Tomorrow's Treasure (34 page)

Evy listened, aware how much Derwent still admired Rogan. She could not deny that Rogan's plans in South Africa seemed much more adventurous than being vicar. The lure of diamonds and faraway places had set Derwent to dreaming.

“The work in the church is far more important eternally,” she encouraged. “Nourishing God's flock is a great honor.”

“Oh, I know that. That's what troubles me. I don't feel worthy. And let's face it, I'm not the spiritual teacher your uncle Edmund was, or even my father. Though his mind seems to be going on him. His memory is, anyway. I'm helping with his sermons. I mean in no way to make light of it, but perhaps some of the talk going on about me is more true than not. Not every son is called to follow in his father's steps. The Lord does not always gift father and son the same way. If He did, there would be something to say for godliness and spiritual gifts being passed on
through heredity and environment rather than sovereign will and grace. I don't see the Scripture teaching that.”

She turned her head and smiled down at him. “The fact that you say these things tells me you
know
the Scripture well enough to be vicar someday.”

A crooked smile lifted his mouth. “That will need to be a long time from now, Evy. I mean it.” He frowned at his sore thumb, then shook his head.

Evy turned back to her nails. “A long time … Well, that is not really surprising. It's hardly wise for the bishop to appoint a young man like yourself to fill the vicar's position so soon. You must be tested by time.”

“Aye—I mean
yes
,” he hastened. “A
seasoned
man is how they say it. A man who's walked with the Lord for many years.” Again he shook his head. “But gaining a living will be hard.”

“I doubt if sailing to the Cape to search for diamonds will give you anything more in your bank account. You may end up with a whole lot less.”

“That is true, of course. They say Kimberly is a wild and woolly place.”

“That's why my parents went there so many years ago to present a witness for God.”

“And they died for it.”

She hammered a nail, not responding to this somber reminder.

“Evy, I just hope—Oh, why hello, Rogan!”

Oh no! Evy froze, then looked down over her shoulder. Rogan sat astride his horse, an alert, surprised flicker in his gaze. He studied her with sufficient intensity to freeze the smile on her lips into self-consciousness.

At first she thought he was dismayed to find her atop a ladder—not exactly a ladylike activity. But something in that dark gaze told her that what had startled Rogan had little to do with ladders and nails … and a great deal more to do with Evy herself.

She shivered, though the day was still quite warm. Rogan looked
quite grown-up. His wavy ebony hair still had a tendency to fall across his forehead. His slashing dark brows, bold eyes, and strong jawline gave him a handsome, roguish appearance. How different he was from Derwent.

Evy became aware she was staring, and scolded herself for that fact just as Rogan seemed to recover from whatever surprise she had given him.

“You have grown.” The comment was deep and rich, and his gaze held hers.

She loathed herself for blushing.

“Miss Evy, Derwent”—Rogan looked at Derwent as though suddenly becoming aware of him—“this is Miss Patricia Bancroft.” Though he nodded to the young woman at his side, his gaze came back to rest on Evy.

Her gaze swerved from Rogan to confront the girl sitting proudly on the horse beside Rogan's magnificent mount. She seemed expert at handling her horse, another reason for Rogan's interest. The cold appraisal Patricia gave Evy made her cling more tightly to the ladder. Clearly, it had not been Patricia's idea to turn aside from the road to say hello. She looked disapproving and even hostile. Did she resent that Rogan would show friendliness toward her and Derwent—or had she noticed the look he'd given her?

Evy glanced away. What was she supposed to say?

“Time goes by so quickly.” The words sounded foolish, even to her own ears.

Rogan's smile deepened, and his gaze told her he was aware of her discomfiture. “So it does. We were out riding before lunch and saw you both from the road. Is Derwent teaching you carpentry, or does he prefer the shade?”

She ignored his amusement, but Derwent held up his injured thumb. “Alas, I'm a poor teacher indeed.”

Rogan laughed.

Derwent, apparently unmindful of the undercurrent between Rogan and Evy, sighed. “I was telling Evy how I might enjoy choosing
to go to Capetown and work in the diamond business. I admire you and your brother.”

“And give up the opportunity for a quiet and peaceful life here at the rectory?” Rogan's measuring glance seemed to question whether Derwent might also be relinquishing his plans for Evy.

“Well, there is that, of course.” Derwent glanced about the vicarage grounds, as though contemplating all of Grimston Way.

“It would surprise me if Miss Evy would approve of your giving up rectory life for the uncertainty and dangers of African diamonds.”

Evy felt herself stiffen. Rogan talked as though she were not present.

“I'm sure,” she said, hoping to sound casual, “that my wishes will not be the sole criterion for deciding Derwent's future.”

Rogan's brows lifted. “I would expect your wishes to count a great deal in Derwent's thoughts about anything, but most especially the future.”

She ignored his assertion, grateful that Derwent looked as if he hadn't understood Rogan's implication. She started down the unsteady ladder, clutching the hammer in one hand. Rogan gestured for Derwent to help her.

Derwent jumped up to hold the ladder, and Evy felt the heat in her cheeks. What was it about Rogan that flustered her so?

“Thank you,” she said, not looking at any of them. She set the hammer down and wiped her hands on a cloth, choosing her next words carefully. “It shouldn't be all that surprising for me to have interests in South Africa as well. Most everyone knows how my parents worked there and were killed in the Zulu War.” She looked up and met Rogan's challenging stare.

“You are not afraid to go to the Cape?”

“No, though I've no reason to think I shall ever do so.”

“I suppose not. I was thinking of Arcilla. You have two more years at Parkridge Music Academy?”

“Three years.”

“That's right … you are younger than she.”

“Only by three months.”

At her hasty correction, Rogan regarded her. “Then you are enjoying your schooling?”

His seeming interest warmed her, and she smiled. “Very much so.” She had not yet thanked him for the pretty hat, but she dared not do so now. Patricia was already fuming. The girl was flipping her small horsewhip, chewing on her rosebud lips while Rogan spoke with Evy.

Patricia looked over her shoulder toward the road, as if expecting company. “It is getting late, Rogan.” She sounded a bit cross, and Evy had to fight a smirk. “We are to meet Parnell and Christine for luncheon. Remember?”

He did not appear worried about luncheon, nor even the obvious tone of her voice, but obliged her by turning his horse.

Derwent's gaze rested on the horses. “Handsome animals. How is your riding proceeding, Rogan?”

“I shall know next month.”

“Next month?”

He smiled. “I shall ride in the Dublin horse show.”

Evy had heard much about the show and realized he must be very good indeed if he was in that competition.

Rogan gestured to the booth. “Yours?” he asked Evy, studying her features again.

“My aunt's.” She shifted, longing for the cool of evening—and freedom from that dark gaze, “The annual summer fete you know. The proceeds will go to buy new fruit trees for the rectory,” she managed, brushing her heavy hair away from her shoulder. Anything to cool her face a bit. If only he would stop staring at her so!

“Interesting and commendable. We will make sure to visit Mrs. Havering's booth, won't we, Patricia?”

“Oh, by
all
means.” Patricia made no effort to hide her irritation.

“It is well that Vicar Brown gets some new fruit trees.” Evy felt the situation deteriorating quickly and dragging her down with it.

Again, Rogan smiled. He watched her as though trying to figure her out, and Evy felt a tinge of trepidation dance across her skin. How could one look both alarm and please her so? It was the kind of look she had
secretly dreamed Rogan would give her, yet it made her feel guilty and afraid.

Breaking his gaze from her, Rogan touched the tip of his smart-looking hat, nodding first to Derwent, then to her. “I will try to visit the fete. When is it?”

Evy tried to swallow, though her throat felt suddenly bone dry. “Saturday, but I doubt if it will interest you.”

His look told her he knew she was trying to discourage him. “Oh, I am quite interested already. Au revoir.” With that, he maneuvered his horse and rode after Miss Patricia, who had galloped ahead.

Evy sank to the footstool, her legs suddenly unwilling to support her.

“A talented young man.” Derwent looked after Rogan.

Evy felt an unreasonable surge of irritation. Did Derwent understand nothing? Didn't it even bother him to have Rogan looking at her the way he had? It certainly had bothered
her
…far more than it should have.

But Derwent seemed oblivious to anything amiss. “Rogan is quite different from his brother. Some think he will gain notoriety in the Dublin horse show. It takes discipline to reach that level. He also graduates next year from the geological school, and is in the top of his class. Parnell was not so inclined and spent a good deal of time in London away from his studies, with friends. Parnell is leaving for the Cape in September, did you know?”

She did, and she knew Rogan was likely to sail there after his graduation. What she didn't know was whether she was glad about that … or utterly devastated.

It rained on the day of the fete, which prompted a rush to reorganize inside the rectory hall. Of course it was impossible to move so many booths indoors, so there was a scramble to locate enough tables for the ladies to display their baked goods and preserves in the rectory hall.

“To think we spent all that time on them booths,” Mrs. Croft complained to Evy. “It won't be nearly as attractive now. Lets hope the villagers turn out.”

It was a tradition for the squire's family to support the fete, so about an hour into the event Lady Elosia arrived in the family coach with Arcilla and Parnell. Evy looked around for Rogan, but did not see him. Patricia Bancroft, she thought. If she could keep him away, she would.

Apparently, though, Patricia hadn't succeeded, for Rogan came a short time later. Patricia was not with him.

Evy admitted her surprise that Rogan had actually shown as he said he would. Maybe the Bancroft's had returned to London, and he had nothing to entertain him. Evy watched Rogan and Parnell from where she stood behind a long serving table covered with a white lace cloth embroidered with spring tulips.

Dr. Tisdale's wife was at the next table dipping a ladle into a huge bowl of punch, while Alice cavorted about as though she were a guest. Evy could not remember a time when Alice actually assisted her mother at any of the events. But then, Mrs. Tisdale thought her daughter too important for such menial work as the other rectory girls endured. Mrs. Tisdale looked none the worse for manning the table alone. She was
doing a brisk business selling her punch, and she smiled as the coins continued to plunk into the container.

Alice stopped by to see what Evy was selling. “Our punch bowl is Viennese crystal.” She flipped her hair back. “Mum bought it in Vienna when we went there on tour two years ago.” The pitying glance she directed at her set Evy's nerves on edge. “You should have
seen
the music theater!
Too
awfully grand! I simply
must
go again.”

Evy held her tongue, but her thoughts would not be silent.
Alice will be in for a bumpy landing once she comes down from her high horse. How can she possibly expect to marry Rogan when Patricia Bancroft has already been approved by the Chantry and Bancroft families?

Evy turned her attention from Alice to Parnell Chantry. He looked a great deal older since having finished at the university. He divided his time now between Rookswood and the London branch office, where he was learning about the family's South African diamond business.

Both brothers looked dashing in their rich attire as they stood beside Lady Elosia and Arcilla. They were soon performing the social duties of the squire's family, bowing to the ladies and complimenting them on their goods.

A woman holding a tray approached Evy's table. Evy held the tongs to a fat apple tart, watching Rogan as Alice approached him.