On Sparrow Hill (13 page)

The man was tall, nearly as tall as Quentin. And handsome, not in the distinguished way Quentin sported his own good looks but rather American-looking, with thick, dark hair meeting a wide forehead and accompanied by a perfect smile. The woman just emerging was tall and slender as well, with hair the color of autumn hay. Before either of them looked her way, Rebecca saw the man and woman exchange a glance. Maybe it was the excitement of travel or of being at Hollinworth Hall. There was a mirror of emotion there, a connection. Marriage hadn’t dulled this relationship.

“Lovely to meet you at last, Dana.” Rebecca stepped forward, feeling as though they’d done more than exchange a few e-mails. It must be their shared link to the Hamilton family; Rebecca felt they were already friends.

“Rebecca?”

She nodded, stiffening when Dana Walker gave her an impulsive hug. Americans were so demonstrative. Still, Rebecca found she didn’t mind the brief embrace.

Dana introduced her husband as Aidan Walker and their daughter as Padgett. Rebecca guessed the child to be four or five at most. She was starkly blonde, unlike either of her parents.

“Padgett.” Quentin repeated the name after introducing himself, bending low to shake a hand that disappeared into his large palm. “Now that is a name one doesn’t hear every day, at least here in the UK.”

She nodded. “My birth mother gave it to me. Mommy said she was going to name me Emma instead, but when she and Daddy brought me home they didn’t want to confuse me. So I’m still Padgett.”

Dana put a hand on her daughter’s blonde head. “She loves to tell that story, even though she was too young to remember. We adopted Padgett when she was nine months old.”

Adopted. That made sense. Thus . . . no genetic “curse”?

“Welcome to Hollinworth Hall,” Quentin said, standing to his full height again. He turned back to the front door, preparing to lead the way inside.

A mild cry from Dana stopped them all. “I’ve left my purse in the cab!” She flagged down the driver, who’d just taken off. The black cab skidded to a halt. A moment later Dana disappeared into the backseat and came out with a rather large leather bag and a folded newspaper. “We saw this paper at the train depot with both of you on the society page.” Laughing, she added, “Aidan and I have been wondering all the way here if we’re dressed well enough to be in the company of such celebrities.”

Rebecca’s blood stopped altogether, even though her heart still pumped. She watched Quentin reach for the paper, an amused smile on his face. He unfolded it, and immediately she saw two color pictures: one of him laughing with the group of tourists visiting just the day before and another of her standing in the background. Thankfully there was no miraculously recreated shot of them in each other’s arms, and she was grateful once again that Quentin had confiscated the reporter’s photo card. Perhaps the reporter had paid for pictures taken by legitimate tourists.

Quentin held the paper at an angle for both of them to read. To her dismay, the headline and adjoining paragraph made the more intimate photo unnecessary.

Who’s Joining Whose Ranks?

Quentin Hollinworth, heir to the Hollinworth fortune, son of Lady Elise Hollinworth, nephew to Lord Edward, Earl of Eastwater, and great-grandson to the deceased viscount Hamilton, was ranked among the top ten most eligible bachelors in last year’s lineup after his breakup from longtime love interest Lady Caroline Norleigh. However, his name on that list may well be in jeopardy again. Quentin Hollinworth is purported to be joining ranks with his commercial manager. . . .

Now the blood raced through her veins. No wonder the telephone had been ringing nearly nonstop until she quit answering this morning, people wishing to book more tours than were available. She’d finally let the auto-response pick up for her.

Now it was all too clear. Tourists wanted to see not only Quentin but
her
—fawning upon him!

“I was so excited to see that,” Dana said. “Made me feel . . .”

Rebecca barely heard her. There must have been something in Rebecca’s expression, because the enthusiasm behind Dana’s words gradually faded to a finish.

“. . . famous, too. Is something . . . wrong?”

Rebecca knew she should answer, assure this visitor everything was perfectly fine. That was the polite thing to do, what she expected herself to do. But as she stared at the newspaper, she didn’t seem to have an assuring word to call upon.

“No, no, nothing’s wrong,” Quentin said. His voice sounded so calm and friendly Rebecca knew he thought the report trivial. Perhaps it was, to him. He was accustomed to being in the news. “Let’s go inside, shall we? You came for a tour, and we’ve been looking forward to giving you one.” He stepped over the threshold of the wide-open doors, and the familiar echo of footsteps along the multistoried foyer was enough to remind Rebecca she not only had a job to do but had been anticipating this visit for weeks.

“Reporters don’t usually bother with us here at the Hall,” she said by way of explanation. Leaving it at that, she commanded her friendliest tour-guide smile and waved an invitation to look around the impressive foyer. “As your cousin Quentin said, welcome to Hollinworth Hall. Although after reading Cosima’s journal, you might wish it were still called Hamilton Hall.”

Dana, holding her husband’s arm, nodded as she looked around with clear excitement in her eyes. “It’s so incredible to me that Cosima actually lived here. I’ve pictured it nearly correctly, at least from the outside. And here—with the staircase in the center and the tall ceilings.”

“Then let’s put off all the usual polite talk about how your travel went and so forth and just start the tour,” Quentin invited. “You’ll want to see the ballroom and upstairs. I’m not sure which bedrooms belonged to whom, although Rebecca’s the family-history expert, aren’t you, darling?”

Rebecca nodded, smiling past his endearment. She wanted to enjoy the term as she did when they were alone, but on the heels of learning his celebrity status was already threatening to take hold of her life, she wasn’t sure she should welcome it as her heart was so obviously willing to do. “I know which room was Berrie’s, another where Cosima gave birth to her children, and of course the room Peter and Cosima would have shared. It’s in the wing that’s been closed off for years except for Quentin’s suite.”

They started in the gallery, where Quentin’s American cousin could see the same portraits that brought alive so many of Quentin’s forebears for Rebecca. The gallery was full of masters from the seventeenth to the twentieth century, but Rebecca barely touched on that history. Instead, she introduced each of the Hamiltons, stopping in front of Cosima.

Padgett pointed. “That’s your grandmother, Mommy?”

“Uh-huh. What do you think?”

“She’s pretty, like you.” Padgett turned to Rebecca. “You’re pretty too. I like your curly hair. Mommy makes mine curly sometimes, but I don’t like to sit still for her to do it. How do you sit still so long to make all those curls?”

“That’s the way God made it,” Rebecca admitted. When Padgett’s eyes widened, Rebecca resisted adding the truth about how hard her curls were to tame sometimes.

Dana wandered to the portrait of Beryl Hamilton. “You know, I think you favor Berrie,” Dana said to Quentin. “I think you have her eyes.”

“I’ve thought so too,” Rebecca said, smiling when Quentin shot her a surprised glance. She let her smile linger, wishing there weren’t tabloid photographers or mothers entrenched in their own significance to get in their way. He did have the most appealing eyes—eyes she could look into for the rest of her life.

“Amazing how genetics work, isn’t it?” said Aidan. “That some things have survived all these years. Like blue eyes and fragile X.”

“Fragile X,” Quentin echoed. “Is that the name for the curse mentioned in Cosima’s journal?”

“My cousin has fragile X,” said Padgett. “That’s why Mommy and Daddy ’dopted me. Right, Mommy?”

Dana frowned. “Where did you hear that, Padge? Daddy and I adopted you because we wanted to love
you
.”

“I heard you talking to Daddy. You said it’s a good thing you ’dopted me or you’d have someone just like Ben.” She turned her own wide blue eyes to Rebecca.

Rebecca saw Dana’s cheeks go pink, no doubt the way Rebecca’s had when she’d first seen the newspaper. “That’s what you meant by something from Cosima’s journal having ramifications today. What’s fragile X?”

“It’s a genetic disorder that often causes mental retardation,” Aidan explained. “It was passed on through Cosima’s family. Both Dana and her sister, Talie, are unaffected carriers. One of Talie’s children—Padgett’s cousin Ben—is pretty severely affected.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Rebecca said. “How did you find out what it was?”

Dana spoke up. “Through a blood test. Like Aidan said, both my sister and I learned that we’re carriers.”

“Goodness,” Quentin whispered. He reached for Rebecca’s hand. “Any reason I should have myself tested as a possible carrier?”

“I doubt it. Unless there have been others in your line with intellectual challenges?”

“Not to my knowledge, though I’ve been accused of being somewhat dull witted on more than one occasion. Mainly by my mother, actually.”

Rebecca laughed with the others, silently thinking he was probably only half joking.

“The full syndrome did show up at least once between Cosima’s son Kipp, who must have been a carrier, and my father, another carrier,” Dana explained. “You might have a blood test just to eliminate any worries, but I think it would have been evident somewhere along the way in so many generations.”

Quentin slipped his arm around Rebecca. “I don’t mind a blood test. Might be a good idea anyway.”

“They used to require blood tests in America before anyone got married, but most states don’t any more,” Aidan said. “Do they do that here?”

Rebecca shook her head, brushing away a hint of unease not only over the topic but over Quentin’s easy way of revealing their personal relationship. Since this morning’s headlines, no doubt all of England saw her and Quentin as an item; no use trying to hide it now. Did she really want to, anyway?

“You mentioned that Quentin has Berrie’s eyes,” Rebecca said to Dana. “We have some letters from Berrie to Cosima that we thought might interest you. A series of them, actually, from when she ran a school in Ireland.”

“Oooh!” Dana sighed and grabbed her husband’s hand as she faced Rebecca. “Aidan will tell you I’ve been running all over Ireland since we arrived, trying to find such a place. We thought from Cosima’s journal Berrie may have found a way to follow through with her plans to start a school for handicapped kids. Do you have some information on that?”

“Berrie did open a school,” Quentin said, “along with a woman named Mrs. Cotgrave or some such name; isn’t that right, Rebecca?”

She nodded. “I’d be happy to e-mail you the letters as I transcribe them.”

“Great! I have an appointment with a woman whose family worked at a place called Sparrow Hill during the right time period. Do Berrie’s letters mention that it was called that?”

Rebecca shook her head. “I haven’t read all the letters, but I don’t recall that name.”

“I’d love to see them.”

“We’ll pull them out after tea,” Rebecca said. “You’ll like the box they were stored in; it’s really beautiful.”

During the garden tour, Dana was disappointed the gazebo was no longer there, although Quentin had a rough idea where it probably had stood. They finished at the cuddle farm, where Padgett fed the goats, held the rabbits, and petted the lambs.

By the time they shared tea on the veranda, Rebecca felt as though she’d known the Walker family far longer than just a couple of hours.

“Cosima’s journal is a prized possession in our family,” Dana said as Rebecca pulled out Berrie’s letter box. “If you ever come to the States, you’ll have to visit us and we’ll show you the original.”

“Perhaps we will.” Quentin looked up from his tea to send a smile Rebecca’s way, a smile that seemed to make everyone except the two of them disappear.

Dana looked at the box with the same sort of awe Rebecca had felt when it was first discovered. “I wonder if these letters will prove the same thing Cosima’s journal did—that eras may change, but people don’t. Not really. When I read the journal, I thought I would have been every bit as afraid of marriage as she was.”

Aidan laughed. “You were.” He caught Rebecca’s eye. “We were dating at the time, and she tried to send me packing when she learned she was a carrier for fragile X.”

“And yet here you are, happily married,” Quentin said. “Hmm . . . Sounds like obstacles can be overcome if you set your mind straight.”

He was looking at Rebecca steadily, and for the second time since his American relatives had arrived, Rebecca felt herself blush.

“And speaking of things like journals and letters,” Quentin continued, “the Seabrooke name mentioned in Cosima’s journal—the valet who used to make sure the secret room in the London town house was kept up—was none other than Rebecca’s great-great-great-grandfather.”

Dana’s eyes sparkled. “You’re kidding!”

Rebecca shook her head.

“And now here you are, marrying one of the Hamilton descendants. A valet’s granddaughter.” She sighed, adding, “How romantic.”

“Dating, at any rate,” Rebecca said, another rush of awkwardness descending upon her.

Quentin let go of her hand to slip his arm around her shoulders. “One of us is afraid of marriage too, Dana.” He smiled her way. “I’ll let you guess which.”

Rebecca glanced at Quentin even as both Dana and Aidan laughed with him. A few weeks ago she had been nothing more than his commercial manager. Even joking about marriage seemed more than a bit premature in Rebecca’s opinion.

Definitely premature.

18

* * *

Simon MacFarland’s opinion of Escott Manor Hospital for the Mentally Infirm was in no way altered by his sister’s near-constant praise of the place. I could see that in the set of his jaw, the grim line of his dark brows.

I was convinced, Cosima, that he would take Katie away. As little as I wished to spend another moment in her brother’s company, I found the notion of her leaving surprisingly regrettable. Yes, she was a student for whom, to date, we received no financial support. And her burdens do outweigh the help she brings. I do not deny it. Yet there is something about her that reminds me of myself. Perhaps it is her unflinching belief that she is where she ought to be, despite all of the challenges.