The Oak Leaves

by Maureen Lang

  “Forgive me for saying so, Cosima,” said Peter, strolling beside her in no apparent hurry, “but you seem . . . exceptional tonight.” He stepped ahead and turned back to stand in her path. “I like it.”

  Her laughter competed with the chirp of crickets hopping out of the way.

  “I hope you’re not hungry,” he said as they neared the pavilion. “We’re missing supper.”

  “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

  “Not in the least. I’d rather spend time with you while I won’t be missed. My mother will be busy because no one can eat until she does, so I don’t think she’ll need me for a while.”

  The pavilion felt like a conservatory with its arborvitae walls and foliage-covered supports. In the center of the shelter were stone benches erected in a square, following the shape of the roof.

  “Does your mother always depend on you so for the galas?”

  “My mother usually allows the staff to handle the parties once she’s told them what she wants. I don’t know why she is behaving so strangely tonight, and to be perfectly honest I hope it isn’t a permanent change. I don’t mind helping, but I’m considering asking for a butler’s wage if she keeps this up.”

  Cosima felt his gaze on her, watching her, perhaps pleased she found him amusing. She eyed him in return, not at all shy tonight.

  “Why are you different, Cosima?” he asked gently.

  That he was suddenly serious was not lost on her. She wasn’t sure what to say, wondering if she could admit aloud the feelings she’d denied so long.

  “I suppose part of it is that I’ve missed you—your family—and I’m glad to be with you again.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.” His quiet tone kept the feeling of intimacy intact. Though there was no one around to hear, he spoke in a low voice as if for her ears alone.

  Peter raised one foot to the bench in front of them, resting his forearms on his knee. Standing close to him, she viewed his profile as he looked ahead. He mustn’t be able to see far—just the full moon winking through the branches of the arborvitae.

  “I suppose Reginald told you about the argument,” he said at last.

  “No. Actually, I’ve spoken very little to Reginald since he escorted me here. To be honest I’ve found his behavior somewhat distant since we arrived.”

  “Just since you’ve arrived? That is what we argued about. If he’s going to marry you, he should have announced himself as your intended by now.”

  “Perhaps he’s changed his mind.”

  Peter shrugged. “He didn’t say that, if it’s true.”

  Cosima frowned. “I hope the argument has been settled. I would hate to be the cause of a rift between two friends.”

  “We’ll weather the storm. Reginald and I have locked horns before. Evidently neither one of us has learned how to avoid our disagreements.”

  “He has much to weigh in marrying me, as you well know. It may take some time for Reginald to adjust to the idea.”

  “You make it sound as if it would be beneath him to marry you.”

  “Being an Escott doesn’t cancel out the other worries. About my family background, that is.”

  “He’s not worried about that,” Peter said. “And he shouldn’t. Every family has something to deal with.”

  “Not yours. I’ve never met a happier, more cohesive family.”

  “We’re compatible, I suppose, but like everyone else. Good and bad in all of us.”

  “Yes, it’s true there is good and bad in everyone. I was afraid of Dowager Merit because I saw little kindness in her. But after spending these past weeks in her home, I see she’s firm but fair. And she’s generous. I think she isn’t so frightful.”

  “There, you’ve already started to mend that family you’re so worried about.”

  She looked at him, wondering at the statement. Her father’s mother was such a small part of the troubles in her family background, yet Peter saw even this as a hopeful start. Perhaps that’s the way optimists think.

  Perhaps an optimist was the only type of person hopeful enough to face a curse and not run.

  “I’m glad you agreed to come out here with me, Cosima,” he said quietly. As he leaned slightly forward on his raised knee, his face was nearly level with Cosima’s. “This is the longest amount of time we’ve spent alone together.”

  The seclusion and intimacy seemed more obvious all of a sudden, with only the moon and stars surrounding them. Something she had no desire to change.

  “It makes me wish I could go back,” he added. “Start the summer again and spend most of it with you.”

  “We might not be able to go back,” she said, “but at least we can go forward. Differently.”

  Peter stood tall again, bringing his other foot to the ground. He moved one hand as if to touch her but stopped. “I do want it to be different.” He stood closer, much the way he had weeks ago on the Bristol coast, when he’d breathed in the scent of her hair. He did so again, closing his eyes and inhaling. Cosima did not move, though she wanted to take the tiniest step forward and place herself within the realm of his embrace. “Your hair,” he whispered, “smells like honeysuckle.”

  “’Tis the soap.” She was barely able to breathe with him so near. “I . . . brought it with me from my home.”

  His fingers grazed her shoulder, and the contact sent a shiver across her back. Placing the tip of his finger on her chin, he gently brought her face toward his. “May God forgive me, Cosima, but I want to kiss you.”

  Just as his arms went around her, her own crept up around his neck. “Then God forgive us both. I want you to.”

  His lips came down on hers, covering her mouth, and Cosima thought she understood for the first time why silly girls might swoon. Dizziness overcame her, so that if Peter’s arms weren’t so tightly holding her she might have done that very thing. His mustache pressed above her lip, as inviting as the warmth of his touch. This was Peter at last—so close, kissing her as she’d dreamed of a thousand times.

  “Cosima,” he said her name tenderly, as if it were a kiss in itself.

  At last he pulled away, his fingers sliding down her arm to take her hand in his. He urged her with his touch to sit on the stone bench, and once she settled he joined close beside her. He still held her hand and studied it in the moonlight, discovering her skin, the lines of her palm, the veins of her wrist. Could he see her blood pounding and rushing through that vein? Could he feel her pulse wildly racing? He’d kissed her as no one had ever kissed her before, and she’d never wanted it to end.

  Then, enveloping her single hand with both of his, Peter looked at her. “You cannot marry him.”

  She nodded. “You’re right, of course.”

  “I’ll speak to him.”

  She placed her hand on top of his and held steady his gaze. “We shall speak to him together.”

  He raised his hand to her chin again, tipping her face to accept another kiss. She felt his lips, smooth beneath the mustache, welcoming and unfaltering all at once. This was a powerful force, this love she felt.

  God be praised. Only a blessing such as this could overcome a curse.

  Peter lifted his lips from hers but did not move away. With his face so near she studied him, much as he seemed to study her, close for the first time. God had created perfection in him, she thought. Even if he had a flaw, she couldn’t see it.

  Then she saw something from the corner of her eye. A figure approaching the pavilion. Blond hair showed light beneath the moon.

  Stiffening but remaining still, she said, “’Tis Reginald.”

  Peter looked over his shoulder, slowly rising to his feet and pulling Cosima behind him as she rose as well.

  “Reginald.” It was impossible to tell if he was surprised or taken aback by Peter’s presence. Both appeared calm.

  “Good evening, Peter.” Reginald’s voice, too, was even and undisturbed. He took a step closer and peered around Peter’s shoulder at Cosima. “Good evening, Cosima.”r />
  She stepped out to Peter’s side.

  “Reginald,” said Peter, “there is something you should know, and you ought to know it immediately. Cosima and I have no wish to hurt you, but we’ve admitted we have feelings for one another that will prevent her from marrying you. Not that you’ve announced any intentions.”

  “I can see why you might be relieved I haven’t posted banns yet, my friend,” said Reginald lightly.

  Cosima wondered at his behavior. Wasn’t he upset at all, having come upon what was obviously a private moment between his fiancée and his best friend?

  “I can only assume you’ve had doubts, for whatever reason I cannot imagine,” Peter said. “As I said, neither Cosima nor I have any wish to hurt you, but you cannot expect her to feel much loyalty to a relationship as uncertain as the one you’ve offered.”

  “Oh, I don’t hold it against her.” Reginald spoke as if Cosima weren’t even there. “The heart isn’t something we can control, is it?”

  “You . . . you’re not upset, then?” she asked. “That I obviously cannot marry you?”

  “Upset?” His eyes, light even in the darkness, glinted something in them she’d not seen before. Jealousy? “If I said I wasn’t upset, you would think I hold no feelings for you whatsoever. Perhaps I am, a little. But since I’ve lost you to my best friend, what can I say, except to give you my blessing?”

  No, it wasn’t jealousy she saw in those eyes. His tone was too light, too unhurt. It was something else, something Cosima was unfamiliar with.

  “Just like that?” Peter asked. He sounded as suspicious as Cosima felt.

  “Of course. Never let it be said I stood in the way of love. Not when we’re to let love rule our lives. Isn’t that what you always say, Peter? God’s love and all that?”

  Peter nodded, but his face was watchful, perhaps wondering at Reginald’s oddly affable reaction.

  “So, do you intend to post the banns I should presumably have posted long ago?” Reginald could have been inquiring after a stranger’s upcoming wedding.

  Cosima eyed him curiously. She knew he held no real feelings for her, certainly none of the attraction she’d felt for Peter from nearly the moment she’d met him. But at the very least Reginald’s pride might have suffered a blow. Why was he so cavalier?

  “We haven’t discussed marriage,” Cosima said.

  “But isn’t that what we’re talking about?” Reginald said. “Isn’t what you were doing on that bench meant only for people who plan to marry?”

  Cosima’s gaze fell to the ground, glad the pavilion shaded her face from the moonlight. She should feel embarrassed but couldn’t, not when kissing Peter had meant so much.

  Peter slipped his hand around Cosima’s. “I have every intention of asking Cosima to marry me and setting a date right now if she’ll agree.”

  “There you have it, Cosima,” Reginald said. “I don’t think he’s merely defending your honor or showing me up for the way this ought to be done. He must mean it.”

  Cosima had no doubt of Peter’s sincerity. She knew him to be a man of his word. If a proposal under such circumstances seemed sudden to Reginald, it somehow didn’t seem that way to Cosima. She’d felt Peter’s kiss; she’d looked into his eyes. She’d been aware all summer that they had a rare affinity. Commitment was the next logical step . . . if they were stronger than the curse.

  “Well, Cosima?” Reginald pressed. “He’s just proposed. Do you accept?”

  “Peter knows my feelings mirror his,” she said. “I would marry no other.”

  Reginald took yet another step closer. Now his eyes were strangely gleeful, without a trace of the disappointment or anger a spurned fiancé might be expected to have. “Then may I make a suggestion? Marry tonight. Leave here and take the train to Gretna Green. You can make it by morning and be married before the day is out.”

  “You’ve hesitated about marriage all these months but now think Cosima should elope with me? Why should we hurry?”

  Reginald laughed. “I know you, Peter. I know with your honor you won’t touch the girl until you’re wed. I’m merely trying to save you several months of waiting. If the two of you don’t plan on changing your mind, what’s to stop you from marrying privately now and returning home for a public celebration later?”

  “We won’t change our minds.” Peter’s firm voice wrapped itself around Cosima’s soaring heart. How right he was!

  “Then do it,” Reginald urged.

  Peter turned to Cosima. “I would do that,” he whispered. All the surprise and mistrust he’d aimed Reginald’s way were gone as he looked at her earnestly.

  “Peter . . .” Thoughts and desires, hopes and dreams assailed her. Was this real? Was she really standing here with Peter’s hands on her shoulders, and was he really inviting her to elope?

  “You should say yes, Cosima,” Reginald counseled. “Ease the poor man’s mind. He’s been through an engagement once already. Do you recall hearing of that? Of course he’s willing to wed you right now, to prevent a repeat of what’s happened in the past. He’s eager to have you before you can be spoiled by someone else.”

  Peter turned from Cosima to face Reginald again. “Reginald, I don’t welcome the inference in those words. In fact, you’ve acted oddly from the moment you found us here. If you’re angry with me, just say so and we’ll deal with this honestly instead of sparring with words at Cosima’s expense.”

  Reginald lifted both palms. “No offense intended, my friend. If I’m acting strangely it’s because you’ve won the lady and I’ve lost. I shall recover, since neither Cosima nor I had any of the personal interest in each other that the two of you obviously have. Nonetheless, I care for her and I care for you as well. I want only to see you happy.”

  Peter turned back to Cosima. “I’ll marry you today, Cosima, or I’ll wait for the kind of gala my mother will want to plan. So long as you become my wife, I will do either . . . or both.”

  “Peter, how can you be so sure?” She thought of the doubts that had plagued her all summer. Not of her feelings for him or her desire to marry him but thoughts of everything he might lose if they did wed.

  “Why should I have any doubts? I love you, Cosima! I love your faith and your interest in all God created, your humor and your loyalty and your courage when you faced the wrath of no less than Dowager Merit. I know we have more to learn about each other, but plenty of marriages begin with the husband knowing far less of his wife. We have a lifetime ahead to discover the rest.”

  “But my family—”

  “Will welcome Peter into your fold as eagerly as they did me,” Reginald interrupted. “More so, since I’m but a lowly knight.”

  Cosima studied Peter’s earnest face. “Are you sure, Peter? Are you very sure you want to marry me? Knowing what it could mean?”

  He pulled her into an embrace. “What could it mean, except that we’ll be happy? God Himself brought us together; of that I’m certain. The way we met, that you should be here all the way from Ireland, the way we fell in love . . . it seemed against our will, but it happened anyway. We’re well matched. In faith and in a desire to honor God with our lives. That’s all we must do, and we can do that better together than alone.”

  Tears welled in her eyes and she stayed within his arms. “Peter . . .”

  “I hope that’s an embrace of congratulations!” said a new, deep voice from beyond the pavilion.

  Cosima’s gaze followed Peter’s past Reginald to the two figures coming rapidly up the path: Lord and Lady Hamilton.

  Somewhat out of breath, the older couple joined them under the canopy of the pavilion.

  Lady Hamilton gasped for air. “Peter, are you congratulating Cosima on her engagement to Reginald at last?”

  Reginald turned to Lord and Lady Hamilton, and Cosima could no longer see his face as he stepped back to take a stand behind her and Peter.

  “Congratulations are definitely in order.” Reginald reached up to place a hand on Peter�
��s shoulder from behind. “But not for me. Rather it’s all of us who should congratulate your son and Cosima.”

  The fatigue upon Lady Hamilton’s face changed before Cosima’s eyes—to blatant alarm. Even Lord Hamilton, usually so placid, had a dark look, his brows nearly meeting in the middle and his mustache, so like Peter’s, turned downward in a frown.

  “What do you mean?” Lady Hamilton said to Reginald. But she looked at Peter. “Tell me, Peter. What does Reginald mean?”

  Peter took Cosima’s hand in his and smiled. “We’re going to be married. She hasn’t agreed on a date, but I think she’ll have me.”

  Cosima wanted to smile. She wanted to rush to Lady Hamilton and be received into the family.

  But stark horror showed on Peter’s mother’s face now, even as she grabbed her husband’s arm as if she might fall. “This cannot be.”

  “Mother,” said Peter, taking a step closer. He, too, must have been afraid she would faint. “What is it?”

  “You . . . cannot marry Cosima, Peter. I—we, your father and I—forbid you.”

  Peter looked back at Cosima, appearing every bit as confused as she felt amid the pain of Lady Hamilton’s outright rejection.

  “Father,” said Peter in a voice far more calm than Cosima could have mustered, “what is Mother talking about? If it’s because of Reginald, rest assured he’s given his consent.”

  His parents’ grave faces did not change.

  “You’ve known Cosima all summer,” Peter went on. “Both of you have cared for her. There is no reason I shouldn’t wed her. Even Reginald has given his blessing. Why can’t you?”

  “Son . . . ,” began Lord Hamilton, “there are other factors, her family—”

  “If you’re talking about the feud between Dowager Merit and Cosima’s father, that’s ridiculous. No one cares about rifts in families, and I have little doubt it can be mended now that Cosima has made progress with her grandmother.”

  Cosima stepped forward, searching Peter’s face for more. He was so convinced, so sure of his words. Words that meant nothing.