Page 44 of The Nature of a Lady
And scare off any future deliveries? “No. Just play along with it.”
“But...”
“How else can we help Oliver find his sister?”
Libby let out a breath. Nodded, even as footfalls joined with the pounding rain, and then a knock harmonized too. She stood, depositing the kitten on the sofa, and moved to the door. Mabena stayed out of sight, her fingers curled tightly around her mug.
“Hello?”
“Good afternoon. Elizabeth?”
Her heart raced, even as she tried to place the accent. Cornish, without question. But not quite the cadence of a native islander. But of course it wouldn’t be a Scillonian—any native would know it wasn’t Elizabeth Tremayne at the door.
“That’s right. Though I wasn’t expecting a delivery today.”
What was she doing? Mabena’s nostrils flared.
The bloke, however, sounded a bit confused. “It’s Wednesday, ain’t it?”
“Oh! Is it?” Libby chuckled, though Mabena heard the strain in it. The stranger likely wouldn’t though. “I’ve lost a day somehow. Very well, then. Thank you.”
A moment later the door swung shut again, and Mabena surged forward, sliding her mug onto the table. The parcel—a large manila envelope—was now in Libby’s hands. “Why the question?”
Libby flipped the envelope over in her hands. “It was Wednesday last week too. I’d been wondering if there were no more by design or if the rain had kept people away, and then our absence. But this fellow came through a downpour. Which either meant that he’d been waiting for me to come again and saw our lights, or that Wednesday is simply the delivery day.” She shrugged. “Not that two examples provide enough data to say for certain. But we at least know now that he’d meant to come today, not that he’d been put off by my absence.”
Mabena smiled. “Sometimes that scientific mind of yours is rather helpful.”
Libby’s answering smile was weak, strained. “Sometimes.”
Blast. That wasn’t how she meant it to sound. Which normally Libby would know. But she didn’t have time just now to soothe her. She grabbed her own hooded mackintosh from its hook. “You open it. I’m going to follow him.”
“Mabena!”
But she was already dashing out the side door and hugging the garrison wall as she ran, grateful that the man had that umbrella. Itnot only obscured his view of people following him, but it also gave her something to keep an eye on.
A drizzle was never enough to keep anyone inside, but this sort of rain meant largely empty streets as she trailed him into Hugh Town. The fellow kept up a quick pace, which suited Mabena fine. She had no trouble keeping him in view while staying well out of his.
Somehow she wasn’t surprised when he led her straight to the ferry dock, where the last trip of the day would depart within the half hour. She hung back under a helpful eave, watching as he purchased a ticket and then jogged up the gangway and onto the boat. She had no reason to expect him to debark again, but still she waited a few minutes. Just to be sure.
The rain eased up as suddenly as it had come upon them at noon, and her lips quirked with the lightening of the clouds. Tas had said the storm would blow over by supper. Looked as though he was right, as usual. She took another minute to listen to thedrip-dripof water still running off thatch and tile and into the drains, but the blond bloke didn’t emerge from the shelter on the ferry.
So then. She shook the water from her hood and let it fall. A shaft of sunlight bullied its way through a crack in the clouds, and even that little bit of it was enough to make the day remember it was nearly summer.
As she retraced her steps, she debated her next move. She wanted to go back to the cottage and see what was in that envelope. But she owed it to Ollie to let him know another something had been left for Beth. And if anyone from Tresco was on St. Mary’s, they’d be making for their boats now so they could get home before dusk.
To the quay, then. She shrugged out of her jacket as she went, preferring the few stray drops to the heat of the mackintosh.
Of the boats bobbing in the tide, however, she spotted only one other than her own that belonged on Tresco. Of all the rotten luck.
“Looking for me?”
Why did it always have to be Casek Wearne? She turned slowly, fixing a scowl just so on her face. “Anyone but, actually. Is no one else from Tresco here?”
“Only you, my ’ansum.” He wiggled his brows at her.
She rolled her eyes. “When are you going to stop this ridiculous act of yours?”
“When you admit you chose the wrong brother five years ago.” He sounded ... serious. And his gaze had lost the gleam of a jest. Now it just seared her, reminding her too much of the past.
