by Maureen Lang
“What’s hard to believe about Dana dating a nice guy?”
“I just thought he was a little too good-looking, but he doesn’t act like he knows it.” Luke looked at the table, set with dishes and so far only garlic bread. “Are we eating now or later?”
“Oh,” Talie said, scooting over to the stove top, where she’d left the spaghetti. “I know you can’t ask a bunch of personal stuff during an interview, but did you get any feel for what kind of guy he is? Faithwise . . . womanwise?”
Luke frowned. “I’m not going to screen the men Dana decides to date, Talie. Or be responsible for a breakup if I read things wrong, one way or the other. I agreed to interview the guy because he really is an architect and I happen to need one. His credentials are great, and he’s smart. That’s all I know; that’s all I need to know.”
“But what was your impression?” T alie persisted. “I mean, sometimes you get a feel for someone’s lifestyle just by talking to them.”
“Let’s just say I didn’t have a bunch of red flags waving in my head, okay? Dana can find out what she needs to know about him without our help.”
Just then Ben fussed and Talie picked him up. It wouldn’t be the first time she held him during dinner, and he might even want a taste of her noodles.
When Luke asked about her day, she knew she couldn’t press for more details about Aidan. Maybe it was just as well; she’d been looking for something to worry about, and Dana’s love life was certainly handy. But Luke was probably right; Dana would have to find out for herself if Aidan’s faith was sincere. So far, it appeared so.
Not that having him work for Luke wouldn’t give all of them plenty of opportunity to get to know him. Having Dana and Aidan over for dinner to celebrate his new position was the least she could do.
“I’ve decided to put together a scrapbook of those old postcards my dad collected when he did all that traveling before he met my mom. It’ll be quite a project, since I’ll have to cut and reinforce the pages so you can see the front and back, but it’ll be fun. I’ll give it to my mom for Christmas, so she can read all of the notes my dad wrote about different places and what he did.”
“Sounds great. So you’ve abandoned the family tree info? Or is that ready for me to start on?”
Talie fed a spoonful of noodles to Ben, who coughed just as he took it in. Grabbing a handful of napkins, she wiped his face, her shirt.
“Talie?”
“What?”
“The family tree info?”
“I’ve been so busy with this new project, but I’ll get to it.”
She felt his eyes on her but kept her own on Ben. The ancestral line reminded her of Cosima’s journal. Even though the pages no longer seemed to emphasize the supposed curse, the underlying reality remained with it . . . something Talie was still reluctant to acknowledge. It was hard to read without worrying.
She should go back to worrying about Dana’s love life instead.
* * *
At four o’clock in the morning, after singing Ben back to sleep, Talie left his room feeling an oddly familiar sense of nausea. But this was no flu; she was almost sure of that. She would go to the drugstore today. There was one sure way of finding out if this queasiness was familiar for a reason.
12
Today I finally made the acquaintance of the much-admired Lord Peter Hamilton. Of course, we had met before we were formally introduced, but no one must ever know of that indiscretion. And no one ever shall, so long as this journal remains in my possession. . . .
After a fitful night’s sleep, Cosima rose just as the sun sent a tentative ray of light through the gap in the middle of the curtains. Quickly splashing herself with the cool water left in the pitcher in the dressing room, she shed her nightgown and stepped into the petticoats, camisole, and dress she had brought with her from the yellow room the night before. The bow at the back gave her some trouble, but she managed well enough. She combed her hair, used tooth powder from her tapestry bag, and slipped on her shoes. Then she returned to the bed to set the covers aright. Better to have the fossil collector thinking her like common folk to do such menial labor than to have him looking at the covers she’d mussed.
With the curtains wide and the sun pouring in, the room looked bright and inviting with its silver-flecked green designs. The chaise longue before the firebox was upholstered in green leaves and silver branches, with a light cream-colored background. She sat on it, staring at the rocks at her feet. Picking up a broken one, she ran a finger over ridges that formed an image of a small, lizardlike creature.
“I don’t know why You’ve left behind such evidence for us, Lord,” she said, “but ’tis a wonder indeed.”
A gentle tap sent her heart racing. She popped to her feet, opening the door and peeking around its edge.
Last night’s visitor filled her vision, so large did he appear in the doorway. He was taller than her father, lean at the waist but with muscular legs that filled the riding breeches he wore. He seemed a little like the giant she’d pictured David having fought all those years ago, a strong soldier who could intimidate any enemy.
But Cosima hardly felt like an enemy, even if having him come to collect his rocks at this time of the morning might be considered risky to her reputation. His mustached mouth smiled in a reflection of the smile she offered, and without a word she stepped aside to let him in. She did not close the door, though, in spite of a wish for no one to see him.
“I see you’re studying the fossils,” he said.
Cosima remembered the rock she still held. “Oh yes,” she said, handing it to him. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. That’s why I collect them—for people to look at. Once I clean and document them in my records, I usually donate the better ones to the history department at the museum. That way everyone can see them.”
She helped him pack some of the rocks from the far end of the line he’d created the night before. “I believe we have a great deal to learn about God’s creation,” she said, “but I think all of it will point to the same thing as Christ’s death on the cross: how much we’re loved.”
In that moment he stopped what he was doing, and Cosima felt him study her, even as she held out one of his fossils for him to replace in his bag. Instead of accepting it, he caught her gaze and held that. She wanted to look away, to break what seemed to be a merger, at least of thoughts and interests, but she found herself unable to cool this instantaneous affinity. She should but simply didn’t want to.
At last he did accept the proffered rock, placed it with the others, and stood up, holding the full sack.
Just then someone tapped on the frame of the open door. Fearing a maid had discovered them, Cosima looked, wide-eyed, only to see Beryl Hamilton standing before them with a broad smile on her pretty face.
“Good morning, Cosima. I see you’ve met my brother Peter.”
Cosima eyed the man before her once again. So this was Peter Hamilton. Somehow his identity came as little surprise. He was the brother both Berrie and Christabelle extolled—and best friend to Reginald.
“Good morning, Berrie,” said Peter as he fastened his bag. “I was just leaving for a ride in the park and was going to drop off these rocks but found the room occupied.”
Instead of eyeing them suspiciously as she might have done, since he had obviously just closed his bag and left a circle of dust at his feet inside the bedroom, Beryl laughed. Not a little giggle but a laugh so large she had to cover her mouth for propriety’s sake.
“Beryl,” said Peter, and his tone took on a new dimension, almost as if he were a father figure and not an older brother. He took two long strides closer to his sister. She stood barely as high as his chest, and Peter, with one hand still on the sack, took his free hand and pulled one of hers into his. “This was a prank, wasn’t it?”
“And it worked!” She laughed again, though with Peter so close this laugh was considerably more demure. At last she looked from her brother to Cos
ima and took a step farther into the room, closer to Cosima.
“I owe you an apology, Cosima,” she said, and even though her words sounded sincere her eyes were still full of mirth. “I was fully expecting my brother to come home last night, and I hoped he would stop here as he often does when he collects fossils. That’s why I recommended this room. Tell me, you did meet last night, didn’t you?”
Peter gave Cosima no chance to answer. “Beryl, if I didn’t have Miss Escott’s best interest in mind, I’d drag you downstairs to Mother this minute and have you confess your whole sordid trick.” Lord Peter’s voice was sterner than Cosima would have expected. “Do you know you could have had her screaming in the night, fearing for her life?”
Beryl grabbed one of Cosima’s hands in hers. She still had a recalcitrant smile on her face, but the look in her eyes showed the first hint of contrition. “I didn’t think of that, I suppose. I just thought it might be a fun way for the two of you to meet. No harm done?”
Cosima patted Beryl’s hand. “Well, I suppose if I’d known it was your doing while I cowered in the corner waiting for your brother to leave I might have been peevish. But no real harm done.”
Beryl laughed again. “But it was fun, wasn’t it? Even cowering in the corner?”
“You’re as bad as Christabelle,” accused Peter. “I always thought she was the prankster.”
“No, she’s only the one who gets caught.”
Cosima eyed Lord Peter again as he hoisted his bag over his shoulder. She knew he was about to leave, but something told her she couldn’t let him go without telling him why she was here. She must tell him because there had been something in his eyes. . . or maybe she’d imagined it because she wished it to be there. Whatever the truth, she felt compelled to speak.
“So you are Reginald’s friend, Lord Peter.”
He eyed her as if surprised she’d mentioned Reginald’s name. “Reg? Do you know Reginald?”
“He brought me here from Ireland . . . to wed him.”
“Wed him,” Lord Peter said quietly. Had he repeated her words with some disappointment, or was that just her own silly, eager imagination?
He adjusted the bag on his shoulder and glanced from Cosima to his sister with what looked like briefly narrowed eyes. Then he smiled Cosima’s way, so quickly that Cosima thought she might have imagined any fleeting discomfort on Lord Peter’s part. “Congratulations, I should say. Reginald is a champion, a great friend, and a good fellow. Smart, that one. And I must say,” he added softly, “his taste in choosing a fiancée is flawless. Now if you’ll excuse me, ladies, I will be off before anyone discovers Berrie’s mischief. Good day.”
And then he left.
Beryl laughed again, turning fully to Cosima. “Tell me, what do you think of him?”
“Well . . . he’s very nice. . . .”
“Nice?” Beryl repeated, obviously disappointed. “Is that all?”
Intent on hiding any hint of her confusing feelings, Cosima put one hand on her hip. “Now, Berrie, you really ought not to have done that. Have you forgotten why I’m here to begin with? To marry Reginald Hale?”
Beryl’s face twisted as if she’d bitten into a sour fruit. “Oh, Reginald. He’s not for you, Cosima.”
“And why not? He’s been very kind to me, and besides—” Cosima stopped herself short. She didn’t want to go into details as to why her prospects were so few. Beryl herself would regret any action to throw Cosima together with her brother if she knew about the curse.
Beryl took up the conversation as if she hadn’t noticed Cosima’s unfinished sentence. “Cosima, sit with me a moment, won’t you? We can talk here without being disturbed, especially at this hour of the day.”
They took seats on the chaise longue. Cosima leaned forward, for whatever Beryl wanted to share Cosima felt eager to hear, especially if it had to do with Lord Peter.
“My brother is a wonderful man,” Beryl said. “Now I know I have a biased opinion, because he is my brother, but perhaps that makes me a better judge. Who could know him better than someone who lives under the same roof? Two years ago he was engaged to be wed, and the woman hurt him badly by being unfaithful. For that reason he’s shown remarkably little interest in women, even avoiding the balls where there are so many eligible girls eager to be noticed by him. But I believe it’s been long enough to get over Nan. Both Mama and Papa want him to be wed, of course—he is the heir. But I just want him to be happy.”
“We all wish that for someone we love,” Cosima said gently. “But I cannot help him, Berrie. You must know that.”
“Why? Your engagement to Reginald isn’t known. It hasn’t been announced and certainly banns haven’t been posted. From what I gathered last night, I believe Reginald is a relative stranger to you. You should feel no obligation whatsoever to wed him.”
Cosima shook her head. How quickly Beryl’s wishes would cool if Cosima simply revealed her family history. But she couldn’t. Whether it was the same pride that ran through her mother or something else, Cosima didn’t know, but at that moment she could not tell Beryl all the reasons she was unsuitable for her brother.
“I came here under the agreement to get to know Reginald better, Berrie. I cannot go back on that agreement.”
“Well, once you know him better I doubt you’ll want to wed him.”
Curious, Cosima asked, “Is there something about Reginald you would like to tell me?”
Beryl brushed her palms on the pale pink silk of her morning gown. “I know my brother and parents are fond of him. He can be charming, I’ll admit. But there is something about him. . . . I’ve never really trusted him, I suppose.”
“Trusted him?”
Beryl stood. “I shouldn’t say more if you are intent on getting to know him yourself. I’ve no wish to cloud your impression, and to be honest, I believe Reginald cannot help but reveal his true self to you. I just hope it will be sooner rather than later.”
Cosima smiled sympathetically, tempted to press the matter but thinking there could be only one reason for Beryl’s words. “Not everyone can live up to the example your brother sets, Berrie.”
Even Cosima knew that, and she’d only just met him.
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.
