you, Quentin? Really?”
“I shouldn’t blame you for being skeptical. I’ve spent more time in my mother’s company than my father’s, so you must think I go as she does. I don’t.”
Rebecca put aside her tea, taking the seat near him. “I’d like to hear the reasons you think this might work, Quentin, and then I’ll tell you all of the reasons it won’t. Let’s see whose list is longer.”
“Length isn’t always the determining factor,” he said. “Weight—now that’s something altogether vital.” He studied her a moment, a light in his blue eyes that she’d never seen before. Intimate, honest, intent, they aimed past her eyes and heart, directly into her soul. “When I read Cosima’s journal, it confirmed to me that certain people are meant to be together. If our faith is similar, Rebecca, why shouldn’t we explore a future together?”
“Your mother will object to anything between us, Quentin. You must know that.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, but it does. You’re all she has left; she won’t want you to be alienated from her.” Rebecca picked up her tea again.
He frowned. “And so you think I should do her bidding? marry some witless snob?”
“Of course not.” She grinned. “Not a witless one, anyway.”
He didn’t seem to catch her slight attempt at humor. “I’ll admit my mother will be somewhat of a challenge, but not a barricade to my happiness. She’ll come round, eventually.”
Rebecca held his gaze, knowing there was another question she must ask but uncertain how to bring up the subject. If only she’d had more time to rehearse this sort of thing . . . but before last night, discussing a relationship with Quentin Hollinworth was the last thing she’d expected to do.
“I doubt Lady Caroline was witless.” She whispered the words. Part of her knew the foolishness of bringing up such a thing, yet she was unable to hold herself back.
He took a sip of his tea, then leaned forward. This time he did not reach for her. “I expected to talk about former relationships at some point, Rebecca. I didn’t know it would be so soon.”
“I . . . don’t mean to pry,” she said, “but it seems to me Lady Caroline would be a better match for you than I.”
He looked at her with what appeared to be a mix of amusement and perhaps consternation. “I once overheard you tell Helen Risdon not to pay attention to tabloid newspaper reports. Have you fallen victim to them yourself?”
Never in her life would she reveal the stash of them in her desk.
“Caroline and I had much in common a few years ago,” he said. “That didn’t seem to be true after a while.”
“What happened to change that?”
“I don’t really know. After my father and brother died, it seemed obvious Caroline and I weren’t as well suited as everyone believed. When I began questioning things like God and the Bible and where my father and brother might be, she wasn’t the least bit interested. She humored me by accompanying me to church now and then, but she has a sort of blindness when it comes to anything beyond right here, right now. Going to church is a matter of patriotism, nothing personal. Her future only goes as far as this world can take her. Even my mother has more faith, believe it or not.”
“How sad,” Rebecca said. “But you know your mother only encapsulates the problem between us, Quentin. I’ve no interest in your social set. You go about London and at the cottage in a circle I could never be part of. Photographers clicking shots here and there, never a thought to myself.” She shuddered. “I don’t know how you tolerate it.”
“You realize you have more in common with my mother in that statement than you realize?”
She shook her head. “Oh, I’ll grant you she might not want newsmen snooping round her parties, but whether she likes it or not, that’s the circle she very much wants to be part of. She’s aristocratic through and through. Set apart in this
“I shouldn’t blame you for being skeptical. I’ve spent more time in my mother’s company than my father’s, so you must think I go as she does. I don’t.”
Rebecca put aside her tea, taking the seat near him. “I’d like to hear the reasons you think this might work, Quentin, and then I’ll tell you all of the reasons it won’t. Let’s see whose list is longer.”
“Length isn’t always the determining factor,” he said. “Weight—now that’s something altogether vital.” He studied her a moment, a light in his blue eyes that she’d never seen before. Intimate, honest, intent, they aimed past her eyes and heart, directly into her soul. “When I read Cosima’s journal, it confirmed to me that certain people are meant to be together. If our faith is similar, Rebecca, why shouldn’t we explore a future together?”
“Your mother will object to anything between us, Quentin. You must know that.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, but it does. You’re all she has left; she won’t want you to be alienated from her.” Rebecca picked up her tea again.
He frowned. “And so you think I should do her bidding? marry some witless snob?”
“Of course not.” She grinned. “Not a witless one, anyway.”
He didn’t seem to catch her slight attempt at humor. “I’ll admit my mother will be somewhat of a challenge, but not a barricade to my happiness. She’ll come round, eventually.”
Rebecca held his gaze, knowing there was another question she must ask but uncertain how to bring up the subject. If only she’d had more time to rehearse this sort of thing . . . but before last night, discussing a relationship with Quentin Hollinworth was the last thing she’d expected to do.
“I doubt Lady Caroline was witless.” She whispered the words. Part of her knew the foolishness of bringing up such a thing, yet she was unable to hold herself back.
He took a sip of his tea, then leaned forward. This time he did not reach for her. “I expected to talk about former relationships at some point, Rebecca. I didn’t know it would be so soon.”
“I . . . don’t mean to pry,” she said, “but it seems to me Lady Caroline would be a better match for you than I.”
He looked at her with what appeared to be a mix of amusement and perhaps consternation. “I once overheard you tell Helen Risdon not to pay attention to tabloid newspaper reports. Have you fallen victim to them yourself?”
Never in her life would she reveal the stash of them in her desk.
“Caroline and I had much in common a few years ago,” he said. “That didn’t seem to be true after a while.”
“What happened to change that?”
“I don’t really know. After my father and brother died, it seemed obvious Caroline and I weren’t as well suited as everyone believed. When I began questioning things like God and the Bible and where my father and brother might be, she wasn’t the least bit interested. She humored me by accompanying me to church now and then, but she has a sort of blindness when it comes to anything beyond right here, right now. Going to church is a matter of patriotism, nothing personal. Her future only goes as far as this world can take her. Even my mother has more faith, believe it or not.”
“How sad,” Rebecca said. “But you know your mother only encapsulates the problem between us, Quentin. I’ve no interest in your social set. You go about London and at the cottage in a circle I could never be part of. Photographers clicking shots here and there, never a thought to myself.” She shuddered. “I don’t know how you tolerate it.”
“You realize you have more in common with my mother in that statement than you realize?”
She shook her head. “Oh, I’ll grant you she might not want newsmen snooping round her parties, but whether she likes it or not, that’s the circle she very much wants to be part of. She’s aristocratic through and through. Set apart in this
Similar Books
