Tomorrow's Treasure (35 page)

Rogan clearly was the more friendly of the squire's sons, with an easy smile and an appealing way about him that made him more likable in the village. It also made him more dangerous. The village girls were already hopelessly beguiled by him, a fact that both amused and irritated Evy as she looked on. Alice was fanning herself with a new white Vienna lace fan though it was not a bit warm. In fact, Evy had contemplated putting on her wrap. Alice's giggle carried on the breeze, and Evy glanced at her just in time to see her toss her strawberry blond curls and mince about in her blue dress.

Evy huffed when Rogan smiled at the ridiculous girl and carried on a polite conversation. But just as Evy was about to look away, Rogan glanced in the direction of her table. He caught her gaze, and his smile broadened.

“Oh! I am so sorry, Miss Armitage!” Evy's cheeks blazed as she looked down at the dear old lady's tray. She had just released the apple tart over her cup instead of her napkin! The cup instantly overflowed, and punch ran across the tray.

“My
dear
girl,” Miss Armitage said, alarmed.

Evy grabbed a cloth and hurried around the table to where the elderly woman stood, clearly offended.

“Oh, my dear Miss Armitage, I do hope the Holland lace is not stained.” She tried to blot a spill that had run from the tray to the woman's bagging sleeve.

“
Tsk, tsk
, Evy. You simply
must
pay closer attention to what you are doing.”

“Yes, Miss Armitage. I am so very sorry.”

“You've said that already.” The woman turned her silver head with its outdated 1860 hairdo and looked across the hall toward Rogan and Parnell. The two young men wore tolerant smiles as they talked with Meg and Emily, who had joined Alice. The three girls chattered like excited sparrows.

“So that's it.” Miss Armitage's features pinched even more than usual. “I might have known it.”

Evy pretended to not understand. “Beg pardon, Miss Armitage?”

“You know very well what I mean, I daresay. I would think a sensible young lady such as yourself, Evy Varley, would know better than to get absorbed in the likes of those two scamps. And you, with your upbringing in the rectory, should know better than to be daydreaming about them.” She straightened her spectacles and looked around. “Where is that aunt of yours?”

“She's a bit ill, I'm afraid. We thought it best that she avoid the rain.” Evy wished she could sink through the floor and hide from those shrewd gray eyes that fixed upon her. “Shall I—Shall I get you another tray of punch and a tart, Miss Armitage?”

“You do not expect me to eat
this
mess, do you?”

“No, of course not. Here, I'll take that tray away.”

“I should hope so.”

A short time later, Evy returned with a tray of fresh punch and another of Aunt Grace's apple tarts. But before she could escape, Miss Armitage grasped her sleeve.

“You watch those two scoundrels.” The old woman's voice was low and full of dire meaning. “They will dance circles around a good girl like you every time. You are no match for them. They've been well trained in the house of Master Henry, and now that their father, the squire, is widowed—he could very well have his eye on your aunt.”

Evy must have looked blank, because Miss Armitage made a sound of impatient dismissal. “Untrustworthy scamps, those boys. Word has it from my sister in London. She knows. Oh yes, indeed. Those two have already caused talk in London. Matilda read about it in the society page.”

With that, Miss Armitage walked away toward Vicar Brown, no doubt to fill his ears with whatever she had read in the London papers. Evy watched her leave, then glanced at Rogan and Parnell. What on earth had the papers said about them?

She shook her head. Never mind. Whatever it was, it had to be just gossip.

She took a deep breath and sighed to herself.
Lord, do not let me become a gossipy hen when I grow old.

At least Miss Armitage was gone. Evy moved back behind the table, glancing around her. Had anyone noticed the embarrassing incident? Fortunately, everyone seemed too occupied with conversations to pay attention to her disaster. She looked toward Arcilla, who was as lovely as ever, her hair plaited with silver threads and her summery frock of daffodil yellow satin flowing about her. She had matured into a beautiful young woman.

Evy's own dress was quite ordinary by comparison. Cotton, pale blue, with simple white cuffs and a high collar with a bit of lace. The long skirts were quite dignified and proper, and while the dress was no match for Arcilla's and Alice's, she would need to be blind to see herself every day in the mirror and not be aware that she, too, had blossomed into a beauty.

Arcilla was nearing seventeen now and was anxious to complete her last year at the finishing school in London. After that she would have her coming-out in London society when a marriage would be arranged, either to Charles Bancroft, if Arcilla and Lady Elosia had their way, or to Peter Bartley of South Africa, if Sir Julien Bley ruled his family realm. Evy, if she believed in wagering, would bet that Sir Julien would win.

Evy glanced about, seeking Derwent. She finally spotted him with Tom and Milt. All three were agog, watching Arcilla, who smiled and charmed them, making each one feel special. One thing about Arcilla: She never blushed.
If all the boys stared at me that way, I'd turn pink as a new rose!
Evy sighed at her lack of poise. Arcilla knew her effect on the young men and played it to full advantage.

Evy grimaced. Could Derwent and the others not see through the girls insincerity? Even so, Evy could not help being fond of Arcilla. She was what she was, and it was simple as that.

“My Alice is having such a wonderful time.” Mrs. Tisdale's voice drew Evy's attention. The woman was talking with the solicitor's wife. “I daresay she is very near the marrying age now. The doctor”—she always spoke of her husband in third person, as though he were nobility—“is seriously rethinking her future. Naturally, Alice wishes to graduate from music school in London, but we are thinking an engagement might be wiser. We have
just
the proper young man in mind.”

Was it Evy's imagination, or did Mrs. Tisdale glance sideways at her?

“Derwent and Rogan are
quite
friendly with Alice,” the woman went on. “They rode over yesterday to visit and stayed for tea and cakes.”

So that was where Derwent spent yesterday afternoon. Evy had wondered when he did not show up to help with the final preparations on the booth. It should not surprise her that he had opted to take an afternoon ride with Rogan, who must have lent him a horse. But she'd never dreamed they had ridden over to the Tisdales'. Derwent said nothing of where he had been when he came by later, and she had not thought it her business to ask him.

So he'd had tea and cakes with Alice. Well, that was fine. It didn't bother her. Not nearly as much as the fact that Rogan had done so as well!

“Alice is a very nice girl,” the solicitor's wife agreed.

“And very dutiful to her religious faith,” Mrs. Tisdale said.

Evy knew differently. The entire time she'd roomed with Alice, the girl had never read from her small Bible and tried to avoid chapel.

A sudden frown pulled Evy's brows low. Why was Mrs. Tisdale suddenly talking about religion … and Derwent? Could she have Derwent in mind for Alice?

Evy looked across the hall at Alice, adorned in an extravagant apple green dress with matching slippers, her braided hair coiled about her head. That dress must have cost Dr. Tisdale a pretty pound. It was Mrs. Tisdale's idea, of course. Evy watched Alice carry a large basket of summer daisies, handing them out to the ladies and girls in celebration of the summer fete. She was doing so with a certain fanfare that drew attention to herself as she walked about the hall, making certain Rogan noticed her. Or was it Derwent she sought to attract?

She handed a double daisy tied with a pink ribbon to Arcilla, then stopped in front of Rogan and Derwent to talk. She was playing the coquette and looking quite silly, but what irritated Evy the most was that Rogan was smiling. Alice was looking up at him and turning from side to side while she held her basket behind her back, her apple green skirts rustling.

If Alice were outside in the garden, and if it were nighttime, she'd probably let Rogan kiss her! Then Evy caught herself and bit her lip.
How catty I'm being.

She jumped when a voice beside her drawled lazily, “Hello, hello, hello.”

Parnell Chantry had come up without her noticing and stood there, a small plate in hand. He dropped a goodly handful of coins in the offering container. “Did you make those tarts?”

Unlike Rogan's dark hair, Parnell's was chestnut and curly, and his eyes were hazel-brown. He was an inch shorter than Rogan, and was slim and agile. A small, dark mole on his chin gave him a rather a knavish appearance. Evy couldn't recall seeing Parnell smile, but, like all the Chantrys, he was comely.

Evy used the tongs to move the tarts around so they would show better. “My aunt baked them. I'm afraid all I did was dust them with sugar. Which one would you like?”

“The one with the most apples. Yes—that one. Delightful.”

He held out his plate, and she placed it with careful precision, taking no chances of repeating her accident with Miss Armitage. Imagine the horror of doing such a thing to Parnell Chantry! She glanced at the lace on his velvet cuff. Clearly he enjoyed dressing with more French flair than Rogan. She watched him taste the tart with his fork.

“Absolutely smashing.” He looked across the hall toward his brother and took another bite as Rogan looked past Alice and his gaze came to rest on them. Evy had the oddest impression that the two brothers were challenging one another.

Parnell turned back to her. “Your aunt is ill?”

“Yes, for some time now. We hoped the summer weather would benefit her, but it has not.”

He nodded. “I'm glad we had her as Arcilla's governess for as long as we did. My sister is most fond of her.”

Evy was not aware that this was so, but perhaps he was trying to be kind. “Thank you. My aunt is quite patient.”

Again, he nodded.

There was a moment of awkward silence, as though he tried to think of something to say to her. She already knew she was not as easy to talk with as other girls, who giggled and said silly things. But Evy would eat a mouthful of dirt before she would dither and show off in such a coquettish way.

Parnell shifted, suddenly looking as though his shirt collar was too tight. Undoubtedly he was aware of the wide disparity between their social positions. Evy took pity on the poor man.

“You are through at the university now.” She smiled at him. “I suppose you will be sailing to South Africa. Are you looking forward to it?”

He brushed the spotless cuff of his jacket. “Yes, it should prove deeply interesting.”

“Will you be leaving soon?”

“It will be a few months more. There is so much to learn at the London office.”

She nodded. “I can well understand that. What does your family do at the London office?”

“For one thing we hire master diamond cutters. It is painstaking work, but lucrative. Businesses the world over come to buy from us. I'm pleased to say I will not be involved in that part of the business. I haven't the steady nerves for it. Our father expects me to be involved in running the mines. I'll learn all that from my uncle, Sir Julien. My family is partners with another side of our extended family in South Africa as well. You may have heard of the them … the Bleys and Brewsters?”

“Yes, indeed. Sir Julien Bley is an important name in diamonds, or so I've been told.”

“Very important. You have heard of De Beer Consolidated in South Africa?”

Evy considered this. “Well, yes, I suppose I have. He is the diamond mogul, isn't he?”

Parnell seemed pleased at her knowledge. “To be modest, yes. De Beer owns one of the four main diamond companies in Kimberly. Sir Julien is managing director of De Beer under the great Cecil Rhodes. Uncle Julien is one of the largest shareholders. And Mr. Rhodes and Sir Julien intend to make De Beer the owner of the other three companies one day.”

She supposed that if one's values and worth were determined by their ownership of diamonds, then Sir Julien would be a very great man indeed. “Do the other three diamond companies agree that Mr. De Beer should own a monopoly on South African diamonds?”

Parnell's expression told her he was being tolerant of what he considered her ignorance. “One does not
ask
permission for such ventures. One prods and pushes until walls fall down.”

Evy looked down at the tarts on the table. “Sounds very … cold-blooded.”

“At times, yes.” She noted he offered no apology. “So you see, Rogan and I have grave responsibilities ahead of us in South Africa.”

Her heart constricted at Parnell's words. “Then the squire will send both you and your brother to the Cape?”

“Uncle Julien has requested him to do so. Father is in close correspondence with his stepbrother.”

From what Evy had seen, Sir Lyle was apt to do whatever Julien told him. Which did not bode well for Arcilla and Charles.

“I believe Rogan is nearly finished with his geology studies at the university,” she commented. “He once mentioned searching for gold in South Africa.”

“My brother has ideas … some strange and wild ones. I think he will set them aside when he arrives at the Cape.”

“Am I interrupting something important?”

Evy turned with a start, and her gaze collided with Rogan's. He had come up without their realizing it. How much had he overheard? She would have preferred not to be found discussing him with his brother.

“Hello, Miss Evy.” He smiled, a sultry contrast to his light-haired brother. He offered the small bow expected of young gentlemen of aristocratic birth, but he seemed disingenuous. What was he up to?