Page 106 of The Nature of a Lady
He eased closer. “Well. I don’t imagine it’s life threatening.” He pitched his voice to a whisper too low to be heard by anyone else, given the dozen conversations going on all about them. “Which means you’ll be wanting to propose sooner or later this summer. I won’t object. And I won’t cut her off—emotionally, I mean. I couldn’t. She’s my sister.” He sent a hard glare up the beach in the direction Scofield must have disappeared. “Some of us know what that means.”
Libby had taken a step away to answer someone’s question about something, but she stepped close again now, smiling up into Oliver’s face. “Are you all right? Does it hurt? We’ll get you to a doctor straightaway.”
He smiled right back at her. “Doesn’t hurt a bit.” How could it? Telford had just handed him the most precious gift in the world. That sort of joy didn’t leave any room for pain.
Libby breathed in deeply of the riot of floral scents on the evening breeze, her gaze feasting on the colors available to it in the Abbey Gardens. Mr. Menna had ushered all the other tourists out an hour ago, but he’d let Oliver and her come in for a stroll, just instructing Oliver to lock the gate when he left.
Her hand was tucked into the crook of his elbow. And pure contentment flowed through her veins. “Do you think they’ll come to an agreement while we’re gone?”
Oliver laughed and led her onto one of the first paths she’d walked here, with Mamm-wynn. They were moving slowly, as a nod to the wound in his side from two days ago. The bullet had only grazed him, but still. It had required stitches, and he probably should have chosen rest over an evening stroll with her, though she was selfishly glad he hadn’t.
“Not a chance,” he said. “I think it infinitely more likely that Beth and Sheridan will come to blows first.”
Libby chuckled too. It seemed that the more they’d pieced together about the silverware—once a gift to Queen Elizabeth, but which had been purchased by a nobleman in the days of Cromwell for his wife, only to be stolen by the pirate forhis—the more heated Beth and Sheridan’s arguments became. “Beth does have a point, that the silverware has no connection to Prince Rupert of the Rhine, and so why should he have it for his private collection?”
“And Sheridan has a point, that it shouldn’t be entrusted to a museum, not given the Scofields’ influence in those circles. If what Lady Emily fears about them is true, it may never see a museum display if we were to donate it somewhere. It would end up in the hands of the American willing to pay for it.” Oliver shrugged. “We have time to decide. It’s safe enough for now.”
Safe in the small hidden chamber in Tas-gwyn Gibson’s foundation, where Beth had found the map to begin with. Matching the one on the opposite side where the letters had been stashed. Between the two, there was just enough room to store the silverware.
If there was more to Mucknell’s treasure, it hadn’t been buried in the same spot. But the sheer amount of silver made it a valuable haul, and all the more so when one considered its provenance. More collectors than Sheridan and the American would be willing to pay handsomely for pirate loot once owned by a queen.
“And we have the rest of summer to make our decision.” She leaned into his arm, still not quite capable of taking that in. Bram had relented. They were staying here, both of them. Lorne was safely housed in Tresco’s single jail cell and would be shipped to the Cornwall magistrate soon, and the authorities would be keeping a keen eye out for any yacht calledVictoria.
Not that the American who presumably owned it had necessarily done anything wrong, but Scofield could reappear if it did. Thus far no one had reported seeing him, including the ferry operator. But then, he hadn’t taken the ferry here that morning either. According to Lady Emily, he had several friends with yachts and had probably come and gone by himself. There had been a pleasure craft dockedat the port in Hugh Town for a few hours the other day, which gave credence to the thought.
“I still can’t believe that telegram Lady Emily received.” Oliver shook his head, eyes troubled. “They can’t have meant it, can they? That she isn’t welcome home until she’s sorted things out with her brother?”
“I can’t imagine so. But she certainly seemed to believe it.” Libby didn’t think she’d ever forget the look in Lady Emily’s eyes either. Filled with tears. Hopeless. Dejected.
But she was among friends, at least. They’d see she was all right.
They walked in silence, comfortable and familiar. So much had already been said over the past two days. So much needed to be said still. But for now, it was heavenly just to listen to the chirping of the birds, the buzz of insects, the breeze running its fingers through the Cornish palms’ fronds. To be walking here with this man she’d dreamed about for years and who so surpassed all she’d ever hoped about him. This man she loved in a way she hadn’t quite thought herself capable of.
The path wound around another grove of trees, and Libby smiled. “This is the way your grandmother and I walked the day we met. I don’t believe I’ve come this way since. There was so much else to explore.”
“You’ll be needing a new notebook soon, I suspect. I did especially love your painting of the lily of the Nile.”
TheAgapanthuswas to be seen all over the islands, and she loved the purple blooms. “Would you like to know a secret?” She tilted her face up, grinning. “I usually sing ‘L’amour est un oiseau rebelle’while I’m painting.”
Oh, his smile. She could get lost in it. “Well. Mamm-wynn did try to tell me weeks ago it was one of your favorites. I suppose I should have believed her.”
“Did she?” Odd. But she was beyond askinghowat this point when it came to his grandmother. “You should have indeed, then. You ought to know by now that she’s always right.”
His laugh was a mere breath, incredulous. “So it would seem.” His fingers settled over hers on his arm, as they so often did. And she wondered if he’d kiss her again. There were hundreds of perfect spots here, and they had the Gardens to themselves. It would be the perfect cap to the last few strange days. “What did you two talk about that first day?”
“Well ... on this part of the path, she told me a bit of the history of the Betrothal Stone. Or the legend, anyway.” They were only a few steps away from it now, so naturally they stopped. Libby smiled at the memory. “She mentioned that your parents had a story about it, though she didn’t tell it to me.”
“No? Well, that won’t do.” Grinning, Oliver pulled away so he could face her. “It was in the dead of winter, so you’ll have to use your imagination there. Most of the garden was dormant, and a fierce storm had just blown through. All the islanders had been hunkered down for days, but on the solstice, the sun was shining again. So my father seized the opportunity to take my mother for a stroll. She’d always been intrigued by the local legends—”
Libby laughed. “Having met her father, I find that utterly astounding.”
“No doubt.” He set a hand on the slab of granite. It would be warm from the summer sun, but perhaps he was imagining it with a winter chill. “Father had told Mother that he’d read the stone may have had some other ceremonial purpose in the days of the Druids. He said he thought that it was originally aligned to catch the rays of the setting sun on the winter solstice. Which, as you’d expect, was all it took to get her out here at sunset. Even though no one knows where the stone originally stood, she was certain that if she caught the flash of sunset through one of the holes,somethingwould be revealed.”
She couldn’t have held in her smile had she tried. “And I suspect something did.”
“Indeed.” Eyes twinkling, Oliver shifted behind the stone. “While she was busy investigating, Father slipped back here. And at the exact moment when the rays were stretching through the hole, he reachedthrough.” Oliver’s hand came through the small, topmost hole. “And he opened his hand.” Oliver’s fingers uncurled from his palm.
Libby’s smile stilled. Her breath caught. His hand wasn’t empty. There was a ring sitting there in his palm, the main stone a gleaming purple—or green?—with diamond rainbows sparkling from all around it. “Oliver?”
