The Oak Leaves (7 page)

“You father tried to steal his older brother’s wife. Well, that was before they were married, so I suppose at the time she would only have been his fiancée. She is now your aunt, actually, since she did marry your uncle. Of course this was all long before I was born, so I’ve only heard rumors. But it was quite the scandal. Your father seduced his sister-in-law-to-be, and the whole family was in an uproar echoing to all corners of London. Your father left in shame, promising never to return for fear of reminding everyone of the whole affair.”

The story seemed completely out of keeping with the man Cosima knew as her father. Not that she’d ever thought of her father as a man, really, capable of being foolish and passionate in his youth. Could it be true? She couldn’t possibly know one way or the other—but why would Reginald make up such a thing?

“I suppose I should avoid any contact with them, then, so as not to bring up such a history.”

“Nonsense, my dear. We’re expected to dine with them on Friday, and they’re eager to meet you. The whole escapade has long since been forgotten by almost everyone, except perhaps by your father, who refuses to come home.”

“My father has been invited back to his family?”

“Of course. As I said, they’ve kept track of him even if he’s been secretive about them. And as you deduced on the day we met, how else would I have heard of you except through those who do not deny your existence?”

Her father’s family. Relatives who shared the same Escott name and blood. Strangers . . . but not quite. And she would meet them in two days’ time.

Family, Lord. People
You’ve chosen for me to know. Let me know
You’re with me each step, and lead me along the way.
Your way.
Cosima’s gaze fell once more on Reginald, and she added to her prayer.
And, Lord, please guide me to the future
You would have for me.
Whether that includes Sir Reginald or not.

7

Talie stared at the names in the old family Bible. They were just names, after all. She didn’t have to attach a history to any one of them.

From his favorite leather chair, Luke set aside the newspaper. “How is it going?”

She didn’t look up. “Fine.”

“I’m glad you’re working on that,” he said after a while.

Now she did look at him. “Are you?”

“You sound surprised.” He pointed with his nose to the open spot on the wall. “Didn’t I tell you I thought a family tree would look good there?”

“What about your side of the family? Where will we hang your tree?”

Luke laughed. “There aren’t any family Bibles floating around my side with all of the information handy.”

Despite the ease of compiling names and dates from her own side, the thought of researching Luke’s heritage appealed to Talie. Maybe she should do that instead and forget all of this. Wouldn’t he really rather display his own family tree than hers, anyway? They all carried his family name.

She stared at the list in front of her. The names of those who had died in the fire seemed to stand out. Was she crazy to advertise evidence that her family had once suffered in such a way?

She shook the thought away. She wasn’t crazy.

Closing the Bible, she thought of Cosima’s journal, once again hidden. She’d read another segment after Dana had left this morning, but Luke had found her and she stuffed it away before he noticed. She would have to move it out of the guest room in case Dana stayed over again, which was a likely possibility since she was their favorite babysitter. Talie supposed she could stuff it in her own closet, since she and Luke each had one.

“I’m going to bed,” she said, pushing herself away from the desk and standing. “Coming?”

“I’ll be up in a while. Not tired yet. But . . . honey?”

Talie turned to her husband. His attention was fully on her now, something she normally welcomed.

“Is it really bothering you—those dates, I mean? I noticed you didn’t mention anything to Dana about it.”

She shrugged, unwilling to talk about it. Not yet. “I suppose she’ll see it for herself when we hang the news on our wall.”

“If you don’t want to . . .”

She shook her head. “Like you said, whatever happened a hundred and fifty years ago doesn’t matter. Now, I really am tired, so I’ll see you upstairs if you make it up before I doze off.”

Talie headed to their bedroom. She knew she’d have to share the journal sooner or later if she didn’t get rid of it altogether. It just didn’t seem the right time, when it made marriage sound so impossible. She should wait until Dana was married before sharing it. Dana might be all grown up by legal standards, but she’d been protected her entire life. Talie wasn’t about to change that now.

And Luke? She didn’t worry about him. In fact, her reluctance to tell him everything was probably silly. He loved her.

She would tell him, just as soon as she was sure there was nothing to Cosima’s tale. To decide that, she needed to read a little more, at least for the few minutes before Luke came up.

8

I feel very young and naive as I prepare to spend my first night in London. I am so tired I can barely hold my pen, but before I close my eyes I simply must record the unexpected turns this day has taken.

London is far busier than any city I have visited, even Dublin. The buildings are so close that one seems to lean into the next, with nothing but a varied facade indicating the end of one building and the beginning of another. Tall shadows cast the narrow streets into near darkness, even at four o’clock in the afternoon.

Sounds and smells come from everywhere. Everything from singing and laughter to shouts and cursing stung my ears as we drove through town. And the smells are every bit as varied, from refuse and worse to various meals in the midst of preparation: familiar cabbage, roasting pork, baking bread, and other scents not so easily recognized, both sweet and spicy. . . .

“We’ll be coming to our journey’s end soon,” said Reginald with the first hint of emotion in his voice. He sounded like a young boy approaching a toy shop. “But if you don’t mind I’d like to take a detour past my friend Peter’s house. Would you be agreeable to that?”

Although Cosima nodded, she realized he must have made the decision prior to asking the question, since a moment later the carriage slowed. Cosima heard Mr. Linton call out a greeting to a gatekeeper as they swept past with barely a pause in the horses’ stride.

“This is the Hamilton London estate, Cosima,” Reginald said with as much pride as he might have displayed had the property been his own.

And indeed the grounds were fine. Lush green lawns were interrupted only by hardy trees along the lane leading to a courtyard. Through the greenery Cosima glimpsed a high stone fence now and then, which undoubtedly spelled the boundaries of the Hamilton property.

They neared the house—a magnificent structure with a door set high in the center, accessible by a wide double staircase arching out to each side. Wrought-iron balustrades fashioned in an intricate floral design guided the way safely upward. Flowers beckoned everywhere, from inside boxes hanging on the ironware to garden beds edging the courtyard.

Almost immediately a footman appeared to open the carriage door and lay out the step. It felt good to stretch her legs. From Ireland they had taken a ship across the Irish Sea to Bristol, where horses were quickly hired and they went on their way in the Hale carriage still loaded with her goods straight from the ship.

Cosima wore the same travel suit she’d had on the day before, but despite the fine Irish linen it was rumpled and limp, every bit as worn as Millie’s sturdy tarlatan skirt and jacket. Cosima suddenly wished she had not consented to stop by the house of Reginald’s friend. Surely her travel weariness would be as obvious to others as it was to herself.

But there was little time to dwell on such things. Reginald took her hand and pulled her up one of the wide brick staircases. Before they’d even reached the top, the doors opened and two servants stood aside to usher them in.

“Ah, Mr. Fisher,” said Reginald gaily to the man who appeared to be the ranking servant present. He was taller than Reginald, with gray hair parted down the center. “I have a wonderful surprise for Peter. Will you summon him?”

“Lord Peter is not at home, sir,” said the servant, bowing slightly as he spoke.

The animation in Reginald’s face disappeared upon Mr. Fisher’s pronouncement. “Not here?”

“That’s right, sir,” he said. “Thursday, you know.”

Reginald slapped his forehead as if Thursday meant something. “Have my days mixed, Fisher. Thought today was Wednesday, without sessions running into the evening.” He turned to Cosima. “Ah, well, we’ve wasted a half hour. Peter is at Parliament, no doubt along with his father. We shall have to wait and meet him tomorrow.” He turned back to Mr. Fisher. “Unless . . . is Mrs. Hamilton at home?”

The butler nodded, eyes downcast, voice tentative, as if careful of what he said. “Shall I say you’re here?”

Reginald smiled broadly. “Yes, Fisher!”

Without a word but with a barely discernable flick of one wrist, Mr. Fisher dismissed the servant at his side, and the younger man hurried off. Mr. Fisher then turned and led them through the wide, walnut-paneled entryway. Cosima caught Millie’s uncertain glance, but they both followed.

The drawing room to the left was not large, though the ceilings were so high it gave the feeling of space. Cushioned chairs, wide settees, and lounging seats sat here and there, most near the fireplace. A glistening mahogany piano stood before tall windows, beyond which Cosima spotted another courtyard. She was surprised to find so much outdoor space in the middle of a thriving, dense city like London.

“Fisher,” said Reginald, “why don’t you take my friend’s maid along with you? You might even offer her tea.” Reginald looked from Cosima to Millie and back to Cosima, as if expecting her assent.

“This is Millicent O’Banyon, my companion,” said Cosima. “I’m sure she would welcome refreshment after our journey.”

“Go along then, both of you,” Reginald said briskly before Mr. Fisher could respond. “At once.”

Reginald’s impatience was obvious, along with a glint of something else in his eye as he watched them go. Disdain—Cosima was sure of it.

Cosima stood silent as they left, unsure of the behavior Reginald expected of her. He had proclaimed himself a snob. Did that mean he expected his prospective wife to be one too?

When they were alone, the harsh look in Reginald’s friendly blue eyes disappeared. “No wonder I’m drawn to you, my dear. You’re very like Peter and his family. So kind to everyone, whether above or beneath you.”

She wondered what he meant, but a moment later yet another servant came to divest them of gloves and hats while someone else brought in tea and biscuits.

In the midst of all this commotion, a woman entered who was obviously no servant despite her wide-brimmed straw hat, her garden gloves, and the broad, flat basket full of flowers dangling from her arm. Dressed in green crinoline lined with embroidered petals along the wide bodice and narrowly cut waist, the woman might have blended into any lovely garden. Flawless, creamy white skin glowed with a touch of healthy pink in her cheeks. Clear blue eyes and copper hair competed for the claim of her best feature. But to Cosima, that must be this woman’s smile, with kindness so obvious in her eyes and her full lips parted to reveal stark white teeth. She was the picture of welcome.

“Reginald, how pleased I am to see you! Peter said you were traveling, and that’s why you missed our little soiree the other night.”

“A pity.” He kissed her cheek, then drew Cosima nearer with a hand to her elbow. “But when I tell you my news you will understand.” Reginald allowed a moment of silence as the two women studied one another. In that time Cosima guessed the other was older than her first impression. With little lines along the edges of her mouth and eyes and beginning to form on her neck, the woman must be close to the age of Cosima’s mother.

“Lady Hamilton,” said Reginald slowly, “may I present to you Cosima Escott, my fiancée.”

“Fiancée . . .” Initial surprise transformed immediately to pleasure. In the next moment, Lady Hamilton thrust off her gloves and tossed them with the flower basket to a nearby side table, pulling Cosima into a warm embrace. “Fiancée! Oh, how wonderful!” Then she opened one half of the embrace to pull Reginald into the circle. Despite Reginald’s smile, Cosima felt his stiffness as clearly as Lady Hamilton’s warmth.

“Come, sit and tell me everything.” She led them to settees near the tea service, where a maid was already pouring. “I want to know how you met, when you plan to marry, where you will be living—and oh! Reginald, I have a lovely idea. Why not be married right here, if you plan to marry in London? We have the gardens out back, the gazebo and canopy of heaven itself. I’ve dreamed of a wedding here for simply decades and would love to see such a dream come true.”

“Peter and the girls will fulfill that dream for you, Lady Hamilton,” said Reginald gently.

She nodded, still smiling but no longer looking at Reginald. Instead she looked at Cosima. “My, but you’re lovely, Miss Escott. Let’s see, Escott . . . you must belong to the London Escotts in one way or another, but surely not from John, since I know both of his daughters. You are related to Merit Escott, aren’t you?”

“Merit Escott is my grandmother.” Cosima ignored her inner reluctance to admit such a relationship. Merit Escott might be related to her by blood, but in reality the name represented nothing of the familial title “grandmother.”

“Yes, Cosima is Charles’s daughter, from Ireland,” said Reginald. If he’d expected to shock Lady Hamilton, he failed, for the smile on her face never wavered.

Lady Hamilton reached over and patted Cosima’s hand. “So Reginald has brought you all the way from Ireland. How lovely! Tell me, wherever did you meet one another?”

The woman’s obvious excitement would have delighted Cosima had she more enthusiasm about the possibility of a forthcoming wedding. But their “courtship” was little more than an arrangement, a barter for whatever social betterment Reginald thought he might find in marrying her. And what was she getting out of this prospective marriage? A future, as her mother called it.

But the truth did not seem appropriate for this woman, with her romantic notions of a wedding celebration under the canopy of heaven.

Feigning shyness, Cosima looked at Reginald.

“Cosima’s cousin Rachel Escott should receive all the credit, Lady Hamilton.” Reginald took up the story gallantly. “If it weren’t for Rachel, I might never have heard about Cosima. As it was, Rachel told me of a cousin she’d never met—how she lived in a fine old estate across the sea and how Rachel wished she could meet her someday. You know, few of us in this younger generation care about what happened before we were born. When Rachel told me she was fairly certain Cosima was not wed, my interest was immediately piqued. I sent my Mr. Linton over to verify the story first, of course, but no sooner had he sent word with the news that Cosima was indeed free to receive my courtship than I packed my bag and set out to claim her.”

“How romantic!” Lady Hamilton laughed and touched Reginald’s forearm. “I’ve always said you’re a man of action, Reginald. Peter says so too.”

He glowed under her compliments, and Cosima didn’t blame him. Lady Hamilton’s smile of approval might come often based on the lines around her mouth, but somehow that didn’t seem to diminish its value.

“Does Peter know?” she asked.

Reginald squared his shoulders, eyes twinkling as if he had a secret. “Not yet. That’s why we stopped in, actually—so he could take one look at my lovely Cosima and let rivalry do its work. We’ll have him thinking about marriage soon enough. Cosima and I haven’t even completed our journey. We’ve come straight from the ferry ship here.”

Immediate distress filled Lady Hamilton’s eyes, and she looked at Cosima. “Reginald didn’t allow you to rest after your journey all the way from Ireland?”

“We’re a bit disheveled, I admit,” Cosima said. “But Reginald’s carriage was comfortable, and I’m not nearly as tired as one might expect after such a trip.”

“Oh, but Reginald has been remiss!” Lady Hamilton scolded, hopping to her feet. “You must allow me to offer you a room, Miss Escott. Your betrothed must be so swept away with his dreams of your wedding that he’s forgotten all manners.”

Before Cosima could protest, Lady Hamilton sent the attending maid away to prepare a room in which Cosima might freshen herself.

“I have no desire to trouble you, Lady Hamilton,” Cosima said. “Truly, I’m perfectly fine to finish our journey to Reginald’s.”

“Surely you’re not staying there?” Horror laced her words.

“I’m traveling with my companion, of course. We left arrangements up to Reginald.”

Lady Hamilton took one of Cosima’s hands in hers, directing her to her feet and looping Cosima’s arm in her own. “Reginald is such a sweet, innocent boy, but you simply cannot stay under the same roof, my dear! What would people say? Unless . . .” She turned back to Reginald, who was following the conversation with what appeared to be an amused smile on his face, despite the fact that his plans were obviously being altered before his eyes. “You hadn’t expected Cosima would stay with Dowager Merit, had you?”

“I suppose that might be a possibility. We plan to dine there this Friday evening, when Cosima will meet them for the first time.”

Lady Hamilton patted Cosima’s hand. “My dear, you must be overwhelmed with all that’s happening. First Reginald whisks you away from your home with the intention of marriage, forever changing your life. Then he expects to double the size of your family in one simple dinner party. Well, I have no idea how flexible you are, but I don’t assume you would like the pressure of living under the same roof as family members you’ve only just met.”

“To be perfectly honest, I hadn’t given it much thought,” Cosima admitted. “That is, I have thought about meeting my grandmother, but I hadn’t actually realized I might stay with her.”

“I have the perfect solution,” said Lady Hamilton, “and I’ll not take no for an answer. You’ll stay here, of course.” She led Cosima from the drawing room back toward the grand foyer. As Lady Hamilton walked and spoke, she swept her palm upward to draw attention to the large expanse of the home. “We have plenty of room, and my girls will love having a visitor so near their age. I anticipate you’ll get along famously.”

Another surge of uncertainty rose then quickly faded. Lady Hamilton’s invitation was indeed appealing. Reginald was nearly as much a stranger as this woman, but she offered sincere welcome. Reginald might be every bit as welcoming, but there was something about him. . . .