The Oak Leaves

by Maureen Lang

  “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 asi
de 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.”

  He nodded. “I guessed that from the look on your face.” He took another step closer, then paused when she stiffened. “You have nothing to apologize for, Cosima. You were as much a victim of Reginald’s thoughtlessness as I.”

  He took another step, but Cosima’s back was to the wall and she couldn’t move any farther away. She was no longer sure she wanted to, the way Peter was looking at her. It was as if he hurt as much as she did.

  “I want to hear about your family from you,” he said. “I’ve heard what the others have said, but I want to hear it from you.”

  “I’m sure whatever they said is true,” she admitted. “’Tis a near certainty I will bear offspring with unsound minds, incapable of learning beyond the level of a child.”

  Peter heaved a great sigh, as if he, too, had been holding his breath. He looked from her to the settee behind which she stood, then back to her again. “Will you sit?” he asked, adding, “Beside me?”

  She hesitated only a moment before nodding. When he held out his hand, she placed her own, still trembling, in his. He held hers tight, and the trembling disappeared.

  They sat, and almost immediately Peter put his arms around her. The touch of his fingers brushed one shoulder, pushing away her hair, which had tumbled forward. With the same hand he lifted her face to his and caught her gaze with his own, not letting go.

  “I love you, Cosima,” he said. “And I will not believe the Lord brought us together only to have us part because of fear. That’s what it is, isn’t it? Fear of a future no one can really foretell?”

  “But based on the past . . .”

  Held so securely within the comfort of his arms, she regarded his profile. He hadn’t disregarded the gravity before them, but it was equally obvious he was not fleeing as another man might.

  “All of this has come as a surprise—that others think of you in such a way. I wouldn’t be honest if I said I was unconcerned, Cosima,” he said. “But part of me wonders if it was meant to be this way, to have met you first without being tainted by knowledge of something that might have unfairly skewed my thinking.”

  “But ’tis a fact and cannot be dismissed, Peter. It’s unfair for you to have thought of me as if I were like any other woman.”

  He looked down at her, his arm still about her shoulders, and smiled. “I’ve never thought of you as being like any other woman, Cosima.”

  She caressed his cheek, grateful for his words. “Peter, I do love you.”

  He kissed her, letting his lips linger on hers. She longed for his kiss to last, even while part of her cautioned that sharing such intimacy might be a different sort of skewing to taint their thinking.

  “Then that settles it,” he whispered into her ear. “We’ll be married.”

  Cosima pulled away, shocked by his words. “What?”

  Peter captured her hands as if afraid she might leave him alone on the settee. With a confident smile, he said, “You love me. I love you. People who love each other get married, Cosima.”

  “But . . . your legacy. Your parents. Feebleminded children, Peter!”

  He shook his head. “What is the alternative, Cosima?” Releasing her hands, he raised his palms to each side of her face. “I won’t let you go. Not for anything. The Lord brought us together—I see no reason why we should part.”

  “But how do you know it was the Lord, Peter? There was certainly nothing noble in Reginald’s bringing me here.”

  “Does it really matter why we met, Cosima? The fact is we have, and we’ve grown to love one another. Remember the day we rode in the carriage to your grandmother’s, when you were to meet her for the first time? I sat across from you and watched you lift your fears to the Lord. Why can’t we do that now? Both of us?”

  “I do want to do that, Peter,” she said, breathless.

  “Right now,” he said firmly and took hold of one of her hands again. “We’ll give our fears to the Lord and ask guidance from Him. Together.”

  Sitting near the edge of the settee, Cosima bowed her head, just as Peter did. He began to pray, thanking God for the gift he’d received in knowing Cosima. He asked for heavenly, not earthly, wisdom, acknowledging they sought to do God’s will and not others’.

  Then Cosima spoke, tears welling in her eyes as she praised God for the love He’d given her through Peter. She asked forgiveness for thinking, even for a moment, that God was somehow to blame. “We ask you to touch the hearts of Peter’s parents, Lord God. Without their understanding,” she finished, “without their consent, I don’t see how Peter and I can marry with Your blessing.”

  Cosima opened her eyes, finding Peter’s somber gaze on her.

  Three firm taps at the door demanded his attention.

  “Peter, I suggest you open this door,” said Lord Hamilton’s angry voice. “We’ve waited long enough.”

  Peter stood and, despite his prayer for wisdom just a moment ago, impatiently shoved aside the chair. But he seemed to collect himself then, and with a smile aimed at Cosima, assuring her his momentary lack of control had passed, he opened wide the door.

  “Come in, Father,” he said. Cosima watched as Lady Hamilton entered first. “Mother,” added Peter.

  Cosima stood, looking toward the threshold, hoping Beryl was with them.

  But Peter closed the door. “Where is Berrie?” he asked.

  “We sent her downstairs so at least part of the family might be represented.” Lord Hamilton led his wife to a settee.

  Peter and Cosima sat opposite his parents. “Do you know what we were doing just now, Father?” Peter’s tone was almost challenging.

  “We can’t imagine,” answered his mother for his father. “Which is why I had your father rap on that door. It became far too quiet.”

  “We were praying. Asking God for His wisdom and guidance.”

  “Very well then,” said his father. “I commend you. Been doing the same thing myself, actually.”

  Peter smiled, his hand still on Cosima’s. “Good, then if we all listen to God, we should be able to settle this without any misunderstandings.”

  Cosima did not miss Lady Hamilton’s gaze flying to Peter’s hand covering Cosima’s. She was tempted to pull away to ease the worry on his mother’s face, but desire to feel Peter’s strength outweighed desire to appease her.

  “Cosima and I wish to be married,” Peter said.

  “Oh, Peter.” Lady Hamilton raised a hand to her mouth. Tears dampened her cheeks, glistening in the light from the oil lamp on the table nearby.

  “In spite of what we’ve told you?” Lord Hamilton asked. “In spite of all her grandmother explained, about the condition of the women in her mother’s family?” His tone was as calm as Peter’s, but one corner of his mustache twitched.

  “My grandmother?” Cosima repeated.

  “The dowager told me about your family, Cosima,” said Lord Hamilton. �
��She’s kept abreast of your family for years, through letters from a man living on your estate. Your father and his mother may not have spoken for years, Cosima, but the dowager does still care for her youngest son. A parent’s love, you see. We all want the best for our children.”

  Lady Hamilton’s brows rose. “You do see that, don’t you, Cosima? I know you’re a sweet child! I’ve come to love you, and I’m heartsick that you should have this cloud upon you. But no matter how affectionate we may feel, we simply cannot allow you to marry our son. His future is quite important. Generations of Hamiltons have fought and shaped our laws and society, in service to queen and country alike. We cannot have such a line end with . . .”

  “Lackwits,” Cosima finished, her voice hushed. She pulled her hand from Peter’s. “I do understand, Lady Hamilton. I’ve only respect and admiration for your family and no wish to bring any of you harm or disappointment.”

  “Then you’ll not marry our son?” Lady Hamilton asked.

  “I love him.”

  “Then you’ll want what’s best for him, of course,” said Lord Hamilton.

  Cosima nodded, looking at Peter’s father, whom he so resembled. “I do want that. Without question.”

  “It’s very good to say all that,” Peter said matter-of-factly. “But what is best for me is to marry the woman I love.”

  “You say that now, Peter,” his father replied, “but in time, once the fervor of emotion has faded—”

  “It will not fade,” announced Peter with such conviction that Lady Hamilton brought her hand to her mouth once again and fresh tears shimmered in her eyes.

  Cosima stood without a word, going to the bureau she’d seen Beryl visit and withdrawing yet another handkerchief. She handed it to Lady Hamilton.

  “Thank you,” Peter’s mother said in little more than a whimper.

  Cosima took her seat again, next to Peter, who instantly reclaimed her hand.

  “I will not change my mind, Father,” Peter said. “You do realize that fear is making this so difficult for you? Fear of something you cannot know. How can you believe with such certainty that Cosima will produce only feebleminded offspring?”