The Oak Leaves (24 page)

36

I stumbled on the stairs leading to the veranda, catching myself. The ballroom doors were before me, and I dared not glance around for fear of seeing someone looking my way. Breathing deeply, I paused. Why had I retraced my steps here?

It was the quickest way back into the house. I had no choice except to walk through the ballroom.

Wiping away tears stalled only by fear of having someone spot them, I stepped forward, determined to find my way upstairs. No one could detain me, not even the gentleman whose name was listed next on my dance card. Thankfully, the music had not yet resumed after the supper break.

Staring straight ahead so I would catch no one’s eye, I walked steadily through the crowd. To linger might draw attention, yet going too fast might do the same. And so with careful steps I wound my way through the room, barely breathing until nearing the interior doors leading to the hallway beyond. . . .

“Cosima!”

Cosima pretended she hadn’t heard. Surely the call was from Beryl, and much as Cosima needed a friendly face, she knew she couldn’t slow. She must go, and quickly, before tears, trapped only temporarily, escaped once again.

In the hall beyond the ballroom, a shadow thrust itself at her. Beryl flung her arms about Cosima in an instantly firm embrace. “Oh! I’m having the most wonderful time. I’ve been looking all over for you.” Beryl spoke into Cosima’s ear, holding her close. “There is the most wonderful man here, someone I’ve met only briefly before. His name is Lord Robert Welby, and he’s put himself on my card three times. He’s remarkable; wait until you meet him!”

Pulling back at last, Beryl looked at Cosima and her face changed from excited to concerned. “Cosima! You’ve been crying. Whatever is the matter?”

“I . . . can’t. . . . Please, I must leave. I’m sorry.”

She tried to turn away, but Beryl held her in place. “Leave the ball? But it’s barely half over.”

“No, not the ball,” Cosima said. “I need to leave your house entirely. I must leave England and go home.”

Beryl opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. She looked over Cosima’s shoulder, and for the first time Cosima noticed a steady stream of guests coming in from supper. People now filled the hallway, parting like a stream around an island to bypass Cosima and Beryl.

Beryl took one of Cosima’s hands and dodged the crowd heading in the opposite direction. She led Cosima past the conservatory and through a doorway she hadn’t noticed before. It opened to a narrow, unadorned stairway, and from the lack of decor, Cosima assumed it was only for servants. In a moment they were in the upstairs hall, not far from Beryl’s room.

“Thank you,” Cosima managed to say, knowing she couldn’t maintain control much longer. She didn’t know what she wanted most: to be alone with her tears or to flee. But how could she? She had only the money the dowager had given her to tip Beryl’s maid since her own maid had stayed at the Escott estate to avoid adding to the congestion of the gala. Cosima would need to send for Millie at once and arrange passage home. She had no idea how to do that in the middle of the night, but somehow she must.

Beryl closed the door behind them and lit several lamps.

Drawing a deep breath, as if she’d forgotten how to breathe and needed to catch up, Cosima turned to Beryl. She needed to be strong only a few moments more.

“Don’t stay, Berrie,” Cosima said, glad her words were clear if a bit unsteady. Perhaps she could be coherent after all. “You were enjoying the ball, and I don’t want to spoil it for you. I’m fine; I just need to be alone.”

“But you said you want to leave England! Do you think I’ll abandon you now, knowing how upset you are?” Beryl closed in, taking Cosima’s clasped hands in hers. “Have you spoken to Peter? Is that what this is about?”

Hearing his name shattered what tenuous hold Cosima had on control. She pried her fingers from Beryl’s and covered her face, letting the tears out at last.

Beryl pulled her into an embrace, this time far gentler than her happy one downstairs. “Oh, Cosima,” she whispered. “I cannot imagine what he said to you. I am certain he loves you.”

“He . . . does . . . or did. . . . I don’t know what he must feel now.”

Beryl led Cosima to one of the settees. “Tell me everything,” she entreated. “Whatever happened? If he loves you, I don’t understand why you’re crying.”

“Oh, Berrie, he didn’t know!” Cosima’s tears replenished themselves. “All this time I thought he knew.”

“Knew . . . about the supposed curse, you mean?” As she spoke, Beryl rose and went to the bureau in the corner, returning with a handkerchief and handing it to Cosima.

Cosima wiped her face. “Reginald said he told Peter everything. He specifically said he told Peter about the curse.”

“Reginald lied to you?”

With the handkerchief held under her nose, Cosima nodded.

“But why?”

Now Cosima shook her head, dabbing more tears. “I don’t know! He said something about not wanting anyone to dissuade him from marrying me, since he wants so much to gain acceptance into society through my name. Perhaps he thought Peter would discourage him, or perhaps he was ashamed of the lengths he was willing to go in order to achieve his goals. All I do know is that Peter had no idea he was falling in love with . . . with . . . someone like me.”

“But he does love you.”

Cosima shook her head again. “No, not really, Berrie. How could he, since he didn’t know all he needed to know about me? I’m sure he never would have been the least bit interested from the beginning if he’d been told the truth.”

“Did you talk about it tonight? Is that how he learned of your family’s . . . situation?”

Cosima stood and faced the cold fireplace, away from Beryl’s sympathetic gaze. She wrung the handkerchief in her hands. How could she tell Beryl of Lady Hamilton’s certainty that Cosima was not fit to be her daughter-in-law? Both of Beryl’s parents had been obvious in that opinion.

“If I’d been aware he didn’t know, I certainly would have told him long before today,” Cosima whispered.

Beryl came up behind her. “Perhaps he just needs time to adjust, to ponder the risk and decide what he really wants. I’m sure if he loves you, Cosima, he won’t give that up.”

“Your parents made it very clear they would never give their blessing if he still somehow wanted to marry me.”

“My parents? They know?”

Cosima nodded, swiping at more tears that came with recalling the look on Lady Hamilton’s face.

Beryl sank to one of the settees as if toilworn. Cosima was exhausted as well but knew rest would elude her. Not with an emotional upheaval invading her mind.

“None of us should be surprised,” Beryl said, staring ahead instead of at Cosima.

Curious, Cosima said, “Why?”

Beryl looked up at her. “I mean that we shouldn’t have been surprised Reginald lied. He’s as self-centered as they come, Cosima, and if anything good has come of this, it’s that you have reason to never speak to him again. At least you won’t marry
him.
”

Cosima moved to the settee opposite Beryl. “I should have stayed in Ireland. There I had a future that didn’t seem so lonely until now.”

“A future as a spinster?”

“Yes, but I planned to open a school for children like my brothers. I never really wanted to abandon that plan. Only I hoped . . . well, I hoped I could have shared my time between the school and here. If Peter and I . . .”

New tears fell, and she raised the wet handkerchief to her face once again.

Beryl must have noticed the condition of the cloth, for she rose and fetched another. “I think a school is an admirable plan,” she said gently, handing Cosima the unused handkerchief. “Perhaps I could help you. We can be the spinster schoolmarms, giving our lives for the betterment of those less fortunate.”

Cosima tried to smile at Beryl’s illustrious tone of voice, knowing her friend had hoped to achieve a lighter moment. But Cosima failed in her attempt to smile and smoothed away another tear. “What about your Lord . . . Welby, did you say? The one with three dances on your card.”

Beryl waved away the name. “Oh, we’ll just break each other’s heart. This past season in London was my second, you know. One more without a proposal and I’ll be labeled a failure. I rather like the idea of your school, Cosima. I didn’t know I had any options other than accepting some fop.”

“It didn’t sound like you thought Lord Welby a fop.”

Beryl shrugged. “At the moment, love frightens me. I think I shall let Lord Welby wait.”

“Don’t let my experience color your thinking, Berrie. If I didn’t carry a curse, your brother and I would likely be planning a wedding right now.”

The statement brought yet another round of tears, and Beryl moved to the settee on which Cosima sat, putting an arm about her shoulders. “I wouldn’t give up on my brother so quickly, Cosima. Give him time to think things through. And won’t you both let God in on whatever decision you make?”

Cosima’s heart felt like ice. God. He alone held the power to remove a curse . . . and hadn’t.

She shook her head. “No, I was foolish to believe, even for one evening, that I might be suitable for Peter. I’ve been right all along to discourage him. It was clear on your mother’s face. She couldn’t bear thinking the Hamilton legacy might end with Peter.”

Just then a tap sounded at the door.

Cosima’s heart jumped, and she exchanged surprised glances with Beryl.

“Who is it?” Beryl called.

“Peter.”

Cosima sprang to her feet, not knowing if she wanted to rush toward or away from the door. Beryl looked at her, silently motioning for permission to let Peter in.

“I . . . don’t know . . . ,” Cosima whispered.

“You must speak to him. You simply must.” Beryl moved toward the door. “Just a minute, Peter. Don’t go.” Then she stepped closer to Cosima and whispered, “You must hear him out, no matter what he says. And you’ll not be alone. I’ll stay if you like, but if not, the Lord is with you always.”

“Oh, Beryl . . . I don’t know what the Lord could have been thinking to let things become so dreadful!”

“I don’t know, Cosima, but I do know He’s promised to be with us through whatever He allows our way.
All and whatever.
Remember your grandfather’s words.”

Cosima closed eyes that burned with an apparently endless supply of moisture.
All and whatever, Lord. All and whatever.

One last dab with the handkerchief and she nodded to allow Peter entrance.

He stepped into the room, his gaze finding her in the shadows behind the settee. “Cosima,” he said.

Never before had his gentle tone been so welcome. She wanted to run to him, to put her arms about him.

But she couldn’t. A gentle word could mean good-bye as easily as anything else.

“Beryl,” said Peter, still looking at Cosima, “would you leave us alone?” Beryl moved around him to exit, pausing only when he spoke again. “If you happen to see Mother, don’t tell her where to find me.”

“I . . . believe it’s too late,” Beryl said softly.

Cosima’s gaze followed Beryl’s to the door. There, at the threshold, stood not only Lady but Lord Hamilton as well.

Peter turned to them, a hardness in his jaw that Cosima had never seen before. Stepping aside only long enough to let Beryl pass, he then stood stiffly with one hand on the door, the other on its frame, allowing no passage.

“You cannot mean to be alone with Cosima without a chaperone. And in Beryl’s bedchamber!” His mother’s tone was so shrill Cosima wondered if she’d ever truly known Lady Hamilton.

“Yes, Mother, that’s exactly what I intend.” He resumed closing the door, but Cosima heard the thump of Lady Hamilton’s slight hand on one of the panels.

“This simply isn’t done, even in a home as progressive as ours!”

He closed the door to the width of his broad shoulders. “Progressive, Mother? If tonight is an example of progressive behavior, I fail to see how it differs from the most narrow-minded of your guests downstairs.”

“Peter,” his father said, his voice calmer than his wife’s, “I see no reason why we shouldn’t all sit down together and discuss this situation.”

“No, Father, not until I’ve spoken with Cosima alone.” He brought the door toward the jamb, adding, “Return to your guests. You’ve probably been missed by now.”

“See here, Peter.” Now it was his father’s palm upon the door instead of Lady Hamilton’s. “You can’t leave us out of this matter. You’re my heir, like it or not, and we have a say in the decisions you make that affect the future of this family. Now step aside and let us in.”

“Unless you want to create a fracas, which might have your guests line the stairway to investigate, I suggest you both leave.”

Then he closed the door altogether. Unlike the silver-and-green bedroom in the London town house, there was no lock to guarantee this door stayed shut. Peter must have considered that; he slid the chair from Beryl’s vanity and propped it beneath the doorknob.

He turned to Cosima, who had not moved. “Are you all right?” His tone was quiet, solicitous.

She folded her arms against a shiver, not knowing how to answer.

He approached, and she wanted to back away, afraid if he came too near she would throw herself at him whether he welcomed her or not. She took a step back.

At her retreat, he stopped as if he were a hunter and she the frightened prey.

“I’m so sorry, Peter.” She kept her voice low in the feeble hope he wouldn’t hear the tremor that accompanied each word. She stared into his eyes, wishing she could see into his mind. She saw only concern, but whether it stemmed from love or pity, she wasn’t yet sure. “I thought you knew.”