On Sparrow Hill (39 page)

Rebecca shook her head, unable to deny she’d done exactly as Dana accused.

“God has already given us the strength we need. We just have to get rid of all the layers of doubt covering it up. That’s what tests do. I faced what every parent fears most: not knowing where Padgett was. Even if it only lasted an hour, it was the longest hour of my life. And I survived. I think I must be stronger than I thought, because not once during that whole horrible episode did I fall down in a heap and wrap myself into a fetal position, giving up. I made it through, and I think I can make it through whatever’s ahead, too.”

“All and whatever, as Cosima’s journal says,” Rebecca whispered, relief whisking through her at Dana’s discovery. “So you’ll be going to Ireland and joining Aidan soon, I take it?”

Dana nodded. “Tomorrow. Talie’s coming, just to keep me company until Aidan finishes his assignment. He said we can go home at the end of next week.” She pulled Rebecca close. “If I promise not to make hope an enemy anymore, you have to do that same thing. Remember what your father told you. The greatest hope comes after a surrender.”

Rebecca closed her eyes and warded off ready tears, then opened her eyes again.

“The buses are leaving,” Talie said from the window.

Dana squeezed Rebecca again. “Find him. Talk to him. You have to know. You said it yourself. The sooner, the better.”

Rebecca knew Dana was right. She gave a single nod, then left the room.

He was outside with the judges, and when he caught her eye, he smiled. Instantly her breathing came faster, her pulse quickened. Would he look at her in such a way if he were about to say their relationship should revert to a professional one?

Before she could join him with the judges, Quentin extricated himself from the group and approached her.

“They want to go through their checklist one more time,” he said. “I actually don’t think they want us around for the time being. They asked to meet us in the gallery.”

She followed him back into the house. Instead of going in the front entry, where they were sure to be obligated to join Dana and Talie, Quentin led her around the house to the veranda door. It was the shortest route to the gallery. They passed the Victorian tea ladies who lingered in their costumes though the tour had ended; they passed Helen on her way to the kitchen with a tray of soiled Irish china. At last they came to the gallery, their footsteps echoing on the shiny marble floors.

“We could use a few minutes alone, don’t you think?” he asked. “There’s something we need to discuss.”

Rebecca agreed, her heart at once hot and cold, the sensations clashing in her chest and constricting her breathing. “We might want to see the judges off first.”

“They said something about walking back to the cuddle farm.” He looked around the room at the portraits, the marble busts, the ceramic artwork that represented generations of collectors, of wealth and aristocracy.

Rebecca looked too. It was all so familiar. Would another woman, one like Rebecca without a lofty line of ancestors, feel out of place in such a room? Perhaps. But Rebecca’s past was woven through Quentin’s, and since hearing the words Talie had spoken the night before, she was thankful for the servanthood her family stood for.

“This seems as good a place as any for our discussion, don’t you think?”

Rebecca pulled her gaze from the aristocrats around her to the one in front of her. She nodded. Indeed, this was the perfect place, no matter what the outcome. If Quentin had chosen one of his own kind, perhaps it could be better understood here.

“Do you know why I left, Rebecca?”

The answer was too obvious, but she needed to say it aloud even though the truth behind the words cut into her heart. “You went to London. To see Lady Caroline.”

He shook his head. “I did go to London, and I did see Caroline. That’s not, however, why I left.” He paused.

She could see him gathering thoughts like so many lost puzzle pieces, something between confusion and eagerness on his face.

“I have another question for you. Do you remember when we were just working together before we admitted any personal feelings for one another?”

One brief nod was enough; that relationship had lasted far longer than the personal one might.

“On occasion you would say things along the line of protecting me, and always, always, your actions followed through.”

“Yes, that’s my job. To protect the interest and integrity of the family.”

Quentin grabbed her hand. “Don’t you see? It made you seem the stronger of the two of us. It was part of the reason I hesitated so long to confess my feelings for you. Perhaps why I started seeing Caroline to begin with, when even then I found myself wanting to know you better from the first moment we met. Do you remember when that was?”

“I began working here three years ago—”

He stopped her with another shake of his head. “No. Your father brought you here when you were fifteen and I was sixteen. You came to see the home where so many Seabrookes had invested their lives.”

She remembered too well. It was the first time she’d seen him in person, though she’d imagined talking to him many times before that, ever since her father had drawn attention to his picture on the society page. Of him next to his mother at a polo match.

“I think I fell in love with you then, Rebecca, all those years ago. I knew you excelled in every subject at school—my father mentioned it—that you graduated with far more honors than I ever tried to achieve. That you were active in your church. In any event I never forgot you, and when you came here to work, I was a bit awed, amazed you chose to start a career here instead of anywhere else. And you excelled here too, of course, as I fully expected. Still, there was that . . . feeling in the background that you were not only smarter but stronger than I. It made me feel less a man. Can you understand that?”

“I never meant to make you feel that way.”

He nodded. “Yes, I know. That made it worse.”

There was a longer silence this time. Weight mounted in her chest, compressing her heart, her breathing. Rebecca hadn’t expected this. She’d expected him to tell her his choice, and even if in the deepest part of her she believed he might choose her, she had tried to prepare herself otherwise. Only nowhere in that preparation did he tell her why she’d failed to keep his love. Perhaps someday the knowledge might be useful, but for the moment all she wanted to do was flee.

Yet his quiet voice kept her immobile. “The other day, when you told me you were afraid, it made me realize for the first time that you weren’t immune to all the fears and insecurities the rest of us are subject to.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “One would think that would have made it easier, putting us on a more level field. It didn’t, and that’s why I left.”

Must he be so thorough in his explanation? Each word stung. “Because I was no longer the person you thought?”

“No, because suddenly I saw myself capable of disappointing you, responsible for letting you down someday. Hurting you. All the time I thought I was safe from doing that to you, because you had this special ability to read everything around you, expect what was ahead, be prepared—and therefore spare yourself, somehow, the unexpected blows the rest of us face. When I realized you were every bit as afraid as I am to go through the pain of loss, it made me worry I might someday be responsible for doing that to you. So I had to make sure I would never do it.”

That he thought of her so unrealistically, put her so high on a pedestal of human understanding, magnified how wrong he was. Had she hidden herself so thoroughly from him that he wasn’t able to figure out how little she really knew? Even as she asked herself that, she repeated in her mind the last words he’d spoken. If he thought of her so unrealistically, they only needed the truth to set things straight.

“I don’t expect anyone to be perfect—myself or anyone else around me,” Rebecca whispered. “Have I really been that intellectual snob you once believed me to be?”

“No, it was I. I was the one with the cloudy vision.”

“How do you see me now, then?”

“At the moment, just about as insecure as myself. I’m not sure that’s a good thing, but it’s comforting at any rate.”

“I think all you need is time to realize my many faults. I’m not only insecure, I’m jealous—an especially unattractive trait.”

“That’s because I’ve been irresponsible in the way I handled things with Caroline. I shouldn’t have allowed my mother to invite her to stay at the cottage, not when I was pursuing a relationship with you. I see now it was inconsiderate at best. And when she left, I never should have offered her my flat. I thought I was being generous, kind even. It was thoughtless. If I’m to convince you I’ll never let another woman come between us, it should begin with her. A clean break, one that won’t have you—or Caroline, for that matter—wondering if any remnant of that relationship still exists.”

“And does it?” Her heartbeat battered her chest, needing the answer.

Quentin shook his head. “No.”

“Not even if she’s discovered a faith similar to yours?”

“I hope that’s true. Maybe some spark of faith is igniting in her, but that’s between Caroline and God. In the year I’ve been away from Caroline, I’ve gained perspective that’s even more accurate than I had when she and I first parted. I see now that we couldn’t have gotten on well for long.” He grinned. “I also see why my mother likes her so well. They’re a bit alike. I’ve always seen myself living here at the Hall after I marry. If I were to marry Caroline, I fear I’d be repeating what my father did and end up with Winston my only companion.” He tried to make light of the comment but in a moment closed his eyes. “I cannot promise not to let you down from time to time or even that I won’t die as your mother did, but I will promise you this: the cause will never be because of another woman, past, present, or future. I promise you whatever pain I may cause won’t outweigh the happiness I try to bring to your life.”

Hot tears gathered, stinging the corners of her eyes. “I couldn’t ask for more than that.”

He gathered her into his arms, stroking the side of her face where an errant curl had fallen. “I told my mother that I was planning to ask you to marry me today. She won’t stand in our way.”

“She gave her blessing earlier, I think.” Such as it was.

Quentin eyed her. “Did she give my surprise away, then? Let you know my intention before I had the chance?”

“Perhaps if I was more astute I’d have guessed something along those lines, but no.”

“Well?”

She raised her brows, perplexed.

“Your answer?” he prompted.

Rebecca laughed. “How can you not know? Of course I’ll marry you, Quentin! Oh—on one condition.”

His frown returned. “What’s that?”

“That you’ll let me serve you. It’s in my blood, you know. Twelve generations.”

“We’ll serve each other.”

He kissed her then, and Rebecca was grateful for his firm hold; this measure of happiness made her light-headed.

She wasn’t sure what noise distracted her or if Quentin had noticed anything at all. She pulled away and his gaze followed hers, turning to the threshold on the other end of the long room. There stood three members of the Featherby committee and another woman Rebecca didn’t recognize. She hadn’t arrived with the judges earlier.

“Ah, we’ve been found out again,” Quentin said amiably. “This room isn’t very good for privacy, is it?”

Taking Rebecca’s hand, he pulled her forward. “Forgive us.”

Eva Wetherhead nodded with a smile, holding her notebook to her chest. “Nothing to forgive, Mr. Hollinworth. You may live in a national treasure, but it’s your home, after all. We’re all in your debt for letting us trespass now and then.” She glanced down at her notebook. “We only need your signature and to leave this copy with Miss Seabrooke.” She handed Rebecca an envelope. “A schedule of when you can expect to hear from us.” She smiled warmly. “But I must say, you might want to leave the award banquet date open.”

Rebecca felt Quentin’s arm slip tighter around her.

“We’ll be sure not to plan our wedding on that day, then,” he said with a grin.

Three gasps sounded, two from the Featherby judges and a third from the other woman who stepped from behind the judges. She toted a camera, and Rebecca knew instantly she wasn’t a late judge but a reporter.

“I can quote you on that, Mr. Hollinworth? You and Rebecca Seabrooke are getting married?”

“As soon as the event can be planned. And with Rebecca’s experience, I should think it won’t be much trouble at all.”

“May I take a picture?”

This was something new, asking permission. As Quentin pulled her closer yet for a pose, Rebecca decided she would find out the reporter’s name and ask her about covering a fund-raiser she had in mind to benefit medical research into fragile X syndrome. Events covered on the society page always received the most attention. . . .

My dear, dear Cosima,

As I think back upon my arrival here, how I was so hopeful and yet ill prepared, how I learned so much about the truth of God’s plan for me, nearly suffered His mission’s loss, and yet learned to worship Him through it, I can tell you most honestly that my life has never been richer or happier. I have learned true contentment in serving others, not the least of which is my husband, who serves in his way. I am, without doubt, a cloudy image of the Most Holy, but I believe He is teaching me even through my flaws. When I thought I might lose the school, I knew I had learned one thing: that the dream He gave me would be fulfilled regardless of whether He used me to do it.

And now I look forward to so much more. We do have a most unconventional marriage, but to me it is only unconventional in its passion. Simon and I have learned how to fight on the same side, mainly for those less fortunate than we.

Some of the publicity, no matter how unfounded, is slow to die. Mr. Truebody, in his eagerness to work with Simon, came to visit and suggested we change the school’s name. And so we have chosen a name in honor of the picture Katie once drew, which now hangs just inside the school’s door, the first thing one sees upon entry. The sparrow, beloved of God, not forgotten. Simon and I take care of the sparrows together, as God has led us to do. And so we are no longer Escott Manor but Sparrow Hill.