Page 43 of The Nature of a Lady
But—but if Mabena stayed here, sent Libby home alone at the end of summer ... If she was expected to just face her family again, face society again, face London again without anyone who understood her and championed her, if only in the privacy of her own room...
“Don’t want to lose your maid, I take it?”
Her face probably looked as sick as her stomach felt. “I don’t care about the maid part. But I don’t want to loseMabena.”
“Well then. The answer’s simple enough.” He reached up and chucked her under the chin in the way Papa used to do. “You’ll just have to stay too.”
Even though there was no way Mama and Bram would ever allow it, the idea was alluring. Except that she had a sinking fear that Mabena would disagree. Loudly.
And she wasn’t so sure she could handle hearing it.
12
Mabena may not much fancy the kitten who was once again stalking through the cottage as the promised squall raged away the afternoon, but she’d always liked puppies. And she felt as though she’d kicked one, the way Libby avoided her gaze and went out of her way to keep from crossing Mabena’s path for the last eight hours, though she had still been steaming too much over Casek Wearne’s audacity to really notice it when they were in the Abbey Gardens. But by the time they climbed into her lovely little sloop and started for St. Mary’s, she could no longer ignore the slump of the lady’s shoulders.
What a bore she was, to have stolen the morning’s happiness from her with a few short words. But apologies had never been her strong suit. Not if they required words.
Perhaps chocolate could do the job for her. While Libby chased after the cat, who was making rather hilarious tiny ferocious hunter noises from her bedroom, Mabena put the kettle on and got out the powdered cocoa, milk, sugar, and salt.
She was just pouring it into two cups when Libby reemerged a few minutes later, a sheet of paper in her hands, which she took with her to the sofa. When Mabena slid the peace offering onto the table, Libby didn’t even glance up.
Mabena huffed. She didn’twantto apologize. She shouldn’t have snapped at her, but she wouldn’t have had to if Libby hadn’t pressed. Always with thewhy. When would the girl learn that she didn’t need the answers to everything? “It’s your favorite. Don’t let it go cold.”
Libby reached out, wrapped a hand around the mug, and lifted it to her lips. Obedience. Not pleasure.
And what was Mabena now, her mother? She spun back to the kitchen and picked up her own cup. Though she didn’t take much pleasure in the taste either. “What’s that you brought out?”
A shrug, and she flipped it around for Mabena to see. “Darling found it under the bed.”
A drawing of a coat of arms. Not one from any of the families in these parts though—probably something a previous tenant had dropped.
Libby set it on the table and went back to her book.
Mabena hissed out a breath. “Are you going to make me say it?”
Silence. The rustle of a page. A voice barely above a whisper. “I would never make you say anything.”
Even though sheshould. Any other lady would probably have met her attitude with an ultimatum: apologize or be sacked. But Libby wasn’t like any other lady. “My lady ... I oughtn’t to have snapped at you as I did. It wasn’t your fault, nor you I was irritated with. All right? Please stop avoiding me.”
“All right.” Still the same small voice though. Mabena hadn’t heard her sounding so . . . so insignificant since after her coming out ball last year. When Lady Telford had to threaten to cancel the order for the new set of encyclopedias if she didn’t come out of her room and get ready for that night’s musicale. When she’d been overwhelmed by all the expectations and other young ladies with their backbiting and the gentlemen who saw only pound signs when they looked at her.
Mabena couldn’t think how her one flare of temper had resulted inthis. But clearly a cup of chocolate wouldn’t mend it.
What was it she’d even said? She’d only told her to leave it alone, hadn’t she? And, yes, she’d stormed off—but it wasn’t as though shecouldn’t find her way back to the Moon cottage. There were only so many streets, and they’d explored them all together Tuesday night. Besides, Tas-gwyn Gibson had caught up to her in about two seconds. He’d have kept her entertained on the walk home.
Leaning against the wall, she took another sip. Her gaze darted to the table, the drawing. Not from a family in these parts, but ... it looked a bit familiar. She couldn’t place where she’d seen it before though. Likely on something an incomer had. Or even, she supposed, a crest she’d seen on a carriage that visited the Telfords.
It was probably nothing, but it niggled, so she moved over to pick it up and studied it a bit more closely once she was in her spot again. Turned her eyes to the window, hoping realization would dawn, and frowned when she saw a man approaching their door, which might not have been anything worth noting if it weren’t pouring. He wore a mackintosh and carried a brolly, but it took her only a moment to be certain that she didn’t recognize him—the hair peeking from his hat was fairest blond, and there was no one here who could say the same.
Under his arm he clutched a parcel.
Mabena shot upright, slipping the drawing into her pocket. “My lady! A man’s coming. With a package.”
Libby’s mug clattered back to the table. “For Beth, do you think?”
“I don’t know.” But the pounding of her heart said maybe, just maybe this one would have a clue that would tell them something useful. “You should be the one to answer the door, in case it’s for Beth.”
A mask of uncertainty settled over Libby’s face. “You don’t think I should say I’m not her? Ask him what he’s about?”
