Chapter Twenty-One
“W as it not wonderful?”
It was Boxing Day, the day after Christmas. The captain had distributed gifts to the staff early that morning and had given them the rest of the day off.
Diana and her pupil had taken the day off from studying as well. The weather was so fair that after breakfast they had stretched out a blanket on the riverbank, where for the past hour, Miss Fallbrook had been going over the delights of the festivities the day before.
“Breakfast was delicious. But Christmas dinner… to dine at table like a proper grown up with… with you and everyone was divine!”
Diana was still troubled by the interactions she had witnessed between her pupil and Captain Fallbrook’s solicitor. “You seemed to enjoy chatting with Mr. Latimer.”
Miss Fallbrook’s cheeks grew pink. She shrugged and picked at the blanket. “It was nice to be talked to by such a kind and good-looking gentleman. Papa never talked to me like that. As if my thoughts and opinions on things mattered.”
“I’m sure he would have, Miss Fallbrook, had he lived longer, and seen the young lady you are becoming.”
“But he didn’t live longer. He killed himself. Because he couldn’t bear to live without his darling wife and son.”
Diana frowned. Miss Fallbrook hadn’t spoken on this subject in a while, but her inner wound was clearly still as fresh as it had been the day Diana had met her. “We don’t know that he killed himself, Miss Fallbrook, or if he did, if that was the reason.”
“We do know it. He left a note to say so. Oh, if only Papa had never married Miss Corbett!” Emma’s expression darkened. “If only our guests had not been obliged to leave so early last night. But the moment the sun went down, everyone got their coats. Why cannot Christmas always fall on a night with a full moon?”
“That would certainly be convenient.” Diana sat up. “Shall we go in now?”
“Wait. I have something to show you first.” Miss Fallbrook grabbed her sketchbook from her satchel and opened it. “I drew this last night.”
It was a black-and-white sketch of hills and dales. “Very nice,” Diana pronounced.
“Keep looking at it,” Miss Fallbrook prodded.
“Why?”
“It’s a hidden picture. Can you see the cow?”
Diana studied the drawing again. “I only see a landscape.”
“Try again. Remember what William said about searching the horizon? Close your eyes for a moment and then stare at it long and hard.”
It took a few tries, but finally, uncannily, the drawing seemed to realign itself in Diana’s brain to form a completely different picture. “I see the cow! You are very clever, my dear.”
“I would never have thought of it if you hadn’t told us about hidden pictures.”
“I would never have thought to tell you, had the captain not shared his ‘Land ho!’ story.” Diana beamed as they shared a laugh. “Speaking of stories, I just had a thought. Do you have a pencil I can borrow and a spare piece of paper?”
Miss Fallbrook fetched a pencil from her satchel and opened her sketchbook to a blank page.
Diana wrote a sentence and handed the sketchbook back to her pupil. “Read this, will you?”
Miss Fallbrook sounded out the words. “The… blue… boat… has a…” She paused. “I don’t know that word.”
“You do know it. Spell it out for me.”
“H-W-I-T-E.”
Diana bit her lip. The word was white . Miss Fallbrook now remembered the sounds that letters made. But sometimes, the letters still appeared to her in a scrambled order. If only there were a way to help her see the word that everyone else saw.
And then it came to her.
“Miss Fallbrook, think of this word like a hidden picture.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you could make a cow emerge from a landscape, you ought to be able to make this word appear to you. Close your eyes and then stare hard at the word again.”
“I’ll try.” On her third attempt, Miss Fallbrook cried, “Oh! Oh! It’s white , isn’t it, Miss Taylor? The blue boat has a white sail!”
“Land ho!” Diana exclaimed, and, laughing, they wrapped each other in a hug.
*
That afternoon, Diana took a walk along the cliff path.
It was hard to believe it was December. The sun shone in an azure sky. Beneath the sun’s rays, the dark-blue sea glittered as if a giant had scattered handfuls of diamonds across its cresting surface. Diana came to a familiar open spot surrounded by a cluster of shrubbery and paused, keeping her distance from the cliff’s edge. Sudden unease rippled through her. It was the point from which Sir Thomas had met his death.
Below, the sea surged, rushing up in great sprays of foam on the rocky shore.
What happened to you, Sir Thomas? Diana wondered yet again. How did you die?
She knew that Miss Fallbrook and the captain were still haunted by what had happened to him. Her godmother was patiently awaiting word. They deserved to know the truth. Diana sighed, disheartened. She had gathered a lot of evidence, but she had not solved the riddle.
She continued on. It was a lovely afternoon and she wanted to enjoy it. After following the cliff path for a while, she turned inland onto a trail she had never explored that delved into a wood.
Entering the quiet, tree-lined grove, she paused in wonder. Sun beamed down in brilliant shards through the leafless canopy, casting a golden glow on a parade of daffodils in bloom. Hundreds of yellow heads spread out before her beneath the trees, nodding with every touch of the breeze.
As she took in the exquisite sight, she heard snapping twigs. Moments later, Captain Fallbrook appeared from around a bend in the path.
“Miss Taylor.”
Although he still carried a cane, he walked with newfound agility and looked so jaunty that Diana’s insides flipped as usual. “Hello.”
He stopped before her. “A glorious sight, eh?”
Yes, you are . “To think that daffodils should bloom in late December, in England! It seems incredible.”
“One of the many gifts of our Cornwall climate.” Returning her smile, he quoted, “‘I wandered lonely as a cloud, that floats on high o’er vales and hills…’”
“‘When all at once I saw a crowd,’” they recited in unison. “‘A host of golden daffodils. Beside the lake, beneath the trees, fluttering and dancing in the breeze.’”
“One of my favorite poems,” he said .
“Mine as well.”
They discussed the final stanza, in which the poet, at home, gets pleasure from recalling the sight of the daffodils.
“Wordsworth is a genius,” the captain remarked, “to be able to capture a scene like this so perfectly in words.”
Diana agreed. The path was just wide enough for them to stroll side by side. She was glad of the company and yet keenly aware of his proximity, which made her heart thump.
“I wanted to thank you again for the hammock.”
“Have you tried it?”
“I had it hung last night from the beam in my bedchamber with a rope to make it swing. I enjoyed my best night of sleep in months.”
“I’m glad. Miss Fallbrook will be happy too.”
His voice dropped as he gave her a hesitant smile. “She seemed to like the box I made her?”
“She loves it! And I love mine. It was thoughtful of you to make them. Jane Eyre was a most generous gift as well. I started reading it again last night. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You have already thanked me.” He paused. “I was tempted to read the book before I gave it to you, to better understand what you love about it. But I worried about damaging it.”
“I’d be happy to lend it to you, Captain, once I’ve finished.”
“Marvelous,” he replied. “I look forward to discussing it with you afterwards.”
Diana grinned anew at that. “That makes two of us. By the by, Captain, I have something to report.”
“Oh?”
She told him about the hidden picture his ward had drawn, and her success that morning in unscrambling a word. “We call it the Land Ho Method .”
“I’m delighted that my old seafaring tale should have had such a positive consequence.” He gestured with his cane to a fallen tree at the side of the path. “Do you mind if we sit a moment? ”
“I could do with a rest myself.”
He settled beside her on the log. Mere inches separated them. Her thoughts veered to the day she’d given him Ivanhoe . She could still feel the gentle pressure of his fingers against her temple, and the way he had stroked her cheek.
“I’ve been wanting to tell you,” he said, as if reading her thoughts, “I am enjoying Ivanhoe even more than I did the first time I read it.”
“I think we read books from a different perspective as adults than we did as children.”
“So we do. As a boy, I was transported to the Middle Ages and the world of jousting. This time, I am more interested in the romance.” His eyes met hers.
Diana’s pulse began to drum even louder in her ears. Could he hear it? “That’s my favorite part of the story as well.”
“You remind me of Rebecca. You are both strong, smart, impassioned, and devoted women of principle.”
“A true compliment.” Warmth spread throughout her chest. “Thank you.”
“How did you feel about the ending?”
“Do you mean, should Ivanhoe have married Rebecca instead of Lady Rowena?”
He nodded.
“Rowena was the safe choice.”
“Does that make it right?”
“Not necessarily. But I like to think it was the right choice for Ivanhoe and Rebecca. Despite everything, they were not destined for each other.”
He went quiet at that. “Tell me, Miss Taylor, why did you never marry?”
“I suppose because… I never found the right man.”
“You told me about the scoundrel who vanished when you lost your dowry. Was there ever anyone else?”
Reluctantly, she admitted, “Yes.”
“What happened?”
Diana hesitated. She had rarely told this story to anyone. But he already knew about her first failed romance. And she had shared her most deeply held secret with him—her culpability in her mother’s death. He might as well know this, too.
“Last year, not long after my father passed away, I met a gentleman who courted me in earnest. He pressured me to marry quickly. Something did not feel right, so I made inquiries. I discovered that he was deeply in debt. When he discovered that he’d been wrong about my financial situation—that the competency I’d received from my father was in fact quite tiny—he disappeared in a puff of smoke.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I didn’t know him long enough to form a very deep attachment. But… it was humiliating. It still feels like an open wound that will never heal.”
“And yet it will, in time.” He leaned forward earnestly. “Those men were not worthy of you. They hurt you, and you did not deserve it. But don’t carry that pain and resentment forever, Miss Taylor. You must forgive them.”
Diana considered that. “I think my pain has become too much a part of me to let it go. If I do, I fear all that will be left is a gaping hole.”
“You’re much stronger than you think. Forgive them,” he said again. “Not for their sakes, but for your own. For your peace of mind. It’s the only way forward.”
“Forgive them.” He made it sound so simple. But it wasn’t. Not for her. For a long moment, there was no sound but the breeze ruffling the daffodils and the trees. Diana returned to their earlier subject. “What about you, Captain?”
“Me?”
“Why have you never married?”
His blue eyes bore into hers. “I suppose because… I never found th e right woman.”
“With all those women to choose from?” Although she strove for a light tone, there was a catch in her throat.
“All what women?” His voice was soft and deep.
“They say you have a woman in every port.”
“Do they?”
A tension seemed to vibrate through the air between them, as if they were two magnets being drawn closer by an invisible force. His lips were a hair’s breadth away. The sensation of wanting to feel those lips on hers was so strong that Diana’s insides began to tremble.
“What else do they say?” he added quietly.
“That you… are not the marrying kind.”
He reached up to brush a lock of hair off her forehead. It was the third time his fingers had touched her face and the effect was just as scorching as the first two times. “Do they, indeed?”
He kissed her. The kiss was soft and gentle. As his lips touched hers, sparks seemed to race through Diana’s body, igniting a flame at her core.
“I have been wanting to do that for weeks now,” he confided when the kiss ended. “I could not help myself. I got carried away. Forgive me?”
All Diana could manage was a nod.
He propelled himself to a standing position. Extending a hand to help her rise, he advised, “I shall stay here a while longer. Go home, Miss Taylor, before I get carried away again.”
*
Diana strode back and forth within the confines of her bedchamber like a tiger in a cage.
The clock had just struck one. She had tossed and turned in bed for hours then had gotten up again, wrapped herself in her blanket, and begun this ceaseless pacing, the captain’s kiss still burning upon her lips.
She had told herself that she and Captain Fallbrook could be no more than friends. She had worried, at first meeting, that she couldn’t trust him—but he had given her no reason for that distrust.
Over the past few months, she had come to see the man he was. He and his young cousin had grown closer. He had gone out of his way to do thoughtful things for his ward and herself. She and Captain Fallbrook had shared confidences. She delighted in their conversations. For weeks now, he had been her first thought upon awakening and her last thought before falling asleep. His guilt over what had happened to his family tore at her heart. He had become a part of her in a way she could never have anticipated. When they’d kissed, she had felt as if her soul were connected to his.
Diana paused at the window, wrapping her arms around her chest. The night sky was inky black. Clouds obscured the stars. An owl hooted and the wind sang in the trees.
She had been betrayed twice and had vowed to never trust or love a man again. But one could not direct the heart, could they?
What she had felt among the daffodils… what she was feeling now… was love .
Despite every warning, and all her efforts to shield herself, she had fallen head over heels in love with Captain Fallbrook.
She was aware that there was no future in it. Not for the same reasons her romantic liaisons had failed in the past. The captain had plenty of money. But he was not the marrying sort . When she had brought up his reputation, he hadn’t even tried to deny it. His reply had been a kiss. And then:
“I have been wanting to do that for weeks now. I could not help myself. I got carried away. Forgive me?”
He had, earlier, called himself a “wolf in sheep’s clothing” and when it came to his relations with women, no doubt he was. Hadn’t she just melted at his very touch? To him, she knew, she was merely the woman conveniently at hand in his current port. When he returned to sea, he would forget all about her.
She, however, would never forget him. She would feel his absence deeply—no doubt forever. But she would have to put it behind her. After he left Pendowar Hall, hopefully she could…
She had no time to complete the thought, for a sudden creaking sound broke the stillness.
Diana froze, every nerve alert. The staccato patter of footfalls echoed in the corridor.
It had been weeks since she’d last heard them. This time, she vowed, the interloper would not evade her.
Grabbing her candle, Diana rushed from the room and down the corridor, her heart thumping with every step. She passed the open gallery, saw a flicker of light approaching from the opposite direction, and paused. Wait—what was this?
Mrs. Gwynn emerged from the gloom.
“Miss Taylor.” The housekeeper’s broad form blocked the way. “Why are you up?”
“Did you just pass this way?” Diana whispered urgently.
“No, I came up the south stairs.”
“I heard someone. He may be in the study.”
“I have just come from there. I saw no one.”
“He may be hiding. Pray, allow me to pass.”
“You have no business going into that room at any time, but especially at this hour. Go to bed, Miss Taylor.”
Diana argued the point futilely. The housekeeper stood her ground. Finally, Diana had no choice but to return to her chamber. Insufferable woman. The intruder had been within Diana’s grasp, and now the moment was lost.
She would not let this stop her, however. Someone had traipsed down that hall. She was going to find out who—or at the very least why.
Diana got dressed and waited. Twenty minutes passed. She listened in the dark corridor to make certain the housekeeper had left the floor and then made her way to the study. The door was closed. She put her ear to it. No sound came from within. Quietly, she opened the door and entered.
To her disappointment, no one was there. But the scent of sandalwood cologne imbued the air. Captain Fallbrook didn’t wear cologne.
Diana quit the room and hurried down the south servants’ staircase, but she didn’t encounter a soul on the stairs nor in the servants’ hall or kitchen yard. With a sigh, she returned to the study. Nothing looked out of place on the desk. And yet, she knew a man had been in here, and recently. She had an idea who it might have been. Why? Had he come in search of something?
Diana recalled her own search of this chamber some weeks previous. She had hoped to find Sir Thomas’s journal but had come up empty. The captain had said he had looked here as well. Had they missed something? It struck her that she was here now with no one the wiser. It wouldn’t hurt , she thought, to take another look for that journal.
Diana checked the drawers in the desk again, as well as a cupboard that held maps and miscellany. She made another, careful overview of the titles on the bookshelves. A journal, she reasoned, might be differently sized than a book or novel, and have no markings on its spine. The cases held only books, however.
A childhood memory surfaced in her mind. Once, embarrassed about a schoolgirl crush she had admitted in her own diary, she had hidden the volume behind some books in her chamber. Perhaps the baronet had done something similar?
The fireplace was framed by mantel-height bookcases. Diana set to work on the shelves to the right side of the hearth, glancing behind the books in groups of three or four. At the far end of the top shelf, she noticed something odd and paused. A small, wooden knob had been installed at the back of the case .
Diana tugged on the knob. Nothing happened. She tried the opposite motion.
Diana gasped as, with a slight clicking sound, the bookcase swung inward like a door on hidden hinges.