Free The Oak Leaves by Maureen Lang Page A

travel weariness would be as obvious to others as it was to herself.
    But there was little time to dwell on such things. Reginald took her hand and pulled her up one of the wide brick staircases. Before they’d even reached the top, the doors opened and two servants stood aside to usher them in.
    “Ah, Mr. Fisher,” said Reginald gaily to the man who appeared to be the ranking servant present. He was taller than Reginald, with gray hair parted down the center. “I have a wonderful surprise for Peter. Will you summon him?”
    “Lord Peter is not at home, sir,” said the servant, bowing slightly as he spoke.
    The animation in Reginald’s face disappeared upon Mr. Fisher’s pronouncement. “Not here?”
    “That’s right, sir,” he said. “Thursday, you know.”
    Reginald slapped his forehead as if Thursday meant something. “Have my days mixed, Fisher. Thought today was Wednesday, without sessions running into the evening.” He turned to Cosima. “Ah, well, we’ve wasted a half hour. Peter is at Parliament, no doubt along with his father. We shall have to wait and meet him tomorrow.” He turned back to Mr. Fisher. “Unless . . . is Mrs. Hamilton at home?”
    The butler nodded, eyes downcast, voice tentative, as if careful of what he said. “Shall I say you’re here?”
    Reginald smiled broadly. “Yes, Fisher!”
    Without a word but with a barely discernable flick of one wrist, Mr. Fisher dismissed the servant at his side, and the younger man hurried off. Mr. Fisher then turned and led them through the wide, walnut-paneled entryway. Cosima caught Millie’s uncertain glance, but they both followed.
    The drawing room to the left was not large, though the ceilings were so high it gave the feeling of space. Cushioned chairs, wide settees, and lounging seats sat here and there, most near the fireplace. A glistening mahogany piano stood before tall windows, beyond which Cosima spotted another courtyard. She was surprised to find so much outdoor space in the middle of a thriving, dense city like London.
    “Fisher,” said Reginald, “why don’t you take my friend’s maid along with you? You might even offer her tea.” Reginald looked from Cosima to Millie and back to Cosima, as if expecting her assent.
    “This is Millicent O’Banyon, my companion,” said Cosima. “I’m sure she would welcome refreshment after our journey.”
    “Go along then, both of you,” Reginald said briskly before Mr. Fisher could respond. “At once.”
    Reginald’s impatience was obvious, along with a glint of something else in his eye as he watched them go. Disdain—Cosima was sure of it.
    Cosima stood silent as they left, unsure of the behavior Reginald expected of her. He had proclaimed himself a snob. Did that mean he expected his prospective wife to be one too?
    When they were alone, the harsh look in Reginald’s friendly blue eyes disappeared. “No wonder I’m drawn to you, my dear. You’re very like Peter and his family. So kind to everyone, whether above or beneath you.”
    She wondered what he meant, but a moment later yet another servant came to divest them of gloves and hats while someone else brought in tea and biscuits.
    In the midst of all this commotion, a woman entered who was obviously no servant despite her wide-brimmed straw hat, her garden gloves, and the broad, flat basket full of flowers dangling from her arm. Dressed in green crinoline lined with embroidered petals along the wide bodice and narrowly cut waist, the woman might have blended into any lovely garden. Flawless, creamy white skin glowed with a touch of healthy pink in her cheeks. Clear blue eyes and copper hair competed for the claim of her best feature. But to Cosima, that must be this woman’s smile, with kindness so obvious in her eyes and her full lips parted to reveal stark white teeth. She was the picture of welcome.
    “Reginald, how pleased I am to see you! Peter said you were traveling, and that’s why you missed our little soiree