Tomorrow's Treasure

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  Evy grimaced. Could Derwent and the others not see through the girls insincerity? Even so, Evy could not help being fond of Arcilla. She was what she was, and it was simple as that.

  “My Alice is having such a wonderful time.” Mrs. Tisdale’s voice drew Evy’s attention. The woman was talking with the solicitor’s wife. “I daresay she is very near the marrying age now. The doctor”—she always spoke of her husband in third person, as though he were nobility—“is seriously rethinking her future. Naturally, Alice wishes to graduate from music school in London, but we are thinking an engagement might be wiser. We have just the proper young man in mind.”

  Was it Evy’s imagination, or did Mrs. Tisdale glance sideways at her?

  “Derwent and Rogan are quite friendly with Alice,” the woman went on. “They rode over yesterday to visit and stayed for tea and cakes.”

  So that was where Derwent spent yesterday afternoon. Evy had wondered when he did not show up to help with the final preparations on the booth. It should not surprise her that he had opted to take an afternoon ride with Rogan, who must have lent him a horse. But she’d never dreamed they had ridden over to the Tisdales’. Derwent said nothing of where he had been when he came by later, and she had not thought it her business to ask him.

  So he’d had tea and cakes with Alice. Well, that was fine. It didn’t bother her. Not nearly as much as the fact that Rogan had done so as well!

  “Alice is a very nice girl,” the solicitor’s wife agreed.

  “And very dutiful to her religious faith,” Mrs. Tisdale said.

  Evy knew differently. The entire time she’d roomed with Alice, the girl had never read from her small Bible and tried to avoid chapel.

  A sudden frown pulled Evy’s brows low. Why was Mrs. Tisdale suddenly talking about religion … and Derwent? Could she have Derwent in mind for Alice?

  Evy looked across the hall at Alice, adorned in an extravagant apple green dress with matching slippers, her braided hair coiled about her head. That dress must have cost Dr. Tisdale a pretty pound. It was Mrs. Tisdale’s idea, of course. Evy watched Alice carry a large basket of summer daisies, handing them out to the ladies and girls in celebration of the summer fete. She was doing so with a certain fanfare that drew attention to herself as she walked about the hall, making certain Rogan noticed her. Or was it Derwent she sought to attract?

  She handed a double daisy tied with a pink ribbon to Arcilla, then stopped in front of Rogan and Derwent to talk. She was playing the coquette and looking quite silly, but what irritated Evy the most was that Rogan was smiling. Alice was looking up at him and turning from side to side while she held her basket behind her back, her apple green skirts rustling.

  If Alice were outside in the garden, and if it were nighttime, she’d probably let Rogan kiss her! Then Evy caught herself and bit her lip. How catty I’m being.

  She jumped when a voice beside her drawled lazily, “Hello, hello, hello.”

  Parnell Chantry had come up without her noticing and stood there, a small plate in hand. He dropped a goodly handful of coins in the offering container. “Did you make those tarts?”

  Unlike Rogan’s dark hair, Parnell’s was chestnut and curly, and his eyes were hazel-brown. He was an inch shorter than Rogan, and was slim and agile. A small, dark mole on his chin gave him a rather a knavish appearance. Evy couldn’t recall seeing Parnell smile, but, like all the Chantrys, he was comely.

  Evy used the tongs to move the tarts around so they would show better. “My aunt baked them. I’m afraid all I did was dust them with sugar. Which one would you like?”

  “The one with the most apples. Yes—that one. Delightful.”

  He held out his plate, and she placed it with careful precision, taking no chances of repeating her accident with Miss Armitage. Imagine the horror of doing such a thing to Parnell Chantry! She glanced at the lace on his velvet cuff. Clearly he enjoyed dressing with more French flair than Rogan. She watched him taste the tart with his fork.

  “Absolutely smashing.” He looked across the hall toward his brother and took another bite as Rogan looked past Alice and his gaze came to rest on them. Evy had the oddest impression that the two brothers were challenging one another.

  Parnell turned back to her. “Your aunt is ill?”

  “Yes, for some time now. We hoped the summer weather would benefit her, but it has not.”

  He nodded. “I’m glad we had her as Arcilla’s governess for as long as we did. My sister is most fond of her.”

  Evy was not aware that this was so, but perhaps he was trying to be kind. “Thank you. My aunt is quite patient.”

  Again, he nodded.

  There was a moment of awkward silence, as though he tried to think of something to say to her. She already knew she was not as easy to talk with as other girls, who giggled and said silly things. But Evy would eat a mouthful of dirt before she would dither and show off in such a coquettish way.

  Parnell shifted, suddenly looking as though his shirt collar was too tight. Undoubtedly he was aware of the wide disparity between their social positions. Evy took pity on the poor man.

  “You are through at the university now.” She smiled at him. “I suppose you will be sailing to South Africa. Are you looking forward to it?”

  He brushed the spotless cuff of his jacket. “Yes, it should prove deeply interesting.”

  “Will you be leaving soon?”

  “It will be a few months more. There is so much to learn at the London office.”

  She nodded. “I can well understand that. What does your family do at the London office?”

  “For one thing we hire master diamond cutters. It is painstaking work, but lucrative. Businesses the world over come to buy from us. I’m pleased to say I will not be involved in that part of the business. I haven’t the steady nerves for it. Our father expects me to be involved in running the mines. I’ll learn all that from my uncle, Sir Julien. My family is partners with another side of our extended family in South Africa as well. You may have heard of the them … the Bleys and Brewsters?”

  “Yes, indeed. Sir Julien Bley is an important name in diamonds, or so I’ve been told.”

  “Very important. You have heard of De Beer Consolidated in South Africa?”

  Evy considered this. “Well, yes, I suppose I have. He is the diamond mogul, isn’t he?”

  Parnell seemed pleased at her knowledge. “To be modest, yes. De Beer owns one of the four main diamond companies in Kimberly. Sir Julien is managing director of De Beer under the great Cecil Rhodes. Uncle Julien is one of the largest shareholders. And Mr. Rhodes and Sir Julien intend to make De Beer the owner of the other three companies one day.”

  She supposed that if one’s values and worth were determined by their ownership of diamonds, then Sir Julien would be a very great man indeed. “Do the other three diamond companies agree that Mr. De Beer should own a monopoly on South African diamonds?”

  Parnell’s expression told her he was being tolerant of what he considered her ignorance. “One does not ask permission for such ventures. One prods and pushes until walls fall down.”

  Evy looked down at the tarts on the table. “Sounds very … cold-blooded.”

  “At times, yes.” She noted he offered no apology. “So you see, Rogan and I have grave responsibilities ahead of us in South Africa.”

  Her heart constricted at Parnell’s words. “Then the squire will send both you and your brother to the Cape?”

  “Uncle Julien has requested him to do so. Father is in close correspondence with his stepbrother.”

  From what Evy had seen, Sir Lyle was apt to do whatever Julien told him. Which did not bode well for Arcilla and Charles.

  “I believe Rogan is nearly finished with his geology studies at the university,” she commented. “He once mentioned searching for gold in South Africa.”

  “My brother has ideas … some strange and wild ones. I think he will set them aside when he arrives at the Cape.”

 
“Am I interrupting something important?”

  Evy turned with a start, and her gaze collided with Rogan’s. He had come up without their realizing it. How much had he overheard? She would have preferred not to be found discussing him with his brother.

  “Hello, Miss Evy.” He smiled, a sultry contrast to his light-haired brother. He offered the small bow expected of young gentlemen of aristocratic birth, but he seemed disingenuous. What was he up to?

  Evy felt a shiver of caution and set her guard against him. Rogan appeared to notice the change in her demeanor, as his smile deepened and seemed to challenge her. Could it be that in distancing herself from him, she actually interested him all the more? The answer was clear: Rogan’s conceit would make him determined to break down anyone’s resistance.

  Evy bit back her annoyance. Apparently, by just being herself, she presented a different challenge than the other young ladies around them. And, much to her dismay, this had sparked interest in both brothers.

  So this was what a hart felt when encircled by two hunters.

  Old Miss Armitage’s dire warnings echoed in Evy’s mind, and she glanced in the woman’s direction. Sure enough, Miss Armitage was watching them, shrewd interest gleaming in those pale eyes.

  Rogan took another look at his brother, and his jaw tensed. Thankfully, Parnell did not appear to notice his brother’s displeasure. Evy did not want a scene right there in the rectory hall.

  She almost clapped with relief when she saw Lady Elosia coming toward them.

  “Ah, there you are, Parnell, Rogan. Have you made the rounds? We cannot stay long, you know. Sir Lyle has received correspondence from Sir Julien, and he wishes to meet with you both in the library at four o’clock. Ah, Evy, and how is Grace? Any better?”

  “I’m afraid not, Lady Elosia, but thank you for your concern. Dr. Tisdale will see her before supper.”

  “Ah, yes, the dear woman. I’m glad she did not venture out in the rain. Such dreadful weather for June. Well, if there is anything we can do up at Rookswood, my dear, you send word up right away. Your aunt is such a hard worker. It is no wonder she’s having difficulty recovering from last winter’s chest cold. You tell her to drink herb tea.”

  Evy thanked her, and Parnell bowed and took his leave. Evy waited for Rogan to follow suit, but he lingered.

  “Mrs. Havering is ill again?”

  She explained that Aunt Grace had been fighting a lung ailment since last fall.

  Rogan’s frown seemed sincere. “Maybe she ought to visit a physician in London. There are specialists in bronchitis.”

  “I mentioned it to her, but I think you know something about my aunt. She would feel it a waste of time and expense to travel there and stay in a hotel.”

  She was surprised by his genuine sympathy, but strangely, instead of bolstering her spirits it undid her defenses against him. And that was far more disturbing than she liked. She changed the subject, not wanting to let her rioting emotions show. She did not want his sympathy, not when it made her feel so vulnerable toward him.

  “I believe Lady Elosia mentioned you are expected at Rookswood.” She sounded more disapproving than she felt.

  His brows arched. “How like a teacher you sound.” He gestured at the tarts. “I shall try one for this evening. You can wrap it up? Anyway, I rode my horse down, so I don’t need to return in the coach. And my father’s always late. She said four, so that means more like half past five.”

  She wrapped the tart while he put money into the container, and she noticed he put in more than Parnell. She handed the tart to him. “I must not keep you.” She took special care to avoid that dark gaze.

  “You make me feel so appreciated.”

  She would not be swayed by his teasing. “I am sure you are.”

  A faint, sardonic smile showed. “But not by you.”

  “I do not know why you say so.”

  “It is obvious. You disapprove of me.”

  She busied herself rearranging the remaining tarts. “That should not trouble you. My opinion is not important.”

  “Then you do still disapprove of me?”

  “I did not say so.”

  “Your eyes say so quite clearly.”

  “Then you must not try to read them.”

  A quick heat filled her cheeks at her effrontery, but Rogan merely smiled. “They are interesting … and very readable.”

  “You are mistaken—”

  “Unusual color, I think … like amber. Or is it tawny? Almost the color of a lion I saw in a painting from South Africa.” He leaned toward her for a closer look, and Evy stepped back.

  Oh, this cursed warmth in her cheeks! She searched for a way to distract him from his study of her eyes. “Truly, what does my opinion matter? You do not remind me of someone who worries about what people may think of you.”

  “Depends on the person, of course.” His smile was almost her undoing. “Maybe I would appreciate your good opinion.”

  The idea was so absurd to her that she laughed, easing the moment and breaking his spell. Since there were no other customers, she sat down on the stool and glanced about the hall, as though uninterested in him. But she was almost painfully aware of him leaning there, amused, watching her.

  “Still looking for Derwent?” The smooth question was replete with meaning.

  Her gaze came to his, and his dark brow lifted. He glanced about the hall. “I think he is with the Tisdale girl. Interesting thought. Derwent and Alice.” His eyes came back to her. “They make a charming couple, don’t you agree?”

  She knew what he was trying to do, and she would not rise to the bait. “I have not thought about it one way or the other.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  She paused at that, and his smile returned.

  “I mean that Derwent is obviously such a very good friend of yours. You should be interested in his … affairs.”

  “I consider him a good friend, yes.”

  “Only a friend?”

  She ignored the question, and he went on. “Ah, well, you need not explain. You have so much in common, you and Derwent. Everyone says so.”

  She tried not to let her irritation at this show. “Do they?”

  “Don’t you think so? You both were raised in the rectory. That should give you much to talk about.”

  “Yes, I suppose that is true.”

  He pursed his lips. “Derwent may one day wish to reconsider taking his father’s position when the vicar retires. Especially if he had another offer, and of course, if the vicar approved the change in his career.”

  What was Rogan getting at? “Derwent wasn’t serious when he mentioned South Africa, you know.” She folded her hands in her lap, hoping to still their trembling. Rogan in such close proximity was far too disturbing for her peace of mind. “Derwent is almost obligated to enter the church. Vicar Brown would be heartbroken if his son became an adventurer instead of a parson.”

  Rogan inclined his dark head. “True enough, I am sure. And there is nothing like being plagued with guilt for disappointing the expectations of family. Yet Derwent freely admits he does not feel worthy of that position.”

  Evy’s uneasiness grew, and she also wondered if Rogan might actually know something of the same burden … if he bore the weight of disappointing Sir Lyle. However, even his notion to mine for gold in South Africa, which was a departure from the family interest in diamonds, had not been met with displeasure.

  “Derwent will become curate.” She nodded to emphasize her certainty. “I don’t believe he would shirk his responsibility.”

  “You think he is really that dedicated, do you?” There flickered an inquisitiveness in his dark eyes. “How highly you ve elevated him above the rest of us adventurous scoundrels.”

  She managed a smile. “I am impressed by the humble manner in which he deals with the difficult expectations placed upon him.”

  “You mean, compared to us Chantrys, who are arrogant and utterly lacking in humility Well then, be
ing a rectory girl, you should be qualified to teach me how to be humble.”

  Such a suggestion sent her heart skipping, but Evy managed to keep her voice light and steady. “I am sure there is little I could teach you, Master Rogan, that you would accept.”

  A warm smile lit his features. “Then we must find out.”

  Evy wished the ground would open up and swallow her. Either that, or swallow him! Rogan’s veiled suggestion that he was interested in her was utterly ridiculous, she knew that. There could never be anything to his intent beyond a light and frivolous flirtation. So why did the idea set her poor head spinning so?

  “And since you are so impressed by Derwent”—he inclined his head—“is it possible that I know him better than you do?”

  Now that was absurd indeed! “I hardly think so.”

  “We shall see.”

  Evy felt her gaze narrow. “What do you mean?”

  He lifted a hand, every inch the royal dismissing a lesser being. “Perhaps he has confided in me.” His eyes glinted, and Evy was sure he was laughing at her. “After all, having taken advantage of our docile and trusting Derwent when we were boys, I may feel compelled to offer him advice and, shall we say … opportunity?”

  Oh no! Poor Derwent! He had always looked on Rogan with such admiration. If Rogan should somehow convince him to give up the rectory life to follow him out to South Africa—

  “If you should make the mistake of luring him to South Africa, you shall be doing him, and others, an injustice.”

  A veil seemed to fall over Rogan’s expression. “I’m disappointed you would see it that way. May I assume that when you mention an injustice done to others, you speak of yourself?”

  “I speak first of Vicar Brown.”

  “And yourself second?”

  Evy had had enough. She slid from the stool and planted her hands on her hips. “There has been no promise made between myself and Derwent, if that is what you are hinting at. My concern has nothing to do with my unwillingness to pursue a future in South Africa. It has everything to do with what is best for Derwent.”