The Oak Leaves (11 page)

13

Talie spent the day pulling her thoughts back to her responsibilities and hobbies, away from anticipation over using the item she’d bought at the drugstore that morning. She worked on her new idea for the scrapbook of her father’s travel memories, designing each page before making any cuts. She played with Ben, dancing to their favorite children’s music and twirling him around until he laughed. She made dinner and even lit candles, but Luke called and said the owner wanted to offer the job to Aidan over dinner at the Chop House, so he wouldn’t be home. Talie fed Ben and ate her own meal under the candlelight anyway. He seemed to like it.

The phone rang just as they finished.

“Hey, Danes,” Talie said after spotting the familiar number on the caller ID.

“I suppose you know where your husband is.”

“Sure do. With your guy.”

Dana’s laugh sounded like it did on Christmas morning, excited and happy. “Did you know they were going to offer him the job?”

“Only that Luke thought it would go that way. The final decision was the owner’s, so I didn’t want to say anything until it was a done deal.”

Dana’s sigh came clearly over the phone line. “I can’t believe it. If you’d asked me when we were cleaning out Mom’s attic a few weeks ago if I thought I’d be seriously dating someone in a month, my answer would’ve been a very sad no.”

“So . . . it’s serious?” Why this wash of caution? Dana knew what she was doing; she was all grown up now.

“I guess it’s still a bit early, but to tell you the truth, if we haven’t learned something about dating by our age, both Aidan and I are in serious trouble.”

“Oh, you’re both so old.”

“He’s thirty; I’m nearly there. And I’ll tell you this: we’re both tired of dating.”

“So the reservations you had about what your friend said—about Aidan being a skirt chaser—those are gone?”

“He’s changed, Tal. Even Melody’s husband thinks so, and he’s known Aidan his whole life. Do you know what we did the night before he went on the interview with Luke?”

“Do I want to hear this?”

Dana laughed again; apparently laughter was in endless supply these days. “We prayed together. There’s nothing more intimate than that.”

“True,” Talie agreed. Her heart should be dancing, nearly the way Dana’s must be. Talie wanted her sister to be happy. Maybe if she acted that way, the emotions would follow. “I’m happy for you, Danes. I really am. I pray God will direct this relationship all the way through.”

“He is, Tal! He is.”

* * *

When it was time to tuck Ben in, Talie changed him into his most comfortable pajamas and put him in the crib. She slid the mobile hanging over his crib back to the center, where he could easily see it. Why had she ever pushed it aside? It was a cute, colorful collection of ducks wearing Uncle Sam hats, but for as much attention as it had received, she might as well have never taken it out of the box.

“See this, little guy?” Talie said with a smile. “See these ducks? Here you go, touch one. They’re so fuzzy.”

Talie wiggled one of the ducks Ben’s way, and he glanced at it as he put his favorite finger in his mouth. A moment later when she quacked and made the duck dance, the suction around his finger smacked loose for a smile.

“See how soft it is, Ben?” Talie coaxed. She pulled the duck downward, stressing the plastic from which it hung.

But Ben just sucked his finger again, never reaching for the object.

Talie stroked his hair, wondering why he didn’t do what seemed to come naturally to other babies at playgroup. But nothing was really wrong; she was sure of that. He smiled all the time and ate so well. And he
looked
so healthy. Sure he cried, maybe more than some at two in the morning, but he had his reasons.

Besides, nothing could mar her mood today. She was almost certain she had reason to glow.

“I love you, buddy; you know that?” Talie covered him with a duck-printed blanket and left the mobile hanging in his line of vision. She turned and saw Luke at the bedroom door.

“He looks happy to be in for the night.” Luke approached the crib and kissed Ben’s forehead.

Talie watched, a catch in her breath at the burst of love she felt for them both.

“Maybe he’ll sleep through the night tonight,” Luke commented.

She nodded. “I hope so.” Talie looped her arm through Luke’s as they left the room. “So how did the dinner go? I assume Aidan accepted the position, or you wouldn’t have made it past hors d’oeuvres.”

Luke loosened his tie. “It’s all set; he starts next week.”

“Great.”

“What, no whoop and holler? You’re the one who orchestrated this whole thing.”

“I did not. I just suggested you find out if he was interested in filling the position you needed. The rest was up to you and Aidan.”

He shook his head. “Your spy system is all in place, honey. I thought you’d be a little more excited.”

She silently admitted she should be; however she felt an element of caution she couldn’t shake.

Talie grinned. “Guess I have something else on my mind. There’s something I was going to talk to you about tomorrow, but I’m not sure I can wait.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“I bought something today.”

“Uh-oh.”

She laughed. Normally she consulted him on major purchases, but this one had cost only eight dollars. “Let’s go in here, and I’ll show you.”

He followed her to their bedroom. “Not in the jewelry box, I hope? Your birthday is . . .”

She shook her head. “Nope. It’s in the bathroom.”

He looked perplexed but not for long. His brows rose. She never could keep anything from him for long; he was too good at figuring things out.

Talie pulled the pregnancy test from the bag hanging on the doorknob. “I bought this to use tomorrow morning. I’m late. And you know I’m never late . . . not unless . . .”

Luke pulled her into his arms with a grin.

She laughed as he held her close. Over his shoulder she saw Cosima’s abandoned journal peeking out from beneath the bed, but even that didn’t dampen her mood.

Talie had a plan for dispelling her silly worries. She intended to see if there really was one hundred and fifty years between her and Cosima’s so-called curse. It was time to contact her East Coast relatives and learn a little about them. If they were all fine, she would know she had nothing whatever to worry about.

Maybe then she could share the journal with Luke and Dana.

14

The saying goes “Blood is thicker than water,” but this is not always true. I believe God can turn friends into families, but sometimes, sadly, families are not always friends. Tonight I met my Escott family, and there was so much emotion roiling in my stomach I was certain I could not eat a bite. . . .

“Oh, Mama, it’ll be too crowded!”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right, Beryl,” said Lady Hamilton as they stood in the cool evening breeze just outside their front door. She looked at her husband. “Berrie certainly has a point. If the four of us get in with you, we’ll be nothing but a pile of petticoats.”

Lord Hamilton hardly looked concerned. “Peter isn’t down yet. Beryl, you may accompany him to the Escotts’. Come along, darling,” he said to his wife.

“Papa, couldn’t Cosima wait here with me for Peter? I’d so love her company.”

Cosima looked from Beryl to Lady Hamilton. Beryl’s cheerful presence on the ride would start the evening right. Cosima allowed herself little more than a passing thought as to whether or not sharing the carriage with Lord Peter had anything to do with her willingness to comply with Beryl’s invitation.

“I’ll have the second carriage brought round. But,” Lord Hamilton added, his black cloak swinging open when he turned to them from the third step, “if Peter isn’t down in precisely five minutes, you are to leave without him. Better for him to ride over on horseback than to make Cosima late.”

“Very well, Papa,” Beryl called after him, her smile now aimed Cosima’s way.

Once they were gone, Cosima whispered to Beryl, “This isn’t another of your schemes to throw me together with your brother, is it?”

Beryl’s eyes twinkled. “If it is, I didn’t see you trying to get out of it, did I?”

Cosima knew the early evening light was still bright enough to reveal the blush she felt rise to her cheeks. Beryl put an arm about Cosima’s shoulders and laughed.

“Waiting on me?” said a masculine voice from behind.

Cosima turned in time to see a footman step aside to allow Lord Peter passage out the door. He loomed dark and large but so handsome he inspired more awe than fright. A black cloak clasped at his chest opened to reveal black trousers, waistcoat, and cutaway beneath. White gloves and cravat were the only contrast.

“I thought women were supposed to keep men waiting, not the other way around?” Beryl teased as they made their way down the stairs to the carriage.

A footman pulled out a foldaway stair from the plush, black phaeton. Beryl stepped up first, followed by Cosima, who took the seat next to her.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to sit—?” Beryl began, only to cut herself short at Cosima’s frown and shake of her head.

“I was only thinking of our dresses,” Beryl said with a pout.

With Lord Peter already taking his place opposite them, Cosima did not have time to respond. Once the footman shut the door and hopped up to the rear board, the coachman signaled the horses, and they rumbled forward on the pulverized-stone lane.

“This is your first visit to London, isn’t it?” Lord Peter asked.

Cosima nodded.

“You should have Reginald take you on a tour,” he suggested. “Westminster Abbey, the Tower, St. James’s Palace. You could walk if you have a good constitution.”

“I would enjoy the exercise.”

“First have him take you through Hyde Park. There.” He pointed out the window.

“Is that where you went riding this morning?” Cosima asked, too late realizing she should probably not mention their earlier meeting, even though it was certainly no secret from Beryl.

“Yes. There’s a ladies’ mile if you wish to ride. Beryl often goes midmorning.”

“I would like that,” Cosima said.

“Your grandmother lives closer to the old city of London.” Peter’s voice was as cordial as if he were a guide giving her his suggested tour.

“Oh yes . . . Grandmother Escott.” Cosima felt Peter’s gaze on her, wondering if he guessed her nervousness.

“Let’s see,” said Beryl. “If every Escott is in attendance tonight—and one can only assume they will all want to meet you—then there will be quite a crowd. Dowager Duchess Merit Escott, your grandmother, first and foremost. For a matriarch, she has quite the iron hand. Your uncle John will be there—he’s the duke now—and his wife, Lady Meg. Then there will be aunts, uncles, and cousins. Oh, you’ll have a time keeping them straight. I know I do. Have I thoroughly confused you yet?”

Cosima tried to laugh. “Yes, but I hope once I meet them face-to-face this will serve as a helpful foundation.”

“Just don’t mistake a butler for a cousin, and you’ll be fine,” said Lord Peter in his even, deep voice, which she found instantly soothing. “At our house it’s acceptable to talk to a servant as if he is a person. Not so at the Escotts’.”

“I have a lot to learn, haven’t I?”

“Not at all,” he told her. “You have one thing going for you that none of the rest of us have.”

“And what’s that?”

“You’re an Escott, whether they like it or not.”

As the carriage turned down a cobbled street leading alongside a row of wide town houses, Cosima silently prayed,
Lord, an Escott I may be, but for these past nineteen years I’ve been a Kennesey by culture and habit. Help me tonight to honor one family without dishonoring the other.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Lord Peter looking at her, and he offered a smile that seemed to indicate he’d guessed she was praying—and approved.

“That’s the way,” he said softly.

“What’s that?” inquired Beryl, looking between them as if she’d missed something.

And indeed she had.

* * *

“Miss Cosima Escott,” announced the butler as she was shown into a large drawing room. She stood alone at the threshold, unsure what to do next. Thankfully a moment later Lord Peter and Beryl were presented, so Cosima stepped away to make room for their entrance behind her.

“I’ll take you to your grandmother, since Reginald isn’t here yet.” Lord Peter’s rich, quiet voice and warm hand on her arm brought instant comfort. She let him direct her path through the ornate furniture. They skirted brocaded ottomans and doily-covered occasional tables upon which sat lamps and dazzling gold knickknacks or ceramic matchboxes.

Cosima tried to take it all in, but little registered through the dozen or more faces still staring at her curiously.

“Dowager Merit,” Lord Peter said once they reached an elderly woman seated in a thronelike, winged chair, “may I present Miss Cosima Escott, your granddaughter.”

Merit Escott, dowager duchess, was at first glance similar to Cosima’s image of the queen. Small in stature but dignified. Of course, Cosima’s grandmother was much older than Queen Victoria, an age not hidden with a bit of powder. Wrinkled but fine boned, the heart shape of her face was accentuated by twin puffs of hair emerging from a part at the middle of her head. Her mouth formed a permanent frown, as if a testament to the gesture most familiar. Triangular eyes with lids sagging along each outer corner revealed brown irises but only a bit of the fading whites.

Cosima felt her grandmother study her as if she were an imposter trying to fool her way into an inheritance.

The dowager leaned forward, and her age-spotted trembling hands gripped the small golden globe at the top of her cane.

“You are like him,” she said.

Cosima knew to whom her grandmother referred.

“Sit,” the dowager ordered, and from somewhere behind a footman immediately appeared, bringing a chair. At some point Peter had backed away.

“You’ve had a happy life in Ireland?” Dowager Merit asked.

Cosima wondered what her answer could honestly be. Happy to have been raised in a household viewed by others as cursed? And yet Cosima had never wanted for any basic need. Her mother and father had loved her all her years, and so had they loved Percy and Royboy as well. It was all she had ever known; certainly that must play a part in her answer. Her life had not been unhappy.

“Yes, I’ve been happy,” she said.

“And your father?”

She nodded again. “He’s been a good father to me, a good husband to my mother.”

“Yes.” The dowager leaned back. Cosima saw a sparkle of a tear in one eye and wondered if it was age or emotion that caused it. “He would be such.”

Cosima had myriad questions she wished to ask but knew this was neither the time nor the occasion. She would let her grandmother determine how this evening—and perhaps their relationship—would progress.

Moments later the butler announced Sir Reginald, who came dutifully to Cosima’s side, bowing formally before them both.

“Reginald Hale?” said Dowager Merit, as if her vision were fading and she wasn’t sure it was he standing before her. “I know little of you, sir. I understand it to be your desire to marry my granddaughter.”

Cosima took note of the reference to herself. It sounded as if they’d taken possession.

“Yes, milady,” Reginald said. “To marry an Escott—to marry Cosima—would be a great honor.”

“Sir Reginald and I are getting to know one another, milady,” Cosima said. She didn’t want everyone thinking the wedding was as certain as he made it sound.

Her grandmother lifted one brow, which diminished somewhat the triangular shape of that eye. “In matters of marriage not pertaining to English land or title, as it will be with both of you, it is generally left in the hands of the parents or even the individuals themselves. In this case, however, since we know so little of either of you, caution is advised. I suggest no banns be posted yet, until I have considered this matter.”

Reginald bowed again. “Of course, ma’am.”

Cosima glanced at Reginald. If he was disappointed at yet another reason to delay their possible nuptials, he showed no sign.

Dinner was announced then, and each couple proceeded down to the dining room, starting with the current duke and his wife and the rest following according to rank.

The meal was far more lavish than any Cosima could remember, even before Ireland’s blight. Tomato soup and shellfish, peppered roasts, venison, vegetables and whitebait, cheese, confectioneries, and fruit-flavored ices, which was only a trifle soft considering the room was warm from a roaring fireplace. Every taste was met, from salty or spicy to tart or sweet. Ten courses, she counted by the end, and had she taken more than a taste of only half she would have been sick indeed.

Cosima sat between two of her cousins, daughters of her father’s sister. Neither of them had known of her existence until the day before, so they were understandably curious.

At last the meal ended and Dowager Merit suggested the younger people be excused to the music room to pass the time without a hovering older generation nearby. Almost at once Reginald invited Peter to come with Cosima and the rest of the cousins.

Coffee and tea were served in the music room. A moment later a group of younger children entered, obviously cousins who had been served dinner in the nursery. Their ages ranged from barely more than a toddler to ten or eleven years old. Two nurses accompanied them, each evidently having charge of certain children.

“You must tell me what you think, man,” said Reginald to Peter as he smiled Cosima’s way. “Haven’t I outdone myself in finding Cosima?”

Lord Peter smiled and looked at Cosima. She wished she could ignore her quickened heartbeat and the warmth stirring in her breast at the sight of him. But she pulled her gaze to Reginald instead. He seemed perfectly at ease, happy to have their company.

As if reading Cosima’s thought, Reginald placed one hand on Peter’s shoulder and the other on Cosima’s forearm, linking the three of them together. “You are the two most important people in my life. I’d like for us to spend time together.”

From behind Peter came her cousin Rachel with her fiancé at her side. He was a bit taller than she, but Peter towered above all the other men in the room. Rachel, Cosima decided, favored their grandmother. Not a classic beauty but appealing with high cheekbones, a full mouth, and a heart-shaped face. Her narrow nose was her only unfortunate feature, but that could be easily overlooked when she smiled.

“Cousin.” Rachel took both of Cosima’s hands in hers and kissed her cheek. “We meet at last.”

Reginald leaned closer to Cosima. “If it weren’t for Rachel, I might never have had the opportunity to meet you, Cosima.”

Cosima looked at Rachel. “Yes, I was curious about that, since it appears none of my other cousins knew of my existence until a few days ago.”

Rachel laughed. Her laugh was not infectious like Christabelle’s nor spontaneous like Beryl’s but rather practiced.

“You’ll find, of all your English cousins, Cosima, I’m the most resourceful. There is a portrait in the hall of your father with mine, and I always wondered what happened to that little boy who looked so much like our grandfather. And I found out.”

Cosima wanted to learn how, but others came forward, eliminating the opportunity for individual conversation.

Soon Rachel was at the piano, accompanying herself in a series of popular songs. Reginald stayed by Cosima, but between rounds he engaged more in conversation with Peter than he did with Cosima. She was glad when Beryl came to her side, helping her quietly match names with faces from afar.

Everyone clapped when Rachel finished her repertoire—until she stood, her gaze a warning to where she headed, coming face-to-face with Cosima. Though she smiled, there was something in her eyes that Cosima had never seen directed her way before. A steady, level gaze that appeared friendly and yet challenging at the same time.

“It’s your turn, Cousin,” she said. “Will you show us what they teach the young women of Ireland?”

A snicker sounded from somewhere in the room, and Cosima wanted to look around to see from whom the disrespectful sound had come, but she dared not take her gaze from Rachel.

Rachel took one of Cosima’s hands, leading her to the piano. “You do play, of course? I cannot imagine an Escott untutored at music. Even if your father did abandon the family, I’m sure he didn’t abandon proper etiquette. Come now, sit and let us hear what Ireland can do.”