Read Online You Only Love Once by Caroline Linden - Free Book Online Page A

again and felt another pang. More than ever before, she had a wild urge to accept Melanie’s invitation to stay. Hang Stafford and his messy assassinations. Let him send someone else with that mysterious American with the watchful green eyes, and she would just remain in Whitton with Melanie, tending the quiet graveyard and sipping lemon-mint tea.
    Instead she kissed Melanie’s cheek and turned to the door. “ Au revoir , Mellie,” she murmured. Melanie rallied a smile, then opened the door and bid her good-bye as politely as if they had been strangers. Angelique walked out, heading for the road back into Whitton where she had told her driver to wait. The die was cast now. She would see her solicitor when she returned to London, and tell Lisette to pack.
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    Nate watched her leave. Her visit had been less than an hour, and the rector’s wife showed her to the door with a kind smile. He’d managed to creep closer to the church and had a better view. She went through the graveyard again, but straight to the road this time. He followed until she reached the road back into the small town and headed down it.
    What a puzzle. Had she come all this way just to lay flowers on a grave? Whose grave would that be? He couldn’t see what this could have to do with his business, but he had come all this way and nowthe curiosity was overshadowing even his desire to follow her. There was little she could do on that road except return to town and her hired carriage, and he could catch her again before long on the way back to London. For now he wanted to know what had brought her out here.
    He turned back toward the church, this time taking the road instead of the thicket path. It was a quiet English chapel, weathered gray stone with a bell atop the tower. Trying not to look too focused, he let himself into the graveyard by the gate and walked the paths, studying each grave. The one she had sat over was near the back, a good twenty feet from the rear fence. He paced himself, working his way back.
    Just before he reached that grave scattered with wilting wildflowers, the rector’s wife came out of her house again. She shaded her eyes to look at him, then came briskly toward him. As she drew near, Nate doffed his hat and bowed. “Good day.”
    â€œGood day, sir.” He caught the lilt of French in her voice. How interesting. A coincidence—or not? “Are you seeking a particular grave?”
    He glanced around, affecting a look of apology. “Yes, although I am not sure it will be here. My mother asked me to look for her grandparents, and see that the site is well tended.” Hopefully that was ancient enough.
    â€œWhat are their names?” she asked politely. “My husband has been the rector here for almost ten years. I am Mrs. Carswell.” Up close she was a pleasant-looking woman, plump and gray-haired. Her long thin nose and high forehead spoke of herGallic ancestry, and there was a touch of aristocratic reserve in her manner.
    â€œDelighted to make your acquaintance. Nathaniel Avery, at your service.” He bowed his head. “My great-grandparents were Mary and Edward Owens,” he said, truthfully. If he ever got caught following Madame Martand, let him have a solid excuse. “They lived for a time near Richmond.” That part wasn’t true, but it was the only town name he could recall from the journey here.
    Her brow wrinkled. “Hmm. I do not think so…”
    â€œI’ve been trying to make out some of the carvings,” he said, gesturing toward the grave in front of him, a moss-covered stone listing slightly to one side. “There must be a dozen generations here.”
    She smiled. “Indeed, there are! Some families have been here for centuries.”
    â€œSo I see.” Nate leaned forward and squinted at the nearest marker. “Two hundred years, in this gentleman’s case.”
    â€œI would be glad to walk with you and