His mouth thinned, and she saw clear disdain in his dark eyes. “Is it necessary, then, to protect him as though he were a child, with no wisdom or determination of his own?”
Words failed her at the cold accusation. Was that what she was doing? She remained silent, considering.
After a moment, he changed the subject. “You are returning to the music school soon?”
She pulled herself from her pondering and nodded. “Yes … in a few weeks.”
“Maybe I will see you in London.”
“I do not see how or why you should bother.”
A sardonic hint of smile touched his mouth at her candor. She hoped he did not believe she wanted to elicit some reason why he wanted to see her. She had not meant it that way, but he was quite capable, in his conceit, of thinking so.
“Ah well, I must be going or I’ll be late for my father’s meeting in the library. That would never do. Every letter from Sir Julien is a grand occasion. My uncle always has his way—even from across the Atlantic.”
“Perhaps the letter has to do with your brother’s voyage to South Africa,” she said, trying not to sound too interested.
“Yes. And mine, no doubt. The family in Capetown have a sudden and particular interest in us, which is curious”—a slight frown settled on his brow—“and a little worrisome.”
What could he mean by that? What particular interest? But Rogan did not elaborate, and she would not be so forward as to ask. Instead, she headed the conversation another direction. “Do you remember the time we were nearly caught by Sir Julien in Master Henry’s rooms?”
She would have thought the memory would bring him a smile, but instead a certain thoughtful concern showed in his gaze, as though his mind traveled far away, perhaps to Sir Julien himself in Capetown.
“Yes, I remember. But he only caught me there. He has since made light of it, but somehow I do not think he really accepted my explanation.”
“Did he ever learn that I was with you?”
Rogan shrugged. “I never told him. I would have expected him to question you if he knew. Then, again, Sir Julien is rather odd. Sometimes I think he did know. By the way, have you heard from Lady Camilla since she was here?”
“No. For her sake I hope she has come to know I am not her husband’s mystery child.”
Rogan didn’t respond. He simply studied her features.
She met his gaze, wondering at the shift in his mood, and he smiled a little.
“Well, Miss Evy, it’s been … interesting. We will talk again. Au revoir.” He turned and walked away.
She watched him leave through the front hall door. Why had he brought up Lady Camilla? And why did she get the distinct impression that Rogan did not quite trust his Uncle Julien?
As she turned back to the table of tarts, she could not help but shiver. Rogan … Sir Julien … Master Henry … Try as she might, she couldn’t escape thinking about them. Nor could she dislodge the uneasy feeling that their family secrets were more than a touch sinister.
She could only be grateful they had nothing to do with her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Evy’s uncertainty over Aunt Grace took a swift upsurge during the next several weeks. It was late August, and Dr. Tisdale informed Evy that her aunt was suffering from a serious attack of bronchitis that might linger into the winter months ahead.
“She is quite frail and will need care.”
She stood beside him in the doorway to her aunt’s small room, watching Aunt Grace sleep. Her sallow cheeks were pronounced, as were the purplish shadows beneath her eyes.
“Keep the room warm and dry.” The doctor nodded to Evy, and left—taking with him Evy’s hopes of returning to London and music school.
She found solace in long walks in the woods, where she thought and prayed. She knew there were scant resources for her schooling, and her aunt’s health required that she remain with her.
Evy wished she could go to the stables to borrow the horse she learned to ride when she first came to Rookswood, but with Arcilla away for a short stay at Heathfriar to visit Patricia and be near Charles, she was reluctant to impose upon the squire’s kindness.
She went out in the late afternoons, when the sun dipped low and cast a shimmer on the yellow-red leaves of August. The starkness of color, combined with the moan of the wind through the treetops in the otherwise pervading silence, touched her spirit with a melancholy she could not understand. Walking seemed her only solace.
Once on the little-used trail that led into the woods, she could walk undisturbed until she came to a small hill. Here, she could see Rookswood, especially the west side of the great house.
How she had enjoyed her early years, both in the rectory and at Rookswood. Everything was changing now that they were nearly grown and out of school. What would the future hold? If Sir Julien arranged for Arcilla to marry Peter Bartley against her will, that would of necessity end Evy’s friendship with her. Arcilla would be busy with her new life in Capetown, distance and change would leave no opportunity for a continued relationship with her old governess’s niece. Their lives would be so different.
And what of Evy’s plans? Everything was so uncertain. She only had three months of paid classes left. Once Evy returned for the Christmas holidays, they would have to pay for any further schooling. But even more important, her ailing aunt needed her here.
No, Evy had little choice. She would have to find work teaching piano to children in the parish. There would always be new Megs and Emily’s who would come along. Already the two girls were engaged to marry next year, and they would soon be having babies. Evy smiled to herself, for she could almost hear Uncle Edmund’s voice on the wind in the autumn leaves, quoting one of the Bible verses he had asked her to memorize: “For I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.”
As she stood on the windy hillock looking off at Rookswood, the dry colorful leaves on the trees rattled in the breeze, accompanied by another sound … hoofbeats?
She spun just in time to see Rogan maneuver his horse from among the trees onto an open area, holding the mount steady.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
Although his presence disturbed the tranquility of her emotions, she felt a rush of exhilaration. Rogan always brought her a challenge.
He looked down at her. “I saw you walking up the trail. You come here often. You must enjoy the view.”
She drew her shawl tighter as the wind swirled her cotton skirts at her ankles.
“Rather a bleak day for a comfortable walk.” He lifted his face to the wind. “There wasn’t much of a summer, was there?”
Somehow she read more into his words, hearing the truth that the carefree days of youth were fast coming to a close. There would be inevitable partings, some of them permanent.
“I like to walk in the cool brisk wind,” she said just to be contrary and to avoid emotions that weakened her resolve not to respond to his almost magnetic appeal.
“Well, there’s no accounting for people’s tastes. I am surprised Derwent is not with you, though. An aptly secluded spot for a late afternoon rendezvous.” He glanced toward the dim woods as he slid from the saddle. “Or did he see me and decide to hide?”
How could she be so attracted to one so very irritating? “Once again, you are wrong. And I think you know it. I did not come here to rendezvous with Derwent or anyone else. Besides, Derwent is no doubt busily attending to the vicar’s needs, just as I must do shortly with my aunt.”
“What is wrong with the vicar?” He walked up to stand near her on an edge overlooking the grassy meadow.
“Age, I fear … How do you know I come here often?”
His smile was quick and warm. “I cannot tell you all my secrets.”
Had he seen her in the afternoons from a window in the west wing? Interesting that he had never troubled to join her until today.
“I remember you often enjoyed riding with my sister. Why do you avoid the stables now?�
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“It would be rather bold of me, I daresay, since your sister remains at Heathfriar.”
“Ah, you are timid about riding alone, then. That can be remedied. I don’t leave for London until next week.”
His nearness was entirely too distracting, and she forced herself to look away, struggling to appear indifferent. “I am so busy now.”
“Why not go riding with me?”
“You misunderstood me about being timid. How I feel about my access to the Chantry stables has nothing to do with the fear of riding alone. I have always enjoyed being alone, to some degree. I meant that it would be bold of me to make use of the Chantry stables on my own. It was different when I was Arcilla’s companion. The only reason I even learned to ride was because Lady Elosia wanted a companion for Arcilla during her lessons.”
It was no secret that Arcilla actually felt reluctant about riding. She did so merely because it enabled her to be out and away from family eyes. Evy was the only one who knew that Arcilla had used those occasions to chatter with village boys.
“Granted, that is the reason you learned to ride”—Rogan inclined his dark head—“but now it is I who need a riding companion. So you can accompany me while I am here.”
She gave a short laugh. “I hardly think you have difficulty finding a suitable companion.”
“That is where you are wrong.” His smile sent a shiver of awareness dancing up her spine. “I gather you think because I am a Chantry I can have everything I want?”
“Most everything.”
“Ah, wrong again. It is not so. I am particular, you see. And I wish for your company. Who better could I have than the girl from the rectory, chosen by my aunt for our sweet Arcilla’s betterment?” He reached out to pat his horse’s neck. “I am sure my aunt would also agree that your company would benefit me.”
Evy could find no suitable retort. What was he trying to do? Wrapping her shawl tightly around her, she warned her emotions to be still and moved away from him. “It is later than I thought. I must be going now.”
He ignored her statement. “Arcilla never really enjoyed riding, but I noticed that you did. I doubt if she ever would have mastered it if not for your lead. Though she was nervous about it, she felt motivated not to be outdone.”
Evy hesitated, turning back to him. “I’m surprised you recognized that.”
“It goes along with her tendency to be in the spotlight.” He laughed. “I know my dear sister very well indeed. Now it is balls and outings. Of course, Charles is ready to flatter and charm her. I think he has already fallen for her.”
“Arcilla is a beautiful woman. Naturally men will notice.”
“Yes. And she does many foolish things. I suspect she gets the tendency from not having a mother to teach her. Lady Elosia, bless her heart, is, well—Lady Elosia.”
Evy smiled, rather surprised to hear him speak this way. He had never given any evidence that he thought Arcilla was unwise where men were concerned.
He met her smile with one of his own. “Feel free to use the stables whenever the fancy takes you.”
The clearly sincere offer warmed her in ways she knew it should not. “Thank you, but presently walking suits me just fine. It offers me time to think.”
“And you can’t think while riding?” His smile told her he didn’t believe her. “I thought you handled your mount in a very relaxed manner. You could learn to be an excellent rider. A shame I will not be here long enough to give you some advanced lessons.”
At his meaningful smile, Evy looked away.
Run! her mind screamed. Stay! her heart pled.
She cleared her throat. “You are leaving for the university?”
“Next week.” His tone turned cajoling. “Yet there is time for a few lessons.”
He was nothing if not persistent. “The sun will set in an hour. I must get back.”
“We have time. You needn’t be concerned. I will see you back to the cottage.”
“I—I really must get back. You see, I never stay here long. It is mostly the walk I enjoy.”
“You rise early. Meet me at the stables at eight. You can ride with me just as you rode with Arcilla.”
It was all she could do to meet that steady gaze. Her heart beat rapidly, and she scolded it, furious with both Rogan and herself.
This is nothing more to him than a mild flirtation, an amusing entertainment. A culmination of their childhood relationship before he went away. It would go nowhere, nor was it supposed to. But for all that she knew that was true, Evy felt as though a dangerous and life-changing trap was closing about her. She must not get involved with Rogan. Not even lightly.
“I have so much work to do tomorrow—”
“It cannot be all that urgent. I shall have you back before ten o’clock.”
It is urgent.
A dark brow shot up, and he offered the cryptic smile she was beginning to know so well. He did not believe her. He leaned his arm against the saddle, studying her. She could only guess what was in his mind.
She glanced away from him. “I told Derwent I would choose the hymns for Sunday. I usually go there by half past eight.”
“How long can it possibly take to choose a few hymns? No more than twenty minutes, is my guess, not to make light of hymns, you understand. Actually, I am very fond of church music. I have even studied its history.”
She turned and looked at him. He watched her evenly, as though measuring her response. Was he trying a different bait?
“You … studied church music?”
“There! You see?” He looked utterly wounded. “Everything I do is suspect!”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Not quite everything. But you do not remind me of someone interested in music or history.”
“Suspicion, suspicion. My interest in church music should convince you not to avoid me.”
Her brows arched this time. “Avoid you?”
“Like a frightened little bird, ready to peep and fly away the moment I come into view … especially when you are alone.” His voice dropped to a soft murmur. “What could you be afraid of, I wonder?”
Her heart felt as though a hand had seized it, squeezing it with fierce determination. She spun away from him, striding down the path in the direction of the cottage and Aunt Grace, back to safety and security.
He was far too close to the heart of her true feelings. How had he known? It did not matter, but it was risky that he knew. What else could he guess from reading her eyes?
“Then I will see you at the rectory in the morning.” His laughing voice chased her down the hill. “I will help you choose the hymns, and we will have our little ride afterward.”
“You would not enjoy choosing the hymns,” she called over her shoulder.
He caught up with her at that, leading his horse. A smile touched his mouth again. “You think I am really that crass?”
She jerked to a halt, facing him. “That’s not what I meant.”
He leaned close to her, and the warmth of his breath on her face nearly stopped her heart. “Then I shall surprise you, Miss Evy. Did you know I am quite adept at playing the violin?”
Her mouth fell open. The violin she’d seen in the piano room. So it had been his. She narrowed her gaze. Or had it?
“You?” She allowed a slight laugh. “I can’t imagine such a thing.”
Was there regret in his smile as he shook his head at her. “Oh, my dear Miss Evy, you’ve been quite wrong about me.”
She crossed her arms. “You never played the violin before going to school in London.”
“That is where you are wrong again. My mother hired a maestro to teach me for years until she died. After that I rebelled and wanted nothing to do with it. But when I went to London I realized I could not shake off a love for good music.”
Could she believe him? He sounded so sincere … but then, he was a master at that.
“So I’ve been practicing again. Why should that shock you?”
She felt
the telltale heat enter her cheeks, and turned to his horse to stroke its smooth nose. “Because I can hardly see you playing beautiful music.”
“Then I must play for you sometime. How about Paganini’s Violin Concerto no. 2 in B Minor?”
She stared at him. “You’re not serious. It is a glorious piece! You’re jesting, surely.”
Clearly he found great satisfaction in her astonishment.
Piqued, Evy tossed her head. “Nothing you say you can do surprises me, but if you can really play Paganini—well, I shall certainly eat my words.”
His eyes glinted at that, and Evy felt a sudden dread. “Then we will one day put an end to your misconceptions, Miss Varley, and I shall play for you. On one condition—that you also play for me. I should like to hear Beethoven’s Piano Concerto no. 4.”
She winced at that. “You ask a great deal of me.”
She couldn’t tell if the glint in his gaze was mockery or admiration. “I am sure you can prevail. Do we have an agreement?”
She hesitated. “Yes … but I would feel more confident if knew I was returning to school for more training.”
“If?” He looked genuinely surprised. “I thought you loved piano.”
“I—I do. But things are not well for us at this time. Not with my aunt the way she is.”
At his thoughtful look she changed the subject. “If you give me enough time to practice, I will agree.”
“Then it’s done. This is wonderful. I have discovered something that proves you wrong about me.”
She almost laughed at the delight in his voice. “I really must be going now.”
“I will walk you back to the cottage.”
“There is no need. I do this most every afternoon.”
His smile opposed her. “I insist. I have detained you longer than usual, and the sun is setting. You need not be afraid of me.”
“I am not!”
His sideways glance was skeptical. “Then why do you not wish me to walk you back to the cottage?”
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