Page 48 of The Nature of a Lady
“It’s your fault she ever chose Cador, and don’t try to tell me it isn’t. You told your sister to convince her I only meant to hurt her.”
Oliver’s fingers tightened around the doorknob. “You’re not going to lay all this atmyfeet. As if Mabena ever listened to a thing I said.”
“Which is no doubt why you recruited Beth to help. Like a coward.”
If he dug his fingers in any harder, he’d leave dents in the wood. “I did nothing of the sort. But if Beth told her that, then it was because she had eyes to see. Why else would you ever want anything to do with—”
“Because it wasBenna.”
Anguish. Anguish and ... something else, something even deeper seeped through the granite. Were it anyone else, Oliver would have called it a glimpse of his soul. Of his heart.
But it was Casek Wearne. The one man who would surely never show him such a thing. “What was the package?”
“What?” The abrupt shift dropped confusion over Casek’s face, before he wiped it clean and put his usual expression of contempt back on. “You’ll have to ask Benna that too. I told you what she told me—not that you’ve grace enough to thank me for it. But not that I expect anything more of a Tremayne. Too good even to acknowledge us common folk, I know.”
If Mother had seen the smile Oliver let tilt his lips, she’d have boxed his ears, and rightly so. “Not all common folk. Just Wearnes.”
Casek looked poised to snarl something, but Oliver shut the door before he could hear it. And then squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t need Mother there to box his ears. His own conscience did a fine enough job. “Forgive me, Lord.” If only regret was all one needed for repentance. If only one didn’t also have to go and sin no more—something he’d yet to master when it came to Casek Wearne.
He turned, jumping when he saw Mamm-wynn two steps away, peering up at him with those blue eyes of hers that he knew so well. “Going to St. Mary’s tomorrow, then?”
Exhaling, he steadied himself again. “I suppose I’d better.” First, to make sure Mabena had really sent him the message. And second, assuming she had, to see what package had come.
His grandmother nodded. “You might as well stay until Sunday. Mr. Gale would be pleased.”
No doubt. The man had been terribly lonely since his own four children had trickled over to the mainland over the last decade. He always said how he enjoyed it when Oliver occupied one of the empty rooms of the vicarage for a night or three. “Did you want to come with me?” He didn’t like the thought of leaving her alone, even if she wasn’talone.
She chuckled and stepped closer, her small hand slipping into her pocket. “Sunday will be enough of a trip for me, dearovim. But here. Give this to our young lady.”
He frowned when he caught the glint of lamplight on the metal she’d pulled free of her pocket. “Mabena? What is it?”
“Not Benna.” She laughed again, as if it were a great joke on his part, and opened her palm to reveal a necklace of pearls and gold. “Libby.”
Would there ever again be a day when his stomach didn’t sink, didn’t twist? Though he tried to smile, he also closed his hand over hers. “We’re not giving Lady Elizabeth your jewelry, Mamm-wynn.”
“She needs it.” She turned their hands over and let the gold and pearls trickle into his palm. “Tell her it’s a loan if she’s not comfortable taking the family jewels yet.”
“Mamm-wynn...” He needed to tell her Lady Elizabeth wasn’t his wife, wasn’t his sweetheart, wasn’t hisanything. But if he tried, would she even remember the conversation come tomorrow? Was there any point in insisting upon the truth when her eyes seemed only to see into a reality of her own making? He sighed. He’d just take the necklace for now and slip it back into her things tomorrow, when she wasn’t in her room.
She smiled up at him, reached to pat his cheek, and turned. “I think it’s time I retire for the night. It’s been a long day.”
He watched her go, pressing his lips against the quivering in them. Beth should be here, helping him determine what to do. And Morgan—he missed his brother’s counsel, that somber wisdom always to be found in his eyes. But he hadn’t his brother. Hadn’t his sister. Hadn’t his parents. His eyes slid shut.Help me, Father God. You’re the only one I have to turnto.
When he opened his eyes again, he finally thought to look at the paper Casek had thrust at him. A coat of arms, a family crest. Not one that he saw regularly, but ... but it looked familiar. He stared at it for a long moment before spinning for the stairs and taking them two by two, then running down the hallway until he was at Beth’s closed bedroom door.
He had been in here not long ago to put away the items she’d left in the cottage. But he hadn’t paid much attention to anything else. Now, though, he aimed straight for the shelves in the corner, full of trinkets she’d collected over the years as she explored the islands or received as gifts from their parents or other family and friends.
His eyes moved over the familiar assortment of baubles and shells and sea glass, looking for the trinket box she’d always kept in a place of honor, ever since Mother had given it to her from her own collection. It was usually right there, on the middle of the middle shelf, proudly showcasing the gold-leafed crest that hethoughtmatched the one on this paper. Only empty space stared back.
Oliver’s brows knotted. He couldn’t remember the wooden box’s story entirely—something about a long-gone relative, a noble-born love lost at sea. Beth had loved the story though. It had fueled her own dreams of finding a love with a man from a noble family, he knew.
But it was gone. Along with his sister. Which meant ... what exactly? That she still had it with her, wherever she was?
That made precious little sense. But then, nothing did anymore.
13
The telegram sat on her dressing table, yellow and watchful. Proof that even from hundreds of miles away, Libby’s mother still knew when she was tempted to bow out of an engagement and stay home with her books and microscope. If she didn’t attend the Wights’ dinner party tonight, Mama wouldknow. Somehow she would know, and another telegram would come, or a letter—or worst case, she herself would appear at the door, reproof in every lovely line of her face.
