On Sparrow Hill (26 page)

“I’m stunned you recalled my words. I thought you instantly cast aside anything I’ve said.”

Berrie resumed her walk. She shouldn’t have acknowledged his pause anyway. Doing so proved she was hardly ignoring him. Looking at the ground instead of ahead, she saw no sign of the protruding root.

“I am capable,” he said.

“Of what?” She continued walking, picking up her pace so she could throw the words over her shoulder.

He kept in step beside her. “Of carrying on a civil conversation. I thought I’d proven that, but perhaps you’re right. We have yet to prove it when we’re alone, haven’t we? We should make an attempt. For Katie’s sake, of course.”

She kept walking, looking at him. “For Katie’s or for yours? It’s obvious you still mistrust me and my school. You’ve been forced to spend much of your off-season investigating what happens here instead of enjoying the comforts of home, and soon you’ll no doubt be headed back to London—”

Words suddenly abandoned her in a twist of pain, her ankle held immobile by a trapped foot. Then her foot fell free and she lurched forward, only to be caught up in Simon’s arms. His steady hold prevented what surely would have been a fall.

She looked up at him, awash with relief and gratitude. And guilt. Was that the stumble she’d meant for him by her silence? Served her right.

“Thank you.” His hands remained on her elbows. He still stood far too close.

“There now,” he said softly, “I wasn’t wasting my time after all, was I?”

Then, not at all like the last time they were out under the moon, this time Berrie knew his lips were going to descend upon hers. He kissed her every bit as thoroughly as he had the last time, and everything stopped as she let him. Thinking ceased, breathing ended. Everything but her heart was still.

“It could be,” Simon said, still holding her close, “this is why I followed you out here.”

She looked up at him, amazingly content to be held even though part of her knew she shouldn’t. This was hardly proper behavior, especially for a woman bent on never marrying. “But you don’t like me. You don’t even trust me with your sister.”

Simon shook his head. “That’s not true. Has it ever occurred to you, Berrie, that I might come round as often as I do not only to see Katie? that she may be right about how alike we are? If ever we decided to fight on the same side, together we could be one formidable opponent.”

“But we have yet to find anything we could fight together. Are you telling me you enjoy our nearly constant bickering?”

“I am. And what’s more, I suspect you do too.”

She pulled away, shaking her head. Even as she guessed he didn’t believe her denial, she had no words to back up the empty gesture. Instead, she took a step, testing the foot that had been caught by the traitorous tree root a moment ago. It was a bit sore when pressed but entirely usable.

“How is it?” he asked. Berrie instantly found she liked the solicitous tone he normally used on Katie; it made Berrie want to hear it more often.

“Tender but functional, I think.”

Simon held out an arm. “Let me help, then. I can carry you back if you like.”

The idea appealed to her almost as much as it shocked her, but the source of that shock seemed unclear—whether it was the prospect of him lifting her or that the image of it in her mind didn’t seem unpleasant. “No, I’m fine, really.”

“You realize, I hope, that I don’t go about kissing every woman I walk with.”

Desperate not to limp, Berrie walked slower than she had before. Such a pace hampered her attempt to get back inside, to hide, to be alone and sort out her conflicting thoughts.

Simon took her arm, and she didn’t pull away. Leaning into him took away some of the pain from her ankle as she walked. “I know no such thing, Mr. MacFarland. Perhaps you kiss every woman you meet, since it’s blatantly obvious you don’t like me and yet you’ve kissed me not once but twice.”

“It isn’t true that I don’t like you. I actually admire you greatly.” He lifted his free hand to sweep in the direction of the manor. “Look at all you’ve done, how you’ve helped so many others. How could you not stir the deepest admiration in anyone who meets you?”

“But you think me a failure! How can you admire me?”

He shook his head. “I think your task impossible. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t see a difference.” She tried to walk faster and failed. “How can I be anything except a failure if what I attempt to do is impossible?”

“The lives of the students here won’t change to any great degree once they’re back home. I’ve lived with my sister too long to think otherwise. But you are making a difference in their lives for the present. I believe that’s admirable.”

Berrie stopped, clutching his arm not solely for balance. “We’re not here to give only respite. We
are
here to change lives. Even if we give them just one talent they will have for the rest of their lives, we won’t have failed them. Will we?”

She hadn’t meant to ask that question aloud. Yet he didn’t give a quick, crushing reply, which was what she feared.

He smiled. “No, Berrie. You won’t have failed.”

They rounded the last corner of the manor, and with the door in sight, Berrie’s hobble quickened.

“I realize you want to be free of my company,” he said, still holding her arm, “but you shouldn’t rush on that ankle.”

It would be futile to deny the truth, so she said nothing. Nor did she slow her pace. Only at the door did she let him take her hand, stopping her altogether.

“We should talk. With civility,” he added with a grin, bringing her hand to his lips. “Because like each other or not, Miss Beryl Hamilton, there is something between us I don’t think either one of us can ignore.”

41

* * *

For five days—three days beyond the date Dana was to have returned to Ireland—Rebecca watched Dana do nothing except read and then reread the files from a school that was over 150 years old. Treatments may have changed, Dana admitted, but not the basic, underlying behaviors. Dana told Rebecca one of the things her sister, Talie, worried about most was her son’s future. School records revealed a slice of that future: the struggles and failures, the successes so minor they couldn’t possibly matter.
Fold serviette: task accomplished in 149 days.
Repeated at every meal for almost half a year, the student had finally picked up the simple skill of folding a table napkin. Some never accomplished even that.

When Rebecca suggested Dana set aside the records for a while and concentrate on Berrie’s letters instead, or better yet, take a day to enjoy more sights, Dana had looked at her as if Rebecca did not understand and never would.

Quentin offered to help cheer Dana, but Dana didn’t want to visit with anyone, though she couldn’t deny him the use of his own home. Both urged her to talk to Aidan, who called every day. Their conversations were short and businesslike, since Dana made no attempt at privacy when he called. The only one who seemed oblivious to Dana’s growing depression was Padgett. She could create a convincing smile on Dana’s face, but it disappeared when Padgett went to bed or was otherwise occupied.

Dana sought solitude, but Rebecca couldn’t in good conscience leave Dana with the records taking hold of her. So the two of them sat in Rebecca’s office together, Rebecca trying to coax Dana to another diversion, but rarely succeeding.

For those five days while Rebecca necessarily chose Dana’s company over Quentin’s, the subject of Lady Caroline never emerged. In Rebecca’s mind the other woman came up often. Rebecca wondered if this time apart was testing her, teaching her that jealousy is a selfish, ultimately self-destructive force, one she wanted nothing to do with. It was also a test for Quentin, intricately enmeshed with Rebecca’s own: by allowing him the freedom of time, did he find himself lured back to Caroline’s company? It was too easy, with Lady Elise happy to provide the opportunity.

While careful not to offer false hope to Dana, Rebecca didn’t allow it for herself, either. She hoped for a future with Quentin but didn’t count it as certain.

“You have a visitor, Miss Rebecca,” said Helen after tapping lightly on Rebecca’s office door. It was good to have Helen and William back, and not only because Rebecca didn’t have to cook anymore.

Rebecca eyed the older woman, wondering if she imagined a frown, while at the same time trying to guess who might be calling. She didn’t have any appointments this week, by her own design. “Who is it, Helen?”

“She’s waiting in the downstairs parlor. Caroline Norleigh.”

Rebecca’s gaze went to Dana’s, whose brows rose with the first hint of interest in days. Confusion quickly took the place of Rebecca’s surprise. Quentin was in London, having phoned her on his way earlier that morning. He said he was on an errand but would return that afternoon. If Lady Caroline were expecting to see him, she’d come to the wrong place.

But that didn’t explain why she’d asked Helen to announce her as Rebecca’s visitor.

“Do you want to see her alone, or do you want some friendly company?” Dana asked. There was a hint of a smile on her face, confirming what Rebecca had long believed. Getting outside one’s own trouble was one of the first steps toward well-being. She should be glad for that, even if Dana was stepping out of her own and into Rebecca’s.

She couldn’t refuse, though her visitor might interpret the extra company as unexpected reinforcements on the opposing team. “I’d like that.”

They went down the stairs to the parlor, where Rebecca saw the tall, willowy shadow of Lady Caroline Norleigh. She didn’t have to move to reveal the natural grace she possessed; her posture did it for her. Her clothes enhanced the look: impeccable, tailored. And her hair—so thick and yet calm, the stuff of Rebecca’s dreams.

Though they entered together and stopped just inside the doorway, Rebecca felt Lady Caroline’s gaze travel then rest on her. The visitor stepped forward, hand outstretched. A smile completed her lovely features, confident she was welcome.

Rebecca shook the woman’s cool, slender hand, unable to resist returning the required smile. Beauty inspired that, even from a rival.

“I’m afraid Quentin isn’t here,” Rebecca said. “He’s gone—”

“To London; yes, I know.” She never stopped smiling. There was something in that smile, so familiar from the society page, that suddenly seemed as two-dimensional as the photos. But Rebecca rejected the thought, afraid she was assigning fault where none existed. “I came to see you, Rebecca. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, though I’m a bit surprised since we’ve never met.”

“And yet we know each other.”

Rebecca wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and so she turned her attention to Dana, beside her. “You’ll be happy to meet Quentin’s cousin. Dana Martin Walker, from America.”

Lady Caroline offered the same friendly handshake, and Dana returned the smile, even though such a gesture had been so rare from her lately.

“It’s actually quite wonderful that you’re here as well, Dana.” How easily she spoke, as if the three of them were chums of many years. “As it says, where two or more are gathered . . .” She turned to the two sofas in the center of the room, each facing the other, giving Rebecca a chance to exchange bewildered glances with Dana.

Rebecca could tell Dana recognized the phrase from the Bible too. A strange source for Lady Caroline Norleigh, who Quentin reported was not a woman of faith, and never a hint in copious newsprint disputed Quentin’s claim.

“‘It,’ Lady Caroline?” Rebecca asked, following to the sofa where the other woman offered a seat with an elegant palm.

“Why, what else but the Bible, the Word of God? It says where two or three are gathered, He shall be there in the midst.”

Rebecca hadn’t planned to sit and have a friendly chat—or prayer—with Lady Caroline Norleigh, but just then the couch behind her scooped her up, holding her securely where a moment ago she feared her knees couldn’t do the job for which they’d been created.

Dana took the seat next to her more intentionally. “Quentin hasn’t mentioned you,” Dana said, “but I happened to see a news photograph of you with Quentin recently. I didn’t realize that you were a woman of faith. I suppose Quentin told you about Rebecca’s deeply held beliefs.”

Rebecca listened to Dana’s easy tone of voice. She sounded just as kind as she always did, sadness set aside. Rebecca was grateful for that; she wasn’t sure she could trust her own voice just yet. Lady Caroline . . . had discovered faith? Wasn’t that the one thing Quentin had found lacking in her? If that were no longer the case . . . then what?

“Actually it was Quentin’s mother who mentioned Rebecca to me.” Caroline took a seat and leaned forward, looking at Rebecca intently. “You must have guessed by now why I know of you. It’s in all the papers, how Quentin spends his days with you, his nights with me.” She smiled again, a smaller version of the welcoming one, perhaps a touch of embarrassment thrown in.

Rebecca’s pulse sped even as her senses tried bombarding her with worry. She
knew
Quentin’s faith was real. There was no need for the abashed look on Lady Caroline’s face; sharing a roof didn’t mean they were sharing a bed, no matter what the news reports—or the lady in question—wanted to intimate.

“He hasn’t stopped speaking to me about his newfound faith,” Lady Caroline continued, “and it’s awakened something in me. Faith isn’t something I normally talk about, but since we seem to be connected whether we want to be or not, I thought I could share such private thoughts. Do you mind?”

“Of course not,” Rebecca whispered. “It’s . . . lovely that Quentin has inspired you.”

“Yes, isn’t it? Of course I have a lot to learn, but then so does Q. He’s so pleased I’ve recognized the value of faith. It’s especially important because we have such a long history together.”

“Q?”

Another abashed little smile. “Quentin. I call him Q sometimes.”

Rebecca stared, wondering what to say that wouldn’t dishonor her own faith, Quentin’s, or God Himself. She’d purposely avoided the society pages since the pregnancy kit episode, thinking the papers were after sales more often than a quest for truth. Would they have warned her? Would they have revealed, somehow, this private faith she spoke of? But words continued to abandon her.