Tomorrow's Treasure

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  If I miss a step, I shall wish to sink through the floor. Happily, she did not, and soon she relaxed and let the music overtake her.

  It was an astounding moment to be in Rogan’s arms, with the grand notes of Johann Strauss’s music echoing about them. She was waltzing where great ladies of the blood had done for nearly two hundred years, and the man she was with was heir to its history and future. For a moment she felt like Lady Eve Varley, her beautiful skirts swirling in a show of color and promise. She was aware of Rogan’s nearness, of the way he held her, his arm around her waist, the other hand enclosing hers …

  For just a moment, her rebellious memory flashed to the moment in the library all those months ago, when his kiss had sent her head spinning and her heart dancing. For a moment, all was magical and all her girlish daydreams were coming true. For a moment …

  Her gaze met Rogan’s. He stared back evenly.

  “You have made me the center of attention,” she said breathlessly.

  “You already were. The rectory girl is not supposed to be so beautiful, or so poised and polished.”

  Her heart beat faster at that. He thinks I’m beautiful! “Everyone will talk, now that you asked me to share the first waltz. You dance well.”

  “It is not hard when holding you.” Something burned deep in his gaze. Something heated and disturbing. “Yes … I would like the waltz to continue indefinitely.”

  She let her gaze drop. “You must not say such things.”

  “I could say a great deal more.”

  “But it would not be fitting for you to do so … Master Rogan.”

  At her use of his title, they lapsed into silence. Evy focused on enjoying the music. Waltzing beneath the glowing chandelier was like a fantasy. And like any fantasy, it would certainly come to an end.

  She might be as beautiful as any woman there, but she was, and always would be, the rectory girl.

  She pulled her dismal thoughts another direction. “Arcilla does not look happy tonight, but subdued.”

  “I’m hoping she will get over losing Charles. She’s young.”

  He spoke as though he himself were old and seasoned in such matters.

  “Then you’ve changed your mind? You think Mr. Bartley will be a proper husband?”

  His shoulders lifted. “I doubt either man would be a proper husband, as you mean it. They love their pleasure too much for both marriage and their ambitions. It’s not that I have changed my mind about Arcilla’s marriage. South Africa does not suit her nature—she is too flighty—but my father has decided the matter, as is his right. She will marry Peter and go to South Africa.”

  “Soon?”

  “Quite soon.”

  Evy lapsed into silence for a moment, then, “She will be forced into a marriage she does not want, to a man she does not love. How could it be worse?”

  “It could be worse, because as we discussed that night in the town-house, Peter is likely to be sent inland to the Rhodesia colony. Can you see my sister as the governor’s wife?”

  No, she could not. Arcilla would be most unhappy. She belonged in London among her elite friends. “Then—it could come to that, do you think?”

  “I hope not. I’ve discussed the matter with my father. He has yet to convince Sir Julien, though. Perhaps when Julien meets her at the Cape, he will understand and change his mind about the governor’s post, at least. Sending Arcilla with Peter into Mashonaland is like sending a lamb into the wolf pack. She would become ill and depressed.”

  “You must convince them.”

  One brow arched, and he met her earnest gaze. “I have tried, and will continue. It is kind of you to concern yourself. You have been a good influence on her from the beginning.”

  She was pleased that he would think so.

  “But you mustn’t worry too much about Arcilla. You have your own concerns, it appears. I hear you have lost the humble, kindhearted boy your aunt expected you to marry these years.”

  Derwent.

  Rogan’s lively dark eyes studied her a moment too long, and then a hint of something like satisfaction showed itself. Whenever Rogan wore that satisfied smile, she worried.

  He cocked his head. “Then you have not heard the romantic news?”

  “I have my suspicions and”—she inclined her head—“a bit of gossip from Miss Armitage, but I have heard nothing from Derwent, and until I do …” She let her words fade.

  His smile loitered. “Why, I am indeed scandalized that Derwent—fine upstanding saint that you say he is—has not come to you to explain the change in his future plans. What could he be afraid of, I wonder?” He scanned her lightly. “Do you have a temper, Miss Varley? They say hell has no fury like a woman scorned.”

  That got her. “Afraid! Of me! Because of an interest in Alice?”

  “Rather shoddy of him not to tell you sooner. Even if his courage is lacking, he might at least have written you while you were in London to prepare you for the surprise. You are surprised by this turn of events, are you not? Come, admit it. Surely your reticence does not come from your feminine pride being stepped on?”

  She was tempted instead to stomp on one of his finely clad feet. “If you have news worthy of being believed, and not mere gossip, then please do get on with it.”

  “My, my, such lofty indignation. The news that has the village buzzing of course is marriage, what else? Between Derwent and Alice Tisdale.”

  Then Old Lady Armitage had known what she was talking about after all. Evy might have expected this outcome about Derwent, but hearing it now so bluntly put was startling. For a moment she was tongue-tied under Rogan’s alert gaze.

  “Did Derwent tell you he wanted to marry Alice?”

  “Yes, when we were out exercising the horses recently.”

  He watched her, but she scarcely noticed. She was turning the news over in her mind. If Derwent had confided in Rogan, it must be true.

  His arm tightened around her. “I am waiting for you to faint in utter despondency over your loss. Do I take it then that you are not disappointed?”

  She pulled away a little, finally finding her voice. “Disappointed? Perhaps I was expecting it. But until Derwent himself tells me, I think it best not to rush to conclusions.”

  “Mrs. Tisdale has been calling on Aunt Elosia for the last few weeks. There was a lengthy discussion between them just a few days ago. It appears there will be an arrangement made between Dr. Tisdale and Lady Elosia to have Derwent and Alice marry in the new year.”

  Apparently Mrs. Tisdale had decided Derwent would be a good catch for Alice. But why? What had changed Mrs. Tisdale’s mind so that she would seek out Derwent?

  She realized Rogan still watched her with keen eyes and forced a smile to her lips. “If what you say is true, then I hope they shall be very happy.”

  She thought that beneath his grave mood there was satisfaction.

  “They are well suited then, you think?”

  “I would not know.” Her words sounded stiff even to her own ears, and she tried to ease the tension in her voice. “That is for Derwent to decide … and Alice.” No wonder Alice had looked smug and secretive when she had seen Evy the other day in the village.

  “It is just as well then, that you are not too disappointed. Derwent will soon be going to South Africa with his new bride. Thanks to my father, Derwent has a job that pleases him—and the Tisdales. Derwent will be working for the family. He will also get some training in geology. I understand his pay will be generous. And that, along with his prospect of owning shares in any new gold discovery, has made everyone happy.”

  She stopped dancing. “So that’s it!” She struggled to keep her tone hushed. “You were partly behind all this. What did you do, bribe him to abandon divinity school, marry Alice, and go to South Africa?”

  He gave her a look of utter innocence. “What suspicions you nurture. I am shocked you would think this of me. My thoughts toward Derwent are supportive and kind …” His gaze captured hers. “As they
are toward you. Besides, we know, do we not, that he’s long spun dreams from cobwebs about South Africa.”

  In fairness to Rogan, yes, she did know this about Derwent. Nevertheless—

  “Come, Evy, you are not in love with Derwent.”

  The music ceased, and she stood on the ballroom floor, still held captive in his arms, staring at him. She had no trouble reading the challenge in his eyes, yet she refused to give in. How could she, when doing so could only mean disaster for her?

  “How would you know what I feel?” No sooner had she said this, than she wished ardently she hadn’t.

  His arm around her waist tightened a little. “Because you are not as indifferent toward me as you pretend.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Nor am I indifferent toward you.” There was a husky quality to his voice that sent shivers tingling across her nerves. “You must know that.”

  Of course she knew it. She’d known it for years. But she also knew any relationship between them had only one end. And it was not a good one.

  “Don’t you see, Evy? I am not willing to lose you so quickly. You are too young to be snatched away from me.”

  She swallowed as a trembling seemed to take hold of her. He sounded so determined. Lord, how am I to resist him when all I want to do is give in?

  “I do not want to come back from South Africa in a few years and find you the wife of Derwent Brown. Or of anyone else, for that matter.”

  She closed her eyes. And when he did come back, what then? His family had their expectations, and they would hardly be willing to permit the marriage of Master Rogan to Evy Varley—not, she reminded herself, that Rogan had ever mentioned marriage.

  “You should be pleased you are not like Arcilla,” he said, “being forced to marry without love. Derwent is a fine fellow, but losing him to Alice is not the end of the world.”

  She raised her chin. “How do you know what is best for me?”

  “You forget, my dear Miss Varley, that I, too, have known you since childhood. If Derwent wishes to go, you should reconsider your feelings toward him.”

  “What do you mean by that?” And yet, she knew quite well what he meant.

  “Is it not obvious? He either allowed others to make up his mind for him, which does not bode well for his courage, or he freely made up his own mind. Which is it?”

  “The latter, I suspect, with a bit of bait dangled before his eyes.”

  He shrugged and a brow lifted. “The glare of gold blinded his vision, you mean? I won’t deny life is full of testings and temptations. One must still show what one is made of by one’s decisions. I say Derwent wants to marry Alice and go to South Africa. In which case, free him to go.”

  That was too much. She stared at him, letting her irritation show. “I have no intention of holding him here!”

  He flashed a smile. “Good. His only mistake, as I see it, is his timidity in coming to you and admitting it face to face. I shall have a little talk with him.”

  She stiffened. “Please do not.”

  “If he feels he cannot face you, then he can write you a letter.”

  She narrowed her eyes, but Rogan seemed to ignore her. After a moment, she tilted her head. “Very well, you may be right about all this. Even so, there must be some other reason for his not telling me of his change of plans sooner. We’ve been friends since childhood.”

  He gave a nod. “Though I don’t know this for a fact, I suspect his reluctance stemmed from his concern over the convictions he believed he must live up to in becoming a vicar. That they worried him, I think, is not a surprise to you.”

  She did not reply, but he must have seen from her expression that he was right. He gave another nod. “Perhaps Derwent simply cannot face disappointing you, and others.”

  He was probably right, but she did not want to hear it now. She turned. “I am going back to the cottage.”

  He refused to release her hand. “Wait. Leave now, like this, and we will both be the talk of the village gossip tomorrow. We are being observed by everyone in the ballroom. Besides, the coach is not ready, and it’s pouring rain.”

  She glanced about the room—he was right. They were indeed being observed.

  “Shall we dance this waltz also?” Not waiting for a reply, he led her in step with the music.

  She eased back into his arms, letting him direct her, letting his arms support her. Only for a moment, she told herself.

  His low voice whispered in her ear. “Forget Derwent. He was never truly right for you.”

  “You are so certain …”

  His embrace tightened again, and he leaned close so that his warm breath caressed her face. “Oh yes. Quite certain.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  It was only two days before Christmas, but Evy could not bring herself to ask the sexton, Hiram Croft, to come and kill the white Christmas goose already delivered from Rookswood.

  “You’ve a tender heart, that’s what,” Mrs. Croft said.

  “She is so white-breasted, so sleek of neck,” Evy said. “It seems a pity to destroy her—especially when neither Aunt Grace nor I have caught the festive mood for a big Christmas feast.”

  “She is right.”

  They turned to find Aunt Grace joining them to look over the wire fence at the goose walking under the willow tree.

  Mrs. Croft rubbed her chin. “I saw a hen already prepared at Tom’s butcher shop.”

  Evy looked at her aunt, who smiled. “Very well. A hen it is. We ought to have a small celebration at least, in honor of the Savior’s birth.”

  Evy agreed, though she could find little to be joyful about this year. She had not yet mentioned the news about Derwent and Alice to her aunt. It was true that she was not in love with Derwent; but she was fond of him … had been connected to him since childhood.

  “You best get indoors where it’s warm, Miss Grace; this be bad weather for chest colds.”

  When Aunt Grace went to take her afternoon nap, Evy was alone with Mrs. Croft in the kitchen, and the silence between them lengthened. Mrs. Croft was helping Evy bake the week’s bread supply, a task she had done on her own when Evy was in London.

  “I do not know what Aunt Grace and I would do without you, Mrs. Croft. You and Mr. Croft, both. He chopped wood for us on Saturday. And you’ve been such a help and consolation to us.”

  Mrs. Croft smiled, and pleasure shone in her eyes. “You’re both as much family to me as my own kin, Miss Evy.”

  At Mrs. Croft’s subtle glance, Evy wondered if she knew about the upcoming marriage. There was little she did not know of the goings-on in the village. How could anything of this magnitude escape her?

  “You are very glum,” Mrs. Croft acknowledged. “Ever since you went to that ball up at the big house. Did it not go well for you, child? You looked so pretty that night. I’d have thought you would be asked to waltz most of them dances.”

  “Oh, it was a lovely ball. That’s not what is troubling me.”

  “That Master Rogan again, I suppose.” Her lips were pinched. “A sly one, he. Has his eye on you plenty, I’m thinking, and with no good purpose in mind. He can do little else ’cept marry that Miss Patricia even if he wanted someone else.”

  Evy realized with a sinking heart that if she did not explain soon, Rogan would be blamed for trifling with her. Well, no time like the present. “I think you already know about Derwent and Alice Tisdale, Mrs. Croft.”

  Mrs. Croft frowned. “Aye, I do. The story’s been buzzing about since you went off to school in London. It’s why Mrs. Tisdale kept Alice home, I’m thinking. To make their sneaky plan for catching poor Derwent. I’ll tell you something else too. Miss Grace knows all about it.”

  “I thought she might.”

  “She was hoping—probably still is—that Derwent would come to his senses. He’d never be allowed to get by with this foolishness if Vicar Brown was alive. You were away at school when Mrs. Tisdale came to see your aunt. She came all huffy like. Insisted Derwent h
ad fallen in love with Alice and was reluctant to break the news to you. In love, my foot.” She sniffed her disapproval and held up her floured hands. “It’s the job working for the diamond family that Derwent wants. I say the Tisdales helped arrange it with the squire, knowing it would lure Derwent away from his schoolin’ and marriage to you. Squire gave Derwent the job offer because Lady Elosia agreed he ought to marry Alice. Promised him shares in a mine. And that offer went hand in hand with marrying Alice. Well, it figures, I daresay. Derwent never was much bent on following the vicar’s footsteps.”

  She slapped and kneaded the lump of bread dough with robust force. “Miss Grace went on hoping and praying Derwent would see the light. But the glitter of gold and diamonds has him packing his bag. That’s what Mrs. Tisdale is excited about too.”

  “About the diamond mines?”

  “I daresay. After all, her Alice will be married to Derwent when Rogan Chantry strikes gold—if he can make good on his Uncle Henry’s map. That’s how they’re thinking, anyway. Her and the good doctor both. And Alice thinks Derwent could end up with a great reward from Rogan if he shares the burden of the work.”

  Evy could see the way Alice was thinking, that Derwent might even end up partners with a Chantry. That would never happen, of course. Neither Rogan nor the family, including Sir Julien Bley, would allow anyone to become a partner.

  “Diamonds, and now gold.” Mrs. Croft said it as if discussing measles and the plague. “That’s what’s been rattling ’round in Derwent’s head. Believes all of Master Rogan’s talk. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Rogan Chantry.”

  As Evy had known since childhood. Just as she’d always known she saw Derwent more as a brother than a beau. It had just seemed the easiest path to agree to what everyone expected: that they would one day marry. She’d spent so many years walking that path without ever really wanting to do so. Not to say that her pride was not stung by his turning her down for Alice and employment with Rogan at Kimberly. Without the prospect of marriage to Derwent, her future was decidedly unsettled. But perhaps it had always been so.

  “Maybe you ought to be counting your blessings. You found out early enough what Derwent was like,” Mrs. Croft said.