The Oak Leaves (30 page)

46

Just a short time ago I believed my heart might never again beat at a normal pace. Even now, my breathing remains erratic. It is my hope that by recording what took place tonight, revisiting the event while knowing the outcome, I might better realize the truth that God’s hand never left us. Not for a moment.

Although we had not formally agreed to meet Reginald, there was really no question that we would go. I met Peter at the top of the stairs at eleven o’clock. Everyone else had withdrawn for the night, and the manor house was quiet and dark except for the few high sconces my mother insists upon keeping lit. Oftentimes Royboy wakes during the night, and it is easier to go after him with a light showing the way.

I could not suppress a breathless laugh. . . .

“If either of our parents knew we were out here, they’d see us wed on the morrow instead of next spring.”

Peter drew her into his arms. “Then perhaps we should make a little noise.”

Cosima couldn’t laugh again though she might have. Peter’s mouth came down on hers just as her arms went around him.

It wouldn’t have been much of a scandal, headed as they were to her father’s library rather than any improper place. But there was something exciting in the atmosphere, in the quietness and secrecy. And she had to admit that as the time approached to speak to Reginald at last, she had grown more curious. Was that all he wanted—to preserve his friendship with them? It seemed impossible to honor that request, not when Reginald’s motives seemed more driven by greed than affection.

The library door creaked as Cosima opened it. Single sounds always seemed magnified at night. Peter stepped in front of her and pushed the door the rest of the way.

The room was dimly lit with two lamps in opposite directions. One, her father’s favorite reading lamp, stood tall from the floor behind the comfortably cushioned leather chair in the corner.

The other oil lamp sat upon her father’s large mahogany desk. It was here Reginald sat, in her father’s high-backed chair. Reginald’s blond hair was the only bright spot in the shadows, his head rising only two-thirds as high as her father’s would. Reginald looked something like a child, playing at being a grown-up.

“Welcome,” he said as if this were his library. He stood, walking around the desk and stopping in front of it. “I knew you would come.”

The room wasn’t as large as most others in the manor house. Books lined only one wall, the desk another, a settee and pair of chairs nearby. Two smaller shelves with plants sat on either side of the door directly behind Cosima and Peter. Though they were only four or five paces apart, Cosima couldn’t see Reginald’s eyes clearly. She saw only the whiteness of his teeth behind his smile.

“You said you wanted to reestablish our friendship—” Peter’s voice was terse—“but I’m not at all sure that’s possible, Reginald.”

Reginald laughed, only he didn’t appear amused or surprised by Peter’s words. He sounded odd, uneven somehow. He walked back behind the desk, turning from them to the window. During the day her father took advantage of the natural light while he worked, but now it was dark, and Cosima caught a glimpse of Reginald’s reflection, broken by wooden muntins.

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I came here to do . . . something . . . something very important.” He swayed for a moment, as if he were dizzy, but then steadied himself with one hand pressed to the glass. His other hand slid beneath his jacket, dis-appearing from Cosima’s reflected view.

She wondered what task he had in mind. Maybe achieving his goal, whatever that proved to be, would bring him back to his old self. Obviously reestablishing his friendship with Peter wasn’t all he had on his mind. “Perhaps we can help you.”

His shoulders shook after she spoke, as with laughter or tears. He turned toward them, and with his face now illumined by the lamp on the desk, Cosima saw his gaze was lit with mirth. When he collected himself, his smile was more of a smirk than a friendly gesture. He no longer looked himself.

He slowly withdrew his hand from under his jacket. Cosima watched, at first curious about the shiny object between his fingers. Then horrified.

A pistol, held loosely in Reginald’s hands, caught the light. Not aimed anywhere, merely held as if it were an object of some interest. And indeed it was.

Instantly Peter moved forward, hands outstretched as if to take the weapon away. “What are you doing with that?” He stopped when Reginald waved the small gun their way, though not directly at either Peter or Cosima.

Reginald chuckled. “Protecting your ladylove, Peter? No need.” He moved away from the desk, stopping in front of the settee, where both Cosima and Peter were in his full view.

Cosima watched, transfixed by the weapon in his unsteady hands.

When Peter moved again, putting himself between Reginald and her, Reginald shook his head as if Peter’s behavior were unnecessary. “I did not come here to kill her, my
friend.
No, no. I merely wanted witnesses.”

Then he aimed the narrow, shiny barrel at his own head. He held the gun straight and sure, as if to pull the trigger.

Peter lurched forward, but Reginald stumbled back, out of reach, quickly regaining firm footing.

Reginald grinned as his brows lifted. He swung the pistol around, facing Cosima as he took two steps nearer.

Peter pulled her away, so that they were now in the center of the room and Reginald nearest the door.

“Or perhaps I
should
kill Cosima.” Reginald smirked, looking at Peter. “Sentence you to a life without her. Surely there would be some satisfaction in that.”

“Reginald, if you think you’ve been the spurned lover, think again,” Peter said. “Cosima was never really yours—”

“Do you think I do this because of
her
?” Reginald’s voice took on a higher pitch, almost as if it belonged to someone else. “She was mine, yes—but only as a tool, Peter. A tool to use against you.”

Reginald took a single step closer, waving the gun between the two of them. It was ivory handled, Cosima noted, its barrel short and silver. Cosima had never seen anything so small yet so terrifying.

“You have no inkling, have you, Peter? All these years, you’ve believed a lie.” Reginald used the pistol as an extension of his hand, pointing from Cosima to Peter as if the gun were nothing more than a harmless finger. “You should realize something about this man you hope to marry, Cosima.” His eyes grew more gleeful by the moment. “He fails to see the worst in people—even when it outweighs the best. This, contrary to what someone of your sensibilities might believe, is a great flaw.” He straightened and pointed the small, deadly barrel directly at Peter. “You see, it’s landed him here today, with lives in jeopardy. Even yours.” He swung the gun her way.

“Reginald—” Peter raised his hand, taking a step toward Reginald.

“Be still!” Reginald commanded, tripping backward. His grip on the gun doubled with both hands on the hilt. “Hear me out, Peter. You’ll let me tell you the truth at last.”

“Tell me, Reg.” Peter’s voice was calm, almost gentle. Cosima spared a glance from the gun to Peter, struggling to mimic his control. “I want to hear what you have to say.”

Reginald shook his head. “No, Peter. You don’t. But I fully intend to tell you anyway. I can say it now. The truth is, I’m no friend to you. Never have been.” He smiled, and for the barest second he looked like his old self again, friendly and calm.

“That’s not true, Reg. You and I have shared good times, worked together, helped others.”

“But I’ve
hated
you.” One brief laugh punctuated the statement. “All this time I’ve hated you—only you never knew.”

“That can’t be true, Reg. I don’t believe it.”

He waved the gun again. “What more can it take, Peter? Here I stand with a gun pointed at you and your ladylove, and you
still
don’t believe the worst of me? Foolish.” He cocked his head Peter’s way but looked at Cosima as if to label Peter in her mind.

His gaze returned to Peter. “Let me help convince you, my friend. Do you remember Nan? Of course you do; you almost wed her.” Reginald looked at Cosima again. “You should thank me for this, Cosima. Had I not acted, Peter might not have been available for you.”

Cosima glanced at Peter, but his gaze was riveted on Reginald. Her mind jumped to what Beryl had told her long ago, her suspicion that Reginald had paid a man to seduce Nan away from Peter. Perhaps Beryl was right.

“It was so easy,” Reginald said, as if recalling a favorite memory. “I knew I wasn’t handsome enough to do it, but it wasn’t hard to find that young man, clean him up, buy him a fine suit of clothes, and school him in the fine art of
limited
talking. Then I threw them together—much as I threw you and Peter together, Cosima. Results are so predictable when you put two healthy, physically appealing people together. Of course, they should both have some sort of need to fill. That’s where you made it easy, Peter. You didn’t fill Nan’s needs. I don’t know why—perhaps it wasn’t your fault. Perhaps it was Nan’s nature. Vain enough to enjoy the attention of any handsome man.”

He looked at Cosima again. “In all fairness to Nan, I should tell you it was only a kiss that ended her future with this Hamilton heir. One kiss, so perfectly timed I knew then how brilliant I was. I had invited Peter and his father, of course, to Hyde Park for an early morning ride. I needed him there at a precise time, you see. In time to witness his fiancée and my hired man holding hands as they strolled. The kiss was an added, unexpected bonus.”

“It doesn’t matter if you orchestrated that, Reginald,” Peter said. “I’ve awakened many a morning grateful that marriage did not take place—even before I met Cosima.”

“But you
didn’t
realize it until Nan was seduced by another man. One I set up!”

Peter said nothing, only nodded, and Cosima breathed again. Best to keep Reginald appeased.

“And now here is Cosima.” Reginald’s tone was once again affable. “My strategy worked yet again. Put two attractive, healthy—well,
healthy
is not the correct word in Cosima’s case. But when I put you together, you followed the plan as if under my direction.”

Abruptly, he wagged the gun back and forth between Peter and Cosima. “It was all my doing, putting you together. Only you were supposed to come away with me, both of you, to Gretna Green. You were supposed to marry before Peter knew about the curse, so there would be no way out. You were to come back to Hamilton Hall with the marriage already consummated so that even your narrow-minded parents would wait to see if the first of your feebleminded children could be growing in her belly. They may have insisted on a divorce despite their declared
faith
and convinced you that was best. But my hope, my design, was that your legacy, Peter, might be feebleminded children.”

Reginald guffawed, as if he’d told a monumental jest. At last he stopped to breathe deeply, and his eyes shone with that uncanny brightness, the sparkle of a tear in one eye. He stared at Peter, blond brows lifted. “Only here you are, Peter, knowing everything and ready to proceed. That,” he added, “was
not
my design. I really only wanted to kill your legacy. But now you make me want to kill you, too.”

“
Why
, Reg?” Peter asked, and Cosima knew he was as bewildered as she.

Reginald took a step back, stopping abruptly as if surprised when he hit the door. The gun barely quivered, however, so secure was it in his hand. Aimed at Peter’s heart.

If Reginald heard Peter’s plea for understanding, he chose to ignore it. He faced Cosima. “I knew about you all along, Cosima. About Royboy and Percy and your aunt . . . everything. I knew before I ever sent my man to inquire about your hand. Rachel told me.”

He uttered a short laugh. “Rachel, another sinner like me, only she is the daughter of a duke and so is free to do as she pleases. She hates you too, by the by,” he said to Peter. “I suppose you never knew that, but she does. You never noticed her when she desperately wanted you to. Now she’s engaged to a man who bores her when all she really wanted was you. Sad, isn’t it? Nan is now married to her second choice, some fop her father fished up who didn’t mind the minor scandal of a quietly broken engagement—so kind of you to do so; at least she wasn’t ruined socially.”

“Rachel told you about me?” Cosima asked. For a moment her curiosity outweighed her fear of his pistol.

“Yes.” Reginald spoke as if they were sharing nothing more than a pleasant discussion. “She read your grandmother’s reports—without the dowager’s knowledge or permission, of course. And Rachel, I might add—” he looked again at Peter—“is far more astute than you. She saw me for what I am, Peter. Not a friend but someone who hates your place in society, hates you because you have it all and you have it too easily. Born into aristocracy. Born with a face any woman would admire. Born with intelligence and aspiration yet with a path easily paved by your father and his before him. All you had to do was be born, Peter.”

Silence followed. All Cosima heard above the pounding of her heart was breathing. Reginald’s deep, erratic breath, as if he’d run a race.

“You’re right, Reg,” said Peter quietly. “I’ve had more blessings than anyone I know.”

Reginald sucked in suddenly, as if kicked. “Blessings! Oh, we shan’t forget
your
faith, shall we? That’s something else you were born with, Peter. A capacity unlike anyone I know to believe in God Almighty.”

“We’re all born with that capacity, Reg,” Peter said softly.

“Oh no, not like you. Look at you, standing there protecting a woman who could very well mean the end of the Hamilton legacy. You don’t even care. You stand there believing it was God who brought you together when really it was I.
I
brought you together, not out of love but hatred. But you aren’t afraid. You’ll marry her thinking God—who you think
loves
you so much—will spare you from feebleminded offspring. Or worse, you’ll have your tainted brats and still love the God who let this happen. You’ll find a way to feel His blessing, even when you die and have children who can do nothing for you, none to carry on.”