsh mountains loomed on the horizon.
An elderly gardener raking the gravel saluted her and she complimented him on the flowers. With a toothless beam, he poured forth a flood of words. His intonation was Welsh, but owing to the lack of teeth she was not sure whether he was speaking in that language or English. She smiled and nodded and strolled on.
The path ended at a steep flight of steps, patched with orange lichen, leading down to a lower level of gardens. Shaded from the morning sun, the stone was still damp from yesterday's rain. Laura hesitated. The less formal garden below was enticing, with peonies, columbine, and lily-of the valley surrounding a fountain. She had castigated Gareth for suggesting that she ought not to climb stairs. On the other hand, these were steep and looked slippery, and she had no need to tackle them.
She was about to turn away when she heard the crunch of rapid footsteps on the gravel path behind her. Before she turned, before he spoke, she knew it was Gareth.
“Cousin Laura! Don't go down there, I beg of you.”
He was bare-headed, his hair shining gold in the sun. The fear on his handsome face startled her. With a flash of insight, she recognized that he was driven less by regard for her, for Laura Chamberlain, than by some urgent inner compulsion.
Her curiosity increased, but the realization made it easier to say imperatively, “My lord, I am a grown woman and I refuse to be dictated to.”
“I only want to protect—”
“I know my own strength. I am accustomed to independence, to making my own decisions.”
“My duty—”
“If you continue to believe that my acceptance of your hospitality makes it your duty, or your right, to lay down the law,” she snapped, “I shall be obliged to return to Cambridgeshire at once.”
“No,” he cried, horror-stricken. “You must not attempt that journey again—”
“Must not?”
“I mean, please, cousin, don't leave. I could not endure knowing myself responsible if any harm should come to you.”
“No one could possibly hold you to blame.”
“I should blame myself.” He gave her a crooked, irresistible smile. “I beg your pardon for laying down the law. I shall do my best to curb the impulse, I promise you, if you will promise to forgive occasional lapses—and to take care of yourself.”
“It's a bargain.” Mollified, she held out her hand and he took it in both his. The warmth of his bare hands, strong and shapely, penetrated her thin, much-darned
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