Page 4 of The Nature of a Lady
She’d never stayed in a fancy hotel in London—they had a townhouse,after all—but she saw no reason to point that out. Mama had sent her ample funds to see her through the summer. “That sounds reasonable.” She tried to peek past Mrs. Pepper into the house. It was the size of their gardener’s cottage at Telford Hall. It wouldn’t take long to explore, but she’d like to get about it so she could get everything where she wanted and escape back to the out of doors.
Apparently, Mrs. Pepper was no more eager to dawdle. “The lease is on the table, miss. Read and sign it at your leisure, and Kayna or I will fetch it back tomorrow when we bring your meals. There are supplies enough in there now for this evening and breakfast. And a few little guidebooks, if you’ve a curiosity about the place. If you need anything more, your girl can find us at the corner of Garrison Lane and Well Lane. Mr. Pepper or I will see you have anything you need.”
Because her bank’s wire had gone through without a hitch, no doubt. The woman certainly didn’t seem to welcome her with anything like warmth. But that was all right. Libby didn’t need her for a friend. Clutching her valise in her hands, she smiled again. “Thank you, Mrs. Pepper. I’m certain we’ll find everything perfectly satisfactory.”
“Good.” With that, the woman finally cleared the doorway and strode away.
Mabena let out a huff. “The Peppers. Never much got along with them.”
Having no commentary on the family as a whole, Libby merely grinned and charged into her new home, while Mabena announced that their trunks were arriving and she’d oversee their being brought in.
The living area was small indeed. But prettily decorated, and the windows looked out over the bay and the wall of the garrison. Adjoining it was a tiny little kitchen with a table right there among the shelves and the stove. It would be like sneaking down for a midnight biscuit, only for every meal—eating right there in the kitchen. She hurried to look at the other rooms, finding the necessary and bathtub and two bedrooms of nearly equal size. She chose the one with the harbor view, affording her a lovely sight of the other islands.
It had a small desk by the window, which would be perfect for her microscope. It hadn’t space enough to hold all her art supplies, but she could designate part of the chest of drawers for that. She moved to it now and opened the top drawer.
And froze. Inside were blouses. A lovely shawl in heather blue. And a book lying open on the top, pages down.Treasure Island. Libby picked it up, her brows knotting when she saw the pages had folded on themselves. Her stomach twisted. The book had clearly been dropped into the drawer, notplacedthere. She smoothed the pages, her frown increasing. Was that handwriting amid the printed words?
What had Mrs. Pepper said about the previous occupant? That she’d “vanished before the second month was out.” Vanished ... but left her things behind.
“In here, then.”
At Mabena’s brusque voice, Libby moved the book behind her back, not ready to have it snatched away just yet. Mabena was looking over her shoulder as she entered, clearly leading someone in. Though when she turned back around, her gaze seemed to take the situation in with startling speed. She frowned. “What’s this? You can’t have unpacked already. You hadn’t clothing in your valise.”
Libby rocked on her heels and shrugged. She should probably show the book to Mabena, but she’d rather examine it first. “Not mine, but the drawers are already full.”
Mabena’s huff sounded irritated. But her eyes sparked with ... something. Curiosity? Or did she feel the same uncanny dread that coursed through Libby’s veins? Regardless, she stalked over to the dresser and simply scooped out the stranger’s things. “I’ll take care of it. And of your unpacking. Go on outside. I know you want to.”
Because it was expected of her, Libby grinned. But she felt a bit guilty as she slipped by the stevedore and out the door, clutching the book to her stomach once she was past.
Everything always made more sense out in nature. Andthis... this could use a good dose of sense. Currently, it had none.
2
6 JUNE
TRESCO, ISLESOFSCILLY
Oliver Tremayne leaned forward as far as he could, the oars two wooden extensions to his arms. He breathed in as he bent, exhaled as he leaned back, his arms—the wooden parts of them, anyway—slicing through the crystal waters as his gig skimmed the top of them.Faster. Faster.
Sweat poured down his torso, soaking his shirt. He looked up, sighting the beach that would be their finish line. “Almost there, lads! We’ll take them this morning!”
From the bench behind came a chorus of cheerful grunts as other arms-and-oars matched his pace. Oliver grinned through the exertion. He enjoyed a solitary row too, but there was nothing like a five-man gig to really set one flying over the waves.
“Look alert!” This from Enyon in the rear. “They’re gaining on us!”
It was all the incentive his team needed to reach farther forward, dip the oars in faster, and then throw themselves back again with all their effort. They wouldnotbe losing to Casek Wearne’s team. Not this time.
He didn’t dare look over to glimpse how close the other gig was.He didn’t have to. He knew if he did, if they were in view, he’d see what he least wanted to see: Casek Wearne’s smirking face.
From the shore came cries and pumping arms and an entire choir full of voices shouting for whichever team they’d pinned their hopes on this morning. A few of themalwaysrooted for Oliver’s. A few others, always for Casek’s. Most, however, made a great show of sounding out the rowers’ conditions of a Wednesday morning and deciding on whom they’d wager a pint or a pudding that day.
Thanks to Enyon’s bloodshot eyes, most had bet against Team Tremayne. Which had been all it had taken to wake Enyon up—his old friend hated losing like Oliver hated the blight that had been feasting on Mamm-wynn’s prized roses.
The nearer they drew to shore, the less he could ignore the second gig. He could hear their oars slicing the water, off the beat of his own. He could see their prow when he leaned back. He could feel the tingle of competition in every nerve ending.Not today, lads. Not today.
With a last surge, he and his crossed the line, ahead by only two yards, amid the raucous cheering of half the crowd. Oliver made no attempt to quash his smile as he jumped out into the surf with his teammates and pulled the gig up onto the sand. They’d lost the last two races. High time they set things right.
“Good show today, lads. Good show.” Jowan Menna, esteemed tender of the famous Abbey Gardens, took hold too and helped pull the gig out of the water. His eyes caressed the lines of the boat with nearly as much love as he gave the blooms when counting them in the Gardens each January. Nearly.
