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"But you are partial to black tea laced with brandy." Mr. Scollard offered him a cup. "A preference you acquired in the Far East—a delectable melding of their tea and your fine French brandy. Julian," he added, blue eyes twinkling.
"Quite right." Julian grinned, taking an appreciative swallow. "It's good to know I can find that enjoyable combination right here in England. This tea is exceptional."
"I'm pleased you like it."
"I won't," Aurora announced, leaning forward on the settee and eyeing the untouched cup before her. "Must I drink it?"
"No," Mr. Scollard replied. "But you'll want to. Else how will you wash down your favorite cakes?"
"All right." Sighing, she took a tentative sip, her expression growing puzzled. "This is neither black nor laced with brandy."
"Of course not. Why would it be? It's the duke who likes his tea that way, not you." The lighthouse keeper settled himself in the other armchair, taking up his own cup. "Yours is lighter of strength and sweet, just as you prefer. And mine is my own favorite blend, imported from Java, with just a touch of cream."
"But you made only one pot … never mind." Aurora reached for a cake. "Why am I questioning you?" She took an enthusiastic bite. "Julian, try one of these. But I'm warning you—they're addicting. I very nearly didn't fit into my wedding dress, thanks to Mr. Scollard's cakes."
"By all means, help yourself," Scollard urged him. "You have long journeys ahead—journeys of the body, mind, and heart. You'll need your strength, more for some destinations than for others."
Julian chewed thoughtfully, ingesting far more than the delicious confection. "Do I?" He licked his forefinger. "Then I hope my journeys are equally as satisfying as these splendid cakes."
"Some fulfillments are more readily attained than others. However, flavors too swiftly savored ofttimes dissolve like confections on the tongue. 'Tis the arduous journeys, the ones whose goals are clouded, even unperceived, that yield the greatest rewards." A thoughtful pause. "Then again, some readily attained fulfillments, rather than transient, are pivotal representations of the greatest prize any adventurer could seek."
"Are we speaking of the black diamond or my own personal quests?" Julian stared intently at Mr. Scollard.
"I believe you just spoke of both."
A faint smile. "I suppose I did." Julian leaned forward, abandoning his refreshment and seizing the falcon book in his hands. "This is one quest I perceive only too well."
"'Only too well'—an interesting choice of words." Scollard glanced at the volume but made no move to touch it. "How may I help you?"
"Rory and I need to understand James's message. Would you please look at the inscription and the underscored words?"
"It isn't necessary. I've seen both."
Incredulity flashed in Julian's eyes. "Very well. Can you tell us which of the two are significant?"
"Both."
"Yet we're missing some crucial piece."
"Perhaps. On the other hand, perhaps you're still not ready to assimilate that which you've already been offered."
"What avenue must we
pursue to become ready?"
Scollard's gaze never faltered. "One you must discover yourself."
"Can you tell me nothing else?"
Mr. Scollard placed his cup and saucer on the table. "On the contrary, I can tell you several things. First, that you're quite thorough. Your great-grandfather would indeed be proud—proud and confident that you will restore honor to a name long tarnished by injustice from without and bitterness from within."
Julian inclined his head. "Is that your belief or your prophecy?"
"'Tis fact, Julian. You've already acted more honorably than the two generations dividing you and Geoffrey, obscuring your nobility. Your inner strength matches his; your physical strength is far greater. And your assets exceed any he ever knew, for your partnership surpasses friendship."
That he understood. "You're speaking of Rory," Julian said, glancing tenderly at his wife. "And, if so, you and I are in complete agreement. My wife is an incomparable asset."
"And a journey unto herself."
