Page 109 of A Castaway in Cornwall
She sighed. Sometimes the right thing was a cold and lonely room.
Laura slipped off her frock, hung it from a peg, and pulled a nightdress over her shift and stays. She cleaned her teeth and climbed into the small, chilly bed. She tossed and turned, her mind alert even though her body was weary. She prayed for a time, then finally fell asleep.
Sometime in the middle of the night, she awoke and found herself shivering. She rose to add more fuel to her fire. By its light, she opened the trunk at the foot of the bed and from it drew two woolen blankets. She laid the first on her bed, thentucked the second under her arm. Hoping not to wake Alex, she opened the door gingerly and tiptoed to the sofa. He lay there, one arm bent over his head, one foot on the floor, knitted lap rug covering his torso. She carefully spread the wool blanket over him. For a moment she stood there, gazing at his handsome face by moonlight. Might she ever have another chance?
She leaned down and gently kissed his forehead. Alexander’s eyes snapped open, and he caught her hand. He pulled her down to him and drew her close in a warm, lingering kiss. Laura’s pulse raced. When the kiss ended, she lifted her head but made no move to leave.
In a low, gravelly whisper, he said, “You had better return to your room before I break my word to behave as a gentleman.”
“I only came out to make sure you were warm enough.”
He stroked her cheek. “I am now.”
Heart beating hard, Laura returned to her bed on legs of jelly.
The next time she awoke, muted morning light shimmered through the shutters. She rose and opened them, revealing an overcast day, though at least it was no longer raining.
She combed her tangled hair and washed in the now-cold water. When she looked into the mirror, she saw a strange brightness to her eyes and flush to her cheeks, though the room was quite chilly. She dressed as best she could, then knocked and slowly opened the door into the sitting room.
Alexander stood before the hearth mirror, tying his cravat.
“Good morning,” she whispered.
He turned to look at her, his gaze softening and lingering as it moved over her hair and gown before returning to her face. “How are you feeling?”
“Anxious, but otherwise well. Would you mind, em, fastening my frock?”
“Not at all.”
Again she turned her back, and he began the task, his hands steadier this morning.
As he finished, a door opened below, and both of them jumped.
Voices ascended the stairs. Mr. Truscott exclaimed, “My love, you are home early. I didn’t expect you until this evening.”
“I know, my dear, but I missed you, and Joan is getting on so well. ...”
Laura and Alex exchanged uneasy looks. The particular Mrs. Truscott was back.
“I’ll go first,” Laura whispered.
“Wait,” he hissed, pulling the ring from his hand and sliding it onto her ring finger.
She nodded, took a deep breath, then made her way downstairs.
Mr. Truscott turned as she descended. “Ah. You will never guess who has come to call, my love. It is Miss Laura Callaway, em, that was. She wrote the letter telling us of Prudie’s passing. Remember?”
The middle-aged woman, still in cap and mantle, turned to her, eyes alight. “Oh! I do indeed. Miss Callaway, what a pleasure. How good of you to come.”
“Um, I say the Miss Callaway that was, my dear, for she has recently married. She is, em, Mrs....” He turned pleading eyes in Laura’s direction.
“Carnell.”
He smiled in relief. “Mrs. Carnell now.”
“Congratulations, my dear.” Mrs. Truscott said, her face plain but pleasant. “And your husband?”
“He should be down any minute. Ah, here he is.”
