The Oak Leaves (10 page)

“Well, you could have been kind and asked for something from one of the Gospels. Perhaps the verse ‘Jesus wept’? I never get that one wrong, from beginning to end.”

Laughter welled up, banishing any trace of the fear this man had inspired only minutes ago. “Did you say this was not your room?” she asked.

“That’s right. I only come in here when I have a bag of fossils. This room isn’t used . . . well, not regularly, anyway. I usually bring the fossils here first because they can sit for days without disturbing anyone until I have a chance to sort through them. Servants don’t have to clean around them if they’re left here for a while.”

“Why did you lock the door?”

He still lounged so comfortably against the doorjamb that he might have been at a Sunday social. “Are you an only child, Cosima?”

She shook her head, confused by his counterquestion.

“Your siblings must be less bothersome than mine. Usually when I bring a sack home, they’re into it before I get a chance to examine my find properly. Not that they have much interest in fossils—they don’t. In fact, they call me a dragon hunter and laugh at me most of the time. But they insist upon seeing every single rock, as if I might bring home gold by mistake. And so I installed that lock, so high none of my inquisitive siblings can reach it. And I use it, no matter the time of day. Out of habit, I suppose.”

Cosima’s gaze went to the rocks in front of the fireplace. “Fossils? They look like rocks.”

“They are. There are new sciences of geology and paleontology. Have you heard of such things? They’re the study of rocks. If you look closely enough at the ones I’ve broken just so, you can see the outlines of creatures.”

“Creatures?”

“Not living creatures—not anymore. Well, except for a spider or two that might have crept into the bag. Fossils are amazing evidence of God, Cosima. He’s created many wondrous things. We’re the pinnacle, I believe. The pinnacle of His creation, and all of this—” he motioned toward the rocks that might have been just that, except she could see they were so much more, at least to him—“all of this is for us.”

Cosima surveyed him much as he had surveyed her a moment ago.

Then he bowed and stepped into the hallway, nearly closing the door only to peek back in and say, “I’ll remove the rocks in the morning, if you don’t mind. Early, though, before any servants may suspect I’ve been here at all.”

“I’m an early riser,” she said.

“So am I.” His gaze lingered as he spoke, but then he leaned away, gently closing the door behind him.

Cosima turned toward the bed, easily seeing her way in the glow of the firelight. From the pillow, she eyed the landscape of rocks. Even thoughts of a stowaway spider couldn’t take away her gladness at having met the late-night visitor.

11

“So, how did it go?”

Luke had barely had a chance to walk in the door. Dinner was ready, but Talie couldn’t wait until they sat down to start this conversation.

The interview with Aidan had been that morning, two weeks since Luke had first made the call. She’d already exercised patience in not calling Luke at his office that afternoon. Of course, that was because she didn’t know how long the interview would last, thinking the longer it went, the better.

Luke left his jacket and briefcase near the table, then went to Ben, who was seated in his high chair. Talie had already fed him and he was content, so while Luke tickled him she filled their dinner glasses with water.

“Luke!” Talie called his name with some exasperation, watching her husband leave their son’s side and go to the kitchen sink to wash his hands before finally sitting down at the table.

He looked up at her and laughed. “I’m going to hire him.”

Talie raised her brows. “You are?”

“He’s already got my vote and my boss’s. Aidan will have to come in one more time, but only to meet the owner and we’ll officially offer the job. Aidan has an impressive résumé. He’s done well freelancing, but he said he’s ready to settle in to one place now. I think we’re lucky to get him.”

“Settle in . . . as in settle down?”

Luke shrugged. “Maybe.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s a nice guy.” Luke sounded surprised.

“What’s hard to believe about Dana dating a nice guy?”

“I just thought he was a little too good-looking, but he doesn’t act like he knows it.” Luke looked at the table, set with dishes and so far only garlic bread. “Are we eating now or later?”

“Oh,” Talie said, scooting over to the stove top, where she’d left the spaghetti. “I know you can’t ask a bunch of personal stuff during an interview, but did you get any feel for what kind of guy he is? Faithwise . . . womanwise?”

Luke frowned. “I’m not going to screen the men Dana decides to date, Talie. Or be responsible for a breakup if I read things wrong, one way or the other. I agreed to interview the guy because he really is an architect and I happen to need one. His credentials are great, and he’s smart. That’s all I know; that’s all I need to know.”

“But what was your impression?” T alie persisted. “I mean, sometimes you get a feel for someone’s lifestyle just by talking to them.”

“Let’s just say I didn’t have a bunch of red flags waving in my head, okay? Dana can find out what she needs to know about him without our help.”

Just then Ben fussed and Talie picked him up. It wouldn’t be the first time she held him during dinner, and he might even want a taste of her noodles.

When Luke asked about her day, she knew she couldn’t press for more details about Aidan. Maybe it was just as well; she’d been looking for something to worry about, and Dana’s love life was certainly handy. But Luke was probably right; Dana would have to find out for herself if Aidan’s faith was sincere. So far, it appeared so.

Not that having him work for Luke wouldn’t give all of them plenty of opportunity to get to know him. Having Dana and Aidan over for dinner to celebrate his new position was the least she could do.

“I’ve decided to put together a scrapbook of those old postcards my dad collected when he did all that traveling before he met my mom. It’ll be quite a project, since I’ll have to cut and reinforce the pages so you can see the front and back, but it’ll be fun. I’ll give it to my mom for Christmas, so she can read all of the notes my dad wrote about different places and what he did.”

“Sounds great. So you’ve abandoned the family tree info? Or is that ready for me to start on?”

Talie fed a spoonful of noodles to Ben, who coughed just as he took it in. Grabbing a handful of napkins, she wiped his face, her shirt.

“Talie?”

“What?”

“The family tree info?”

“I’ve been so busy with this new project, but I’ll get to it.”

She felt his eyes on her but kept her own on Ben. The ancestral line reminded her of Cosima’s journal. Even though the pages no longer seemed to emphasize the supposed curse, the underlying reality remained with it . . . something Talie was still reluctant to acknowledge. It was hard to read without worrying.

She should go back to worrying about Dana’s love life instead.

* * *

At four o’clock in the morning, after singing Ben back to sleep, Talie left his room feeling an oddly familiar sense of nausea. But this was no flu; she was almost sure of that. She would go to the drugstore today. There was one sure way of finding out if this queasiness was familiar for a reason.

12

Today I finally made the acquaintance of the much-admired Lord Peter Hamilton. Of course, we had met before we were formally introduced, but no one must ever know of that indiscretion. And no one ever shall, so long as this journal remains in my possession. . . .

After a fitful night’s sleep, Cosima rose just as the sun sent a tentative ray of light through the gap in the middle of the curtains. Quickly splashing herself with the cool water left in the pitcher in the dressing room, she shed her nightgown and stepped into the petticoats, camisole, and dress she had brought with her from the yellow room the night before. The bow at the back gave her some trouble, but she managed well enough. She combed her hair, used tooth powder from her tapestry bag, and slipped on her shoes. Then she returned to the bed to set the covers aright. Better to have the fossil collector thinking her like common folk to do such menial labor than to have him looking at the covers she’d mussed.

With the curtains wide and the sun pouring in, the room looked bright and inviting with its silver-flecked green designs. The chaise longue before the firebox was upholstered in green leaves and silver branches, with a light cream-colored background. She sat on it, staring at the rocks at her feet. Picking up a broken one, she ran a finger over ridges that formed an image of a small, lizardlike creature.

“I don’t know why You’ve left behind such evidence for us, Lord,” she said, “but ’tis a wonder indeed.”

A gentle tap sent her heart racing. She popped to her feet, opening the door and peeking around its edge.

Last night’s visitor filled her vision, so large did he appear in the doorway. He was taller than her father, lean at the waist but with muscular legs that filled the riding breeches he wore. He seemed a little like the giant she’d pictured David having fought all those years ago, a strong soldier who could intimidate any enemy.

But Cosima hardly felt like an enemy, even if having him come to collect his rocks at this time of the morning might be considered risky to her reputation. His mustached mouth smiled in a reflection of the smile she offered, and without a word she stepped aside to let him in. She did not close the door, though, in spite of a wish for no one to see him.

“I see you’re studying the fossils,” he said.

Cosima remembered the rock she still held. “Oh yes,” she said, handing it to him. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. That’s why I collect them—for people to look at. Once I clean and document them in my records, I usually donate the better ones to the history department at the museum. That way everyone can see them.”

She helped him pack some of the rocks from the far end of the line he’d created the night before. “I believe we have a great deal to learn about God’s creation,” she said, “but I think all of it will point to the same thing as Christ’s death on the cross: how much we’re loved.”

In that moment he stopped what he was doing, and Cosima felt him study her, even as she held out one of his fossils for him to replace in his bag. Instead of accepting it, he caught her gaze and held that. She wanted to look away, to break what seemed to be a merger, at least of thoughts and interests, but she found herself unable to cool this instantaneous affinity. She
should
but simply didn’t want to.

At last he did accept the proffered rock, placed it with the others, and stood up, holding the full sack.

Just then someone tapped on the frame of the open door. Fearing a maid had discovered them, Cosima looked, wide-eyed, only to see Beryl Hamilton standing before them with a broad smile on her pretty face.

“Good morning, Cosima. I see you’ve met my brother Peter.”

Cosima eyed the man before her once again. So this was Peter Hamilton. Somehow his identity came as little surprise. He was the brother both Berrie and Christabelle extolled—and best friend to Reginald.

“Good morning, Berrie,” said Peter as he fastened his bag. “I was just leaving for a ride in the park and was going to drop off these rocks but found the room occupied.”

Instead of eyeing them suspiciously as she might have done, since he had obviously just closed his bag and left a circle of dust at his feet inside the bedroom, Beryl laughed. Not a little giggle but a laugh so large she had to cover her mouth for propriety’s sake.

“Beryl,” said Peter, and his tone took on a new dimension, almost as if he were a father figure and not an older brother. He took two long strides closer to his sister. She stood barely as high as his chest, and Peter, with one hand still on the sack, took his free hand and pulled one of hers into his. “This was a prank, wasn’t it?”

“And it worked!” She laughed again, though with Peter so close this laugh was considerably more demure. At last she looked from her brother to Cosima and took a step farther into the room, closer to Cosima.

“I owe you an apology, Cosima,” she said, and even though her words sounded sincere her eyes were still full of mirth. “I was fully expecting my brother to come home last night, and I hoped he would stop here as he often does when he collects fossils. That’s why I recommended this room. Tell me, you did meet last night, didn’t you?”

Peter gave Cosima no chance to answer. “Beryl, if I didn’t have Miss Escott’s best interest in mind, I’d drag you downstairs to Mother this minute and have you confess your whole sordid trick.” Lord Peter’s voice was sterner than Cosima would have expected. “Do you know you could have had her screaming in the night, fearing for her life?”

Beryl grabbed one of Cosima’s hands in hers. She still had a recalcitrant smile on her face, but the look in her eyes showed the first hint of contrition. “I didn’t think of that, I suppose. I just thought it might be a fun way for the two of you to meet. No harm done?”

Cosima patted Beryl’s hand. “Well, I suppose if I’d known it was your doing while I cowered in the corner waiting for your brother to leave I might have been peevish. But no real harm done.”

Beryl laughed again. “But it
was
fun, wasn’t it? Even cowering in the corner?”

“You’re as bad as Christabelle,” accused Peter. “I always thought she was the prankster.”

“No, she’s only the one who gets caught.”

Cosima eyed Lord Peter again as he hoisted his bag over his shoulder. She knew he was about to leave, but something told her she couldn’t let him go without telling him why she was here. She must tell him because there had been something in his eyes. . . or maybe she’d imagined it because she wished it to be there. Whatever the truth, she felt compelled to speak.

“So you are Reginald’s friend, Lord Peter.”

He eyed her as if surprised she’d mentioned Reginald’s name. “Reg? Do you know Reginald?”

“He brought me here from Ireland . . . to wed him.”

“Wed him,” Lord Peter said quietly. Had he repeated her words with some disappointment, or was that just her own silly, eager imagination?

He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and glanced from Cosima to his sister with what looked like briefly narrowed eyes. Then he smiled Cosima’s way, so quickly that Cosima thought she might have imagined any fleeting discomfort on Lord Peter’s part. “Congratulations, I should say. Reginald is a champion, a great friend, and a good fellow. Smart, that one. And I must say,” he added softly, “his taste in choosing a fiancée is flawless. Now if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I will be off before anyone discovers Berrie’s mischief. Good day.”

And then he left.

Beryl laughed again, turning fully to Cosima. “Tell me, what do you think of him?”

“Well . . . he’s very nice. . . .”

“Nice?” Beryl repeated, obviously disappointed. “Is that all?”

Intent on hiding any hint of her confusing feelings, Cosima put one hand on her hip. “Now, Berrie, you really ought not to have done that. Have you forgotten why I’m here to begin with? To marry Reginald Hale?”

Beryl’s face twisted as if she’d bitten into a sour fruit. “Oh, Reginald. He’s not for you, Cosima.”

“And why not? He’s been very kind to me, and besides—” Cosima stopped herself short. She didn’t want to go into details as to why her prospects were so few. Beryl herself would regret any action to throw Cosima together with her brother if she knew about the curse.

Beryl took up the conversation as if she hadn’t noticed Cosima’s unfinished sentence. “Cosima, sit with me a moment, won’t you? We can talk here without being disturbed, especially at this hour of the day.”

They took seats on the chaise longue. Cosima leaned forward, for whatever Beryl wanted to share Cosima felt eager to hear, especially if it had to do with Lord Peter.

“My brother is a wonderful man,” Beryl said. “Now I know I have a biased opinion, because he
is
my brother, but perhaps that makes me a better judge. Who could know him better than someone who lives under the same roof? Two years ago he was engaged to be wed, and the woman hurt him badly by being unfaithful. For that reason he’s shown remarkably little interest in women, even avoiding the balls where there are so many eligible girls eager to be noticed by him. But I believe it’s been long enough to get over Nan. Both Mama and Papa want him to be wed, of course—he is the heir. But I just want him to be happy.”

“We all wish that for someone we love,” Cosima said gently. “But I cannot help him, Berrie. You must know that.”

“Why? Your engagement to Reginald isn’t known. It hasn’t been announced and certainly banns haven’t been posted. From what I gathered last night, I believe Reginald is a relative stranger to you. You should feel no obligation whatsoever to wed him.”

Cosima shook her head. How quickly Beryl’s wishes would cool if Cosima simply revealed her family history. But she couldn’t. Whether it was the same pride that ran through her mother or something else, Cosima didn’t know, but at that moment she could not tell Beryl all the reasons she was unsuitable for her brother.

“I came here under the agreement to get to know Reginald better, Berrie. I cannot go back on that agreement.”

“Well, once you know him better I doubt you’ll want to wed him.”

Curious, Cosima asked, “Is there something about Reginald you would like to tell me?”

Beryl brushed her palms on the pale pink silk of her morning gown. “I know my brother and parents are fond of him. He can be charming, I’ll admit. But there is something about him. . . . I’ve never really trusted him, I suppose.”

“Trusted him?”

Beryl stood. “I shouldn’t say more if you are intent on getting to know him yourself. I’ve no wish to cloud your impression, and to be honest, I believe Reginald cannot help but reveal his true self to you. I just hope it will be sooner rather than later.”

Cosima smiled sympathetically, tempted to press the matter but thinking there could be only one reason for Beryl’s words. “Not everyone can live up to the example your brother sets, Berrie.”

Even Cosima knew that, and she’d only just met him.