Page 18 of On a Midsummer Night
But over the last year, he had been immersed in the design and construction of new lines and stations on the path to southwest England, and the work had kept him away. Beth had been distraught when she learned he had visited their parents in Bristol after she had departed for London, and although Oliver had assured her that he would visit her in town as soon as he could, the wait had been dreadfully long.
But he was here now. Stepping back, she peered up into his dear face and smiled. The last thirteen months had stripped the boyish tinge from his features, leaving behind the chiseled beauty of a man. His cheekbones were sharper, his shoulders broader, his overall frame bulkier and stronger. His blue eyes, so much like their father’s, shone with that familiar gregarious light that had always lit him from within.
Bussing a kiss to her cheek, Oliver tugged one of the curls that sat on her brow. “I stopped by Dalton House, but the butler informed me you were here.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t try to usher you inside to meet with Uncle Charles.” Beth shoved at his arm playfully. “Uncle has been quite keen for you to visit.”
“That’s only because he wishes for me to transfer to the London office.” Oliver rolled his eyes. “Uncle Charles might have apologized for not telling Father how Grandfather stole Mother’s dowry at the beginning of their marriage, but his interest in familial connections seems as self-serving as ever.”
“Is that what happened?” Beth pressed a hand to her breast in shock. “Neither Mother nor Father has ever told me what transpired between the pair.”
“Greed will have men do all manner of terrible deeds.” His gaze landed on a spot over her head, and his normally friendly expression hardened a fraction. “But I will have to share the story with you another time, for it appears I have interrupted something.”
Smoothing her shaking palms over her skirts, Beth finally turned to where Henry stood a short distance away. His dark eyes met hers for a second before they slid to Oliver.
“Dalton, it’s been too long,” he murmured, extending a hand in greeting.
“So it has,” Oliver agreed, enfolding Henry’s hand with his own. “But then whose fault is that?”
Henry cleared his throat but, to his credit, did not look away. “Mine.”
Oliver nodded, his gaze studying the other man with an intensity that had Beth shift on her feet. After a long, tense pause, he smiled. “Why don’t we stop for lunch at the hotel I’m staying at, and you can tell us about it?”
Affection for her brother burned her eyes. Only Oliver could hold a man to account for his bad behavior and then offer him an olive branch in the next. Henry seemed to be of the same mindset, for he nodded his assent readily.
Beth left the men to retrieve Lucy, reasoning that perhaps they needed a moment alone to air some tension between them.
When she finally pulled Lucy aside to tell her about Oliver, her cousin readily agreed to accompany the group to lunch, although she expressed some apprehension about being with Mr. Ramsgate so soon after her rejection. But Beth knew Henry was more upset with her than with Lucy, for she had known how important the marriage was to him. And when she had been about to discover what secret scandal he was attempting to outrace, Oliver had suddenly appeared. Beth was not sorry for her brother’s arrival, but she did wish he had come a few moments later.
She waited while Lucy said goodbye to her friends, and the pair walked arm-in-arm to rejoin the men. Whatever awkwardness had existed between Henry and Oliver in the ten minutes since she had gone to retrieve Lucy seemed to have dissipated. They were discussing the new locomotive Henry had designed and was having constructed, and the women stood silently by as Oliver peppered him with questions about the mechanics and other details that were far above Beth’s head. Even after the group started walking toward the hotel, Henry and Oliver trailed behind, their conversation turning to their mutual coworkers and internal politics within the company.
“I hope they don’t speak of the railway the entire time,” Lucy grumbled, a scowl twisting her pretty features.
“The topic is safe ground. There are many hurt feelings between them, and this talk of locomotives and steam engines allows them to ease into more difficult conversations to come,” Beth explained quietly.
“That makes sense.” Lucy nodded to the footman who opened the hotel door for them. “Although it seems as if most men would rather go around and around discussing monotonous subjects than speaking plainly of their emotions.”
“That is a very astute observation.”
Lucy preened. “I think perhaps you’re rubbing off on me.”
Beth chuckled. “My one goal in life has come to fruition.”
After the foursome settled into their seats at a table in the corner of the restaurant, Oliver ordered a round of drinks before he launched into a tale about a supply car that had become separated from the rest of the train, and it had been his job to chase it down and bring it back into the station. Beth found the tale both entertaining and frightening, knowing full well that if her brother had made a mistake at any point of his “rescue” mission, he could have been gravely injured or worse. But Oliver was in his element as a storyteller, embellishing details and controlling the pitch and tenor of his voice to increase the suspense as he went on. Lucy was on the edge of her seat, her eyes owlish as she stared at her older cousin, transfixed by his story. Henry seemed invested as well, although his interest was tinged with an insider knowledge both she and Lucy lacked. And he finally used that knowledge to tease Oliver over several improbable points of his account.
“You know good and well that what you described is not possible,” he said, setting aside his glass of lemonade.
Oliver cocked his head to the side, his brows raising innocently. “How can you be so sure? You weren’t there.”
“Because that’s not how the firebox heating surface works.”
“That’s not how it’ssupposedto work, but that doesn’t mean it can’t,” Oliver countered.
Sitting back in his seat, Henry shook his head. “You haven’t changed at all.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Oliver studied the liquid in his glass, his jovial expression bleeding into contemplation. “I’ve changed plenty. We all have. Life has a way of making you a bit harder. It bruises you, cuts you until you learn to take that abuse and shape it into something good, or buckle under the pressure.”
“You either become a diamond or a misshapen piece of coal,” Beth whispered. She met Lucy’s curious gaze. “Our father used to say that.”
