Chapter 49
Chapter Forty-Nine
‘Ithink I fancy Italian tonight,’ murmured Mason into my ear. ‘How about you?’
I locked the door to the annexe and straightened the emerald-green scooped-neck dress I’d changed into. The sky was changing into a halo of red and amber, and the clouds were like billowing sails. I pulled my cream jacket a little tighter around myself.
‘That sounds wonderful. After all the drama of today, all I want to do is enjoy some wonderful food and a glass of wine.’
‘And gaze into the eyes of a handsome, dashing historian.’
‘Well, I would do, if I knew of any handsome, dashing historians.’
Mason pulled a sarcastic face. His brow creased as he continued to study me. ‘Why have you got one hand behind your back like that?’
I smiled shyly and produced two sets of red roses, tied together. I’d bought them at the local florists that afternoon and secured them with strands of yellow and blue to reflect the branding colours of the cottages.
‘Is this your not-so-discreet way of telling me you’d like to visit the cemetery first?’
‘If that’s all right.’ I smiled, batting my eyelashes at him.
Mason raised my chin with one finger and gave me a lingering kiss. ‘You’re such an old romantic.’
‘Thanks for the “old” part.’
I watched as he pulled his mobile from his trouser pocket. ‘Let me just check that burial website for the location of Georgina’s grave.’ He logged onto the site he used and after a few moments, held up the screen. ‘I’ve found it. Come on.’
Mason’s car reflected the melting colours of the sleepy sky as we arrived at the old iron gate to Port Starr cemetery. He slipped his arm around my shoulders, and we made our way towards Georgina Lapley’s final resting place first.
Mason referred again to the location on his website and once we’d turned right, he pointed at an arched stone near the far wall. ‘I think that’s it.’
In comparison to Gideon’s, it verged on the opulent. Once marble-white, it was now tarnished by the years and fierce weather but still possessed a grand aura. The main section of the stone was oval, rather like a mirror and was surrounded by ornate scrollwork and carvings of leaves.
The inscription read:
Georgina Helen Lapley (née Fawcett)
Born 31 May 1767
Died 15 January 1828
A much-loved mother
I bent down, the scent of damp earth and grass rising to greet me. I took one of the two sets of entwined roses and leaned them against the gravestone.
Standing up and nestling into Mason, I said, ‘Do you think…?’
Reading my mind, Mason jerked his head. ‘Let’s take a look.’
The upturned collar of his military-style jacket tapped against his cheek as we stepped around to inspect the back of the stone.
I let out a sigh.
Engraved at the bottom were two entangled roses.