On Sparrow Hill (27 page)

“Do you mind if I play the brash American and ask you something really personal, Lady Caroline?” asked Dana.

Rebecca was grateful Dana filled the silence as Rebecca couldn’t hope to do. Lady Caroline looked at Dana, the newsprint smile still in place. “Not at all.”

“I was under the impression that whatever sort of relationship you had with my cousin Quentin was over some time ago.”

Lady Caroline laughed. “Q and I will always be connected; we live in such a small world.”

“I supposed that’s true, since Quentin’s mother invited you to live at the cottage.”

Another laugh, one Rebecca couldn’t hope to match convincingly. “I’ve actually left as of this morning. That’s another reason I’ve stopped by, since the Hall was on my way. As I drove by, I said, ‘Why not?’ Why not stop in and introduce myself, let you know I won’t be at the cottage anymore, and why. Perhaps now the silly reporters will leave us be.”

While that was a welcome thought, something else was on Rebecca’s mind. “And does Quentin know?” she asked softly. “About your moving out, I mean?”

“Yes, we discussed it last night.” Lady Caroline laughed again. “He offered me his London flat.”

42

* * *

I know my brother insists everyone should fulfill each claim or promise that one makes, but honestly, Cosima, I started the day thinking this is not always wise. Simon was here again, and upon seeing him this morning, he said he hoped I would agree to meet him in the family parlor tonight so we could see about that “civil” conversation we agreed to attempt. All day the prospect distracted me, so by this evening I had worked myself into feeling quite shy about the whole thing. Imagine that. Me, shy. I knew I needed to work myself out of that emotion, the quicker the better.

Berrie stood by the fireplace, looking at anything except the man in front of her. She could tell from the periphery of her vision he was every bit as uncomfortable as she was, if she could judge such a thing by the rigid set of his shoulders and the wary way he watched her.

She hadn’t felt so unsettled since immediately following her debut ball, when the first of a line of beaus came calling, all of whom found one reason or another to cast her aside. She simply didn’t have the temperament to sustain a man’s interest. That was hardly necessary now; all she had to do was carry on a simple, polite conversation, not try to convince this man she could play the role of a demure society wife.

“Shall we sit?” Simon invited.

She nodded, taking a seat on the edge of Mrs. Cotgrave’s favorite chair. The Wolsey was a lounging chair, but Berrie had no intention of relaxing. She wished it were time for tea, but they’d just finished dessert with the staff and students, and it would be odd indeed to order something from the kitchen just now. Not that she would be able to eat anything, but stirring a spoon might have taken away some of her nervousness.

“I asked Mrs. Cotgrave to see that we’re not disturbed,” Simon said, taking a seat opposite her. “She entirely agrees that your hours are too long and you ought to take time in the day to sit without someone demanding something of you.”

He must have no idea this conversation demanded far more of her than sitting with the children did. “I have a brother who is an MP, Mr. MacFarland. I work no harder than he does. When he’s in session, he often arrives home late at night, as I’m sure you do when necessary.” A muscle in her back pinched, but she refused to sit at ease.

“Which is perhaps one of the reasons sessions only last a season, not the entire year. And my name, as you know, is Simon.”

He’d added that last statement with a softer voice, and her gaze shifted to his. “Before we attempt to have a polite conversation, I have a rather obvious question.”

He lifted an inviting brow.

“How do you suppose two people who’ve barely exchanged a word beyond those in anger will accomplish such a thing? You’ve as much as said you hate everything English, you don’t approve of my work, and more important than either of those facts, our faith seems to be in opposition.”

He shook his head. “I obviously don’t hate everything English, or I would not be an MP, and I would assuredly not allow Katie to stay in an English-funded school. As for not approving of your work, I thought I made it clear that I admire what you’re doing here. I understand you’re not looking to cure any of your students or teach them out of their maladies. You accept reality, and I admire you for it.”

“You believe that what I do is a trifling matter. This is what I’ve been called to do. It’s the reason I intend never to marry.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

If he thought their attempt at amiable conversation might be a step toward anything more personal than being able to tolerate each other’s company for Katie’s sake, he might have shrugged off the effort, stood, and immediately departed. He did none of that. Instead, he offered such a confidently charming smile Berrie was tempted to smile in return.

“Never,” he repeated slowly, “is a very strong commitment, Berrie. A long one, too, for someone as young as yourself.”

“Yes,” she said, her certitude matching his doubt. “You didn’t mention our faith. I take it you agree we have a vast difference there, and it is one of the things we should avoid discussing. Along with English law, I assume, despite your position as an MP. Anything else?”

“You miss the point, Berrie. We know we have differences, but that shouldn’t make us feel as though we can’t achieve a worthwhile discussion about such things. Perhaps we might learn something from each other.”

Now it was her turn to doubt his words. “I think we’ve proven already we can’t keep a civil tongue when we’re on those topics.”

“Perhaps eventually we’ll start listening to one another.”

No sense trying to avoid at least one topic, then. “I’m ready to listen now, about your faith at least.” Berrie was satisfied to see his smile dim. Maybe the task at hand would prove impossible and she could get back to work.

“You’ve never heard me denounce faith in God.”

“How generous of you not to deny His existence,” she said. “But were we to discuss our faith with anything less than a difference of opinion, I think you would need to go a bit further than that.”

“I don’t speak of my faith,” he told her.

Something in his tone or manner warned her to leave it at that. Certainly he would prefer if she did. Yet she couldn’t. “Katie seems to think you haven’t any faith at all.”

Simon looked briefly toward the open door. If he was stalling, weighing whether or not to speak about something he would rather not, it was working.

“My faith is still there, even though I’ve tried to be rid of it. Ultimately, though, I find I’m with the apostle Peter, who asked to whom then shall I go, if not the Lord?”

“Why did you want to be rid of it?”

“My parents died within a year of each other, both suddenly. My father had an accident in our factory. I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say ’twas not an easy task to watch him die of his injuries. Shortly after that my mother grew sick. Some sort of cancer, the physician told us. She seemed to want to be with God instead of us and was gone in a matter of months. Katie and Innis needed our mother’s guidance. Guidance I can’t provide. God left us without help.”

Simon stopped as if surprised by his own words or maybe the hard tone behind them. He had the same sort of look on his face as when he’d kissed her that first time.

She might not admit she’d welcomed that kiss or the one that followed, but Berrie did welcome his words now, admitting he wasn’t without faith. His words proved he wasn’t as invulnerable as he wanted everyone to believe. “But God brought Katie here. Perhaps He’s sending you the guidance you need, only on His timetable.”

“You could be right,” he said slowly. “Although the way Katie arrived here didn’t seem to be by the hand of God.”

She smiled. “No, but nothing happens He isn’t aware of.”

“And what about you, Berrie?” he asked. “Your faith has never wavered?”

She laughed. “Plenty of times. Not so much in God or His involvement in my life but in the choices He’s led me to. I was raised in a family that taught me to sing, to host successful galas, to be able to speak to the Queen and every rank beneath her. My parents are both wonderful people, faithful to God and each other. And yet they only let me be served rather than serve others. When God put the vision of this school in my heart, I knew it would take a servant’s heart . . . and I wasn’t sure I possessed one.” As she heard her own words, she marveled at how easily the truth fell from her lips.

“You believe now that you possess a servant’s heart, don’t you?”

Berrie nodded slowly, thinking of the tasks she did every day that she never could have done without the strength and assurance of knowing God had placed her where she was.

He leaned forward, an emphatic prelude to his words. “Then your school is a success on every level. For you, the families, the students themselves.”

“I’m not sure I expected to hear such a statement from you, Mr. MacFarland.” Then, holding his gaze, she added, “Simon.”

He welcomed her use of his given name with a smile.

“What of other topics we shouldn’t discuss?” she asked, wishing her voice hadn’t sounded so breathless. She’d forgotten to breathe for a moment. “Politics, for one. Shall we venture there?”

His smile disappeared and she wondered at herself. Had that been her purpose—to cancel the sense of companionship that had been sprouting? No wonder she’d pushed every beau in London away; she knew how to fling words like cannonballs.

“I will admit something to you, Berrie, that only occurred to me since meeting you.”

She waited.

“I almost accomplished hating the English, because of what happened when the potatoes grew foul those years. Ships that my factory built carried goods outside this country—wheat and barley and livestock—that could have fed the mouths that went hungry for lack of a potato.”

The force behind Simon’s words made her wonder if he had indeed accomplished that hatred for everything English. Perhaps he wondered it too, because he glowered rather than gazed at her, until in a moment that softened.

“I’m sorry.” His smile reappeared through the frown. “I still struggle, as you can see, to remember individuals do not always represent the whole. Precisely why God must have wanted us to meet. I need someone to remind me of that.”

“But why would He bring someone whom you can barely tolerate? I should think He would have given you someone you would welcome.”

Since he’d moved to the edge of his seat and leaned forward, and she’d chosen to sit on the edge of the Wolsey, they were already closer than necessary. He barely had to reach to take her hands in his. “Do you wish to convince me I cannot tolerate you, Berrie, even when I’ve admitted more than once I admire you? I’ll not accept that all we have in common is an interest in kissing. You are brave, intelligent, hardworking, and above all, stubborn. As Katie observed, you’re very much like me.”

Berrie looked down at their hands. Something was changing here too quickly for her to sort. She should pull away. Instead her fingers wrapped tighter around his. “I’m not sure two people as opinionated as we are have business attempting even so much as a friendship.”

He freed one of her hands, allowing his own to touch her face, to stroke her cheek from the bottom of her ear along her jaw to just beneath her mouth. “Since I’ve met you,” he said, “you’ve never been far from my mind. I don’t want you to be.”

He was going to kiss her; she knew he was, and more than that, she wanted him to. But she couldn’t let him. That was one area in which they’d already established an affinity, one she couldn’t allow. She raised a hand, shifting farther back in the Wolsey but leaving one hand in his. “I told you—I’m not planning to be wed. Not ever.”

He frowned. “I don’t believe you mean that.”

She lifted her free hand to draw his attention to the room and beyond, to all it represented. “I have work. Important work. I don’t see how I can be married and work at the same time.”

“I realize whatever I say to that will do little for my cause to woo you. If I agree that your work is important, which I believe is true, then you’ll have won any argument against marriage. If I say it isn’t important, you’ll have nothing to do with me.” He smiled slowly. “But what if I tell you I planned for you to say that and I’ve come up with a solution?”

She lifted one brow.

“We have two options, only one of which I think you’ll be interested in, but I’ll propose both anyway. One would be for you to hire more help and give most of the responsibility to Mrs. Cotgrave, who is obviously well qualified—”

He cut himself off at her frown. She didn’t have to speak.

“And the other option would be for us to have a very unconventional marriage.” Simon stopped again, his smile broader. “Did you note, Berrie, that I said the word
marriage
without—what did you call it?—without strangulation.”

She tried to laugh but could barely breathe. “Well done.” Though brief, the words sounded raspy.

“Why couldn’t we be married and both of us work? People in Ireland do it all the time.”

She wanted to object, to stand, to leave, and started to do so, but her hand wouldn’t leave his. “I’m sure they live under the same roof, those farmers and weavers and washerwomen.” Not a very strong objection; she knew she could do better than that.

“I admit it wouldn’t be ideal, since somehow I have a hard time envisioning you following me about in my career, and I cannot feasibly continue to stay here with you. But my shipbuilding business in Dublin nearly runs itself. It was necessary to hire the appropriate people once my father died, and it’s gone very well, though I’m away for extended periods. My work in Parliament is something else; there will be times I’m away for months on end.”

Berrie stood, winning the battle to break contact with him. She faced the fireplace instead of Simon. The stone mantelshelf felt cool beneath her heated palms. “I’m the headmistress here. The only headmistresses I know of are either spinsters, as I plan to be, or widows, like Mrs. Cotgrave.”