Page 6 of The Nature of a Lady
What would he do when she left him too?
Not yet, Lord. Please.But she was ninety-five last February. It would happen. Someday it would happen. And how Beth could leave now, knowing how fragile their grandmother had grown—
No, he mustn’t think that way either. His sister had a right to live her life. And if that meant a summer away, rubbing elbows with the incomers visiting St. Mary’s ... well, he didn’t see the allure. But he prayed every day it would be enough to satisfy her. That she’d come home in September and forget all her fool ideas about needing something more, something bigger, somethingelse.
She was always after theelse, Beth was. Despite it always disappointing her.
“Mamm-wynn.” It emerged breathlessly as he crested the hill and neared her.
His grandmother smiled and held out a hand toward him, all delicate bones and paper-soft skin. Her eyes were clear. It eased him some. Until she asked, “Where’s Beth? She isn’t where she ought to be.”
The tightness turned to heaviness, weighing him down until he was sure he’d sink straight through the sandy soil and all the way to bedrock. “She’s just over to St. Mary’s, Mamm-wynn. Remember? She wanted to spread her wings a bit this summer.”
“My little rosefinch, always wanting to fly.” She smiled, though it fluttered down into a frown. “Are you certain she’s there, Ollie?”
“Of course I am.” Though even as he said it, worry slithered through him. She was supposed to write twice a week—it was his one request. He’d sworn he wouldn’t even step foot on the big island from May until September unless it was necessary for business, that he’d give her this semblance of independence so long as she wrote to him every Tuesday and Friday. A quick note to say all was well.
It had been a perfectly reasonable request, hadn’t it? Better, as he’d pointed out, than simply asking all the neighbors who boated between the islands for an update on her.
So why had it been two weeks since her last note?
He cast a gaze in the general direction of St. Mary’s, but glowering at the island wouldn’t make his sister remember her word. So, he wrapped an arm about their grandmother instead and guided her back toward the house. “Let’s get you back inside. I can hear your cup of tea calling to you.”
She chuckled and let herself be led. “All right, dearovim.” Leaning close, she whispered, “You were always my favorite.”
His lips pulled into a smile. She’d always said it to all of them—and loud enough for them all to hear. And somehow, they each believed her too. They wereallher favorites, Morgan and Beth and him. Her favorites of all the people in the Scillies, in England, in the world. That was what made their little house here all they ever needed. What had helped Morgan never to rail at how his infirmities kept him home. What made Oliver eager to hurry back during each holiday from university and take up the mantle of the church here, rather than looking for a living elsewhere, when his uncle stepped down four years ago. What made Beth...
He sighed at the circuit of his own thoughts. He didn’t know whatmade Beth do anything these days. Baffling creature. She too had insisted on going to the mainland for her schooling. But why hadn’t her experience taught her all she needed to know about the society to which their father’s family technically belonged? They’d never accept the Tremaynes. They’d always snub them the moment they realized their mother’s side wasn’t quite so sterling. They’d always look down on them for being too much a part of the islands, not present enough in London, their holdings too modest to be of any account. In her year away, she’d only ever made one friend worth mentioning. So why her constant yearning for a Season? Why,whythe insistence to get away again this summer?
Mamm-wynn reached over and patted his stomach, hugging him from the side as they walked. “You’re fretting, Ollie. What does the Good Book say about that?”
He breathed a laugh. “Somehow, it’s always easier to quote those passages for another than live it for myself. Especially when it comes to Beth.”
The moment he said her name, he regretted it. Mamm-wynn’s eyes clouded over, and her gaze wandered to the sea. “Where is Beth? She isn’t where she ought to be.”
This time he sighed. “No. She isn’t.” And if she had her way, she’d probably charm some visiting nobleman who was holidaying on St. Mary’s and let him take her away forever, leaving them. Drawn like a moth to some flame he couldn’t even see.
“There you are!” Mrs. Dawe rushed into the garden, worry drawing lines out from her mouth as she came to his grandmother’s other side and gently took her other arm. “You had me right worried, Mrs. Tremayne, vanishing on me as you did.”
Mamm-wynn straightened her spine, raising herself to her full height—all five feet of it. “A lady has a right to take a morning stroll when she wishes.” She cast a mischievous little grin Oliver’s way, which shored up a few of the sagging places in his spirit. “And to watch her boy best those Wearnes in the race.”
Blessed laughter tickled his throat, spilled into the sea air, joinedthe calls of the gulls cruising overhead. He leaned down to place a kiss on her too-soft cheek. “I had better get ready for the day.” His gaze sought Mrs. Dawe’s.
She nodded, a promise in her eyes. “Go on, then. The missus and I will get settled with some tea and porridge, won’t we, dearover?”
He let her lead his grandmother inside, but Oliver hung back for a moment more. Turned, scanned the coastline, the water, the smaller isles beyond. So beautiful, this place where the Lord had planted them. The loveliest spot in all the world. He could live out his life here and never regret a day of it.
His gaze snagged on a flutter of something white against the rocks of Samson Island. It looked too random to be a bird—probably just a bit of rubbish that had washed up on the rocks and that the wind was now playing with. Some local would boat over and snag it free, dispose of it properly. They took pride in their islands, did the Scillonians. But for a moment, the way it blew called to mind the stories Tas-gwyn Gibson had used to tell all the children huddled about his knees. No one on all the isles could weave a yarn like his mother’s father. Tales of pirates and ghosts and...
He frowned. What sounds had kept Enyon up last night? He wasn’t the kind to be spooked by a piece of snagged rubbish on the rocks ... though granted, of all the lads on Tresco, hedidhave the richest imagination. They’d all played no end of jokes of him when they were younger, just to make him run in fright. But that was ages ago, when they were boys. He wasn’t so impressionable now.
Oliver pivoted back to the house, to the bath, to breakfast. He’d add another stop to his outing today, that was all. The Floyds. The Gardens. And then he’d find his best friend before he came home.
3
Home. Mabena Moon stared out the window of their rented house, still not able to believe she was back. Feet once again on the islands she swore they’d never touch until the last whisper ofhimwas gone from them for good. Back once more where everyone would know her name. And her family. And her business. Back where every turn and every step carried a memory.
Her fingers knotted in the heather-blue yarn she’d scooped from Lady Elizabeth’s drawers the day before, even as her eyes stayed on the view of ocean and sky and islands. Mrs. Pepper hadn’t taken the time to recognize her yesterday—but other Scillonians wouldn’t be so oblivious. They wouldn’t all be fooled by the neatly pinned hair that she’d once let fly free in forever-tangled curls. They would look past the prim and proper clothing expected of a lady’s maid that she never would have donned before she left.A wild soul, that’s what her neighbors used to call her.
